I have a small handful of random poems I wrote a few months pre-COVID that I really like. They’re not for any project—just one-offs—and they’re some of my favourite recent work of mine. Rereading them now makes me realize how working away at poetry as though it is work—a task, and practice, a goal, etc—prevents me in writing in this way that I actually quite like and usually nets some really satisfying results. Often when I think of a line or an idea rather than writing it down and letting the moment take me I think “ok I’ll have to sit down and flesh that idea out” and then I never write it at all because of the usual adult being busy stuff. There’s a balance point between approaching writing professionally and embracing it emotionally that I want to tip a bit more into the emotional. When I was younger I wrote a ton—all over my arm if I didn’t have paper. Much of this was not amazing stuff because I was practicing—getting started. All passion and love of language and a desire for expression. Then after university I became anxious about writing and way too over controlled. I never wrote because I thought it had to be super thought out ahead of time and this perfectionist sentiment led to a drought of words on the page. I have a fairly balanced approach now. I’m not anxious about writing nor am I churning out reams of pages that are only kind of working for me. But I think I can balance it better. Making time for those one-off poems is in a way making time for myself. Making space for whatever I’m feeling and allowing that to be important just to me, just for a minute. It’s a tiny little shift this sort of decision—giving oneself just the littlest bit of purely uncontrolled leisure to be introspective and expressive, but it’s the sort of thing that feeds the soul. It’s a method of practicing self-acceptance. I’ve been enamoured with writing my whole life. Why when a line pops into my head don’t I write it down? Why not take that opportunity to just be myself and do what I’ve always felt compelled to do? It’s the littlest thing, but I think those random poems stand out to me because they’re so open and expressive and bare. The planning and the channeling energy and ideas and the editing and all that bigger stuff is also an important part of my writing life, and those skills are central to making my writing practice function. But I want to give a little more space for the teenager writing on her arm while waiting for the bus whenever she shows up, instead of always saying “ok ok later” and then never showing up for her in return. A little more time for the girl writing in her journal, a little more time for the child scribbling on paper before I could write so it would look like writing because I wanted to write so badly. To embrace those moments rather than trying to control them. To let them be.
COVID-19
Fall feeling /
It very suddenly seems like it’s dark so early. The tree across the street is getting yellow streaks in its big green bows. The grass is crunchy. I put socks on for the first time in months the other day. Fall is approaching.
I mentioned before that I’m just not that artsy in the summer. It doesn’t spark creativity in me… just a desire to go for bike rides. I can now feel that feeling returning. It’s exciting and welcome.
It’s especially welcome in COVID times. I find myself demotivated and aimless a lot these days. The shuttering of literary and artistic events and spaces has taken a toll on me in that way. It’s reassuring to feel the usual autumn motivation and inspiration blowing in on the slightly cooler breeze. With everything that’s changed these past months it’s comforting to know this cycle of artistic motivation is still unfolding in me.
Distancing Pace /
I started this blog in large part because before COVID I suffered from a constant “I’m not doing enough art!” feeling, when in fact I was doing a lot of art. Things have definitely slowed down for me. Without the feeling of the world turning and churning at its regular pace I no longer feel the same urgent drive, though I still feel a strong consistent drive to make things—minus the more panic-inflected tone it had before. I find my sense of when I started and complete things is getting wonky, though. There are some things where I think “argh I’ve let that project sit for so long!” but then notice that I actually worked on it two days ago, and then I’ll discover I’m three months late returning a personal email. As the nights get longer and the grass outside gets roasted in the sun my natural inclination towards creativity is coming back as it does every year. I’m not sure I’m going to have daily blogging as a goal going forward because of the more subdued pace of life these days, but I will aim to keep it up regularly to anchor my sense of my artistic practice.
Shelf Tour #9: A Field Trip with I Know Something You Don’t Know /
Today was quite out of the ordinary—I went. To a place! The mechanic (shout out to Economy Auto). To maintain social distance I waited outside at the picnic bench behind the Mr. Lube while the car was being worked on. And just as I got to go on a big outdoor adventure so too did one of my books, and so I read Amy LeBlanc’s wonderful “I know something you don’t know.” Again these aren’t meant to be book reviews but I’m gonna gush about this one anyway.
I really love death metal and feminist witches and creepy Victorian things and corsets and stuff, but I’m also squeamish and don’t like gore, and this book really perfectly matches my interests which are hard to hit. Most stuff that is creepy is too gross for me but this book is absolutely perfect for me when it comes to that balance. It reminded me, just a little bit, of movies like Practical Magic, Stigmata, and the show Charmed—a great blend of contemporary, mystical, feminist, and historical vibes that is just the best (ok I don’t know how any of these would hold up to my sense of what feminism is nowadays or even my taste but I just like grrl power witches is what I’m saying if you get me). The tone and directness of IKSYDY reminds me a bit of Atwood’s The Journals of Suzanna Moodie but less bitter and harsh.
LeBlanc’s writing is absolutely seamless—effortless and evocative, in a way that uses deceptively straightforward phrasing to deliver strange and beautiful images and build an irresistible immersive mood and world to sink into. I read it in less than an hour and know I’ll be reading it repeatedly in years to come, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly. The back of the book actually describes it quite nicely—more so than whatever I’m writing about here (eggs and Mr. Lube and Charmed?)—I’m posting a photo of that below.
This is the first Gordon Hill press book I’ve owned I believe, and it’s nice. Nice paper, nice design, lovely cover. Is “hand-feel” a thing? Like mouth-feel? If so I’d say this book had good hand-feel. One more reason to make it a permanent fixture on the shelf.
Ok I can’t help but make a joke. There’s a bit in the book where someone contemplates whether an egg should be boiled for eight minutes or ten. This is the only thing wrong with this book. The answer is neither! An egg should be boiled for six minutes for the yolk the way I like it :P I only just figured this out! I’m very excited about boiling eggs in 1” of water for six minutes right now. I have had many delicious eggs lately.
Anyway, here’s some photos of me and the book’s field trip.
Sorting /
I haven’t been good for much this past week but in an effort to get something done I’ve been sorting the photos on my computer… the 56,000 photos. I’ve sorted about 20,000 now. First backed up en masse, but now in orderly folders on a portable hard drive. It’s the sort of thing that probably would have always remained a burden if not for the COVID confinement, and now that I’ve mucked up my ankle and can’t go for a bike ride, I really need a low-attention task to occupy myself. Doing this while listening to the Wolf Hall audiobook. Anyway, my travels are now neatly grouped, my art projects are neatly sorted, and photos of finished pieces ready to share are in their own folder too. Rather than an endless oppressive scroll of this an that all mixed up this is really nice. It’s also gratifying to see how many art projects I’ve done. It seems strange in some ways that I always think of myself as just arriving, just arriving at visual art. The photos show that I’ve been very regularly at it for five years, and that’s only as far back as this computer goes. Similarly I feel like I haven’t “gotten anything done” during isolation, but here too the photos show several pieces begun and finished. It’s a strange thing, this feeling of mine about my art. Not sure what that’s about, but it is incredibly persistent.
Anyway, here’s a photo from 2017 I like. It’s been fake spring in Calgary forever in the way that makes it feel like we’ll never have a proper recognizable season again, so the idea of a true fresh breath of cold winter air seems appealing and decisive right now.
Missing Pieces /
Physical distancing is a strange experience from an arts and crafts and writing perspective for me because usually I have a constant push/pull in my personal time of what I’d like to be doing—arts or other. Other contains a vast array of options—going to grocery stores, cooking, visiting friends, spending time with partner, going to the movies, going to the park, spending time with family, going to shows, going to restaurants, museums, and shops, and on and on. Sometimes I’ll do Other for a long time and long to make time to make stuff. Other times I’ll stay in my pjs until 3pm on a winter Saturday fiddling with some yarn and really wish I’d done Other while the sun was up, or that I’d at least showered. Now, there’s little internal conflict. Aside from watching movies, the one video game I can play, cooking, and board games, making stuff is the only thing to do.
Up until now I’d long for enough time to finish my art in my varied, balanced lifestyle. But having an unbalanced lifestyle foisted on my makes me see how much that blend of things made the time I had more productive and poignant. Without going out to chat with others about making stuff it’s not as fun. Without carving out time to work on stuff I don’t get down to business with the same focus. Without being able to plan to share things with others it’s not quite as fun—I always look forward to sharing things, hoping it’ll spark that moment of connection with another—that lovely moment. And without going out in the world all the stimuli I normally get inspired by isn’t there.
These are all very mild symptoms. I actually feel quite fortunate right now that my personal passions are arts and crafts and writing, rather than things that can only be done in public in large groups. I’ve been working on this and that and have been finding those endeavours pleasant. I’m sure that’s making this time easier for me. Indeed, when considering having to do this for an extended period of time I think I could do so with relatively good humour. But it is teaching me to value times when I don’t have enough time to do a lot of art all the more. To see how all the parts of my life fit together and complement one another. I have a long list of art projects I want to finish, but finishing them won’t complete them. They’re only complete when shared with others. I miss that, sharing my own stuff or getting the chance to see the art of others, hear the readings of others in person, and go to shows. Of course all the online stuff is great, and we’re so fortunate to have so many ways of connecting when we can’t be together. But that in person thing is a special kind of magic that I miss. When we’re back in the world again I think I’ll appreciate all the more the time each component of my life requires, and that time away from art is as big a part of it as the time spent on it. I’ve also learned time is not the issue—indeed there is no issue. Art takes a long time—I suspect a number of the books I have in mind will take many more years yet, maybe decades. These things are lifelong things, being a writer, being an artist. I’ll never finish the list… maybe just add to it as things slowly get crossed off. Which is good. The purpose is just to be—to be self-actualized and to do and share, to keep working and growing and longing. Not to cross of the list and then move on with life. It’s a drive, and not one that would never be satisfied by more time. As long as I am, I’ll be longing to make things. And for as long as I make things, I will want to share them. Looking forward to sharing in person again… one day.
Shelf Tour #6: Surfaces /
Fridays are sort of strange now. That kid feeling of “the weekend!!!!” is sort of replaced with “well, I guess I’ll keep sitting here…” so today I wanted to do something out of the ordinary. So, I went through Eric Schmaltz’s beautiful book “Surfaces.” This is one of my most recent acquisitions, bought as a COVID cheer-up item. I’d wanted it for a while and wanted to spend a bit of money at Shelf Life since I’m presently employed, and I’m glad I got it. These posts aren’t meant to be reviews, but I love how this book reminds me of graphic design from when I was a kid, of the rolls of drawings my dad would be working on, and the stationary store near my house growing up… the wonderful shelves of pens and pencils and erasers and notebooks for various notepads for various vocations. Also check out this cover… the textures remind me both of cuts and of Kyle Flemmer’s sonnets. Very cool, very evocative. This one’s been sitting on the new books pile so now it’ll take its place on the Canadian poetry shelf.
Shelf Tour #5: Stampede /
Aside from five years in Montreal, I’ve lived all my life in Calgary. The announcement today that Stampede is being cancelled this year upset me more than I expected. It was inevitable, I know, but the Stampede being cancelled in some ways makes the effect of COVID on all our lives and this city feel all the more deep and real and intractable. As Mayor Nenshi said, this is tough—even the flood didn’t stop Stampede from going forward. I’m definitely not oblivious to the problematic things that crop up every year because of Stampede, and I loath almost all the country music I’ve ever heard, but this one still gets me. From the goofy window drawings, to childhood memories of having and ice cream with my mom and sister in Weadickville or watching the fireworks from Scotchman’s Hill with my dad, to getting to see bands I wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise at the Coke Stage as a teenager, to enjoying a distracting day of fun when my dad was in the hospital, to chatting up the gardening people about what’s going wrong with my kale (everything!) and wandering around the art show, and of course, hiding from the the yearly hail storm no matter my age and eating mini doughnuts and watching the Powow dances, the Stampede is such a fixture that it feels like cancelling… I dunno. Regular life? Finding out in the same breath that Folk Fest was also cancelled was sadder still. I love Folk Fest and am very sorry and sad to see it cancelled too.
So, today it’s a Stampede book. I haven’t read this one… I think I got it at the CBC book sale, or my mom might have picked it up for me. I have a little collection of Western Canadian/Calgary community histories, and this is one of those. I think I might actually dig into this one on the weekend.
