"Montre-moi par où on commence. Dis-le-moi au creux de l'oreille", by Marc-Antoine Côté

 

". . . A new work of public art outside the building, “Montre-moi par où on commence. Dis-le-moi au creux de l’oreille,” by Quebec artist Marc-Antoine Côté, stands two storeys tall. Made from 2,700 kilograms of metal — mainly aluminum — the sculpture’s title roughly translates to “Tell me where we start. Whisper it right into my ear,” which invites passersby to interact directly with the work, to the point of stepping right inside of it if they wish. “By going inside the sculpture, people get a perspective that’s completely different than what they see from above, from the surrounding buildings or from the ground,” Côté says." (Quoted from a Concordia University publication.)

 

October walk to Meadowbrook Golf Course

We don't need more condos, we have enough of them. What we need is to preserve the little bit of nature that we have left in the city. Here are some photographs of the short walk to Meadowbrook Golf Course; last summer the sides of the road were stripped of many of the trees that made this a pleasant walk, but nature is resilient, it is slow but nature is returning. Of course, there is a developer lusting after every square inch of land they can get their hands on, they want to build more cheaply constructed condos. We need to protect whatever land we have left, land that hasn't been turned into these monstrous condo buildings.  

 

Birds in the bird bath

Nothing has brought as much happiness this summer as seeing birds in our bird bath. I change the water in the morning and then, later, the birds arrive, sitting in the water, dunking their heads under the water and flapping their wings so the water sprays over them. Even today, 7 October 2020, there was a big fat robin sitting in the water by himself. It's not particularly warm outside, maybe + 15 C., but there he is, enjoying himself, having a great time. When he leaves the feathers on his head are all sticking up and spiky, like some kid trying to look sharp.

 

Resonances (2018), sculpture by Mathieu Gaudet

Mathieu Gaudet's Resonances is located at Ecole Judith-Jasmin in the West End of Montreal. It is made of poured black concrete; the sculpture is a wave, it can be any type of wave; for instance,  "resonance" is defined as

. . . the phenomenon of increased amplitude that occurs when the frequency of a periodically applied force (or a Fourier component of it) is equal or close to a natural frequency of the system on which it acts.

But "resonances" also suggests something different, it is to "resonate", to identify with something, or

to have particular meaning or importance for someone : to affect or appeal to someone in a personal or emotional way. 

And one resonates with this sculpture, perhaps one thinks of a beach and waves approaching where one is sitting, or it might suggest a metaphysical perception of life and open the viewer to new ideas. 

Resonances works on different levels of meaning. As an object it is utilitarian, it is a partition separating the entrance to the new building from the larger green area of the older building to which it is attached. I think the sculpture gives the entrance a feeling of privacy and intimacy; the entrance to the new building is secluded, the ornamental grass giving it a feeling of solitude, of being in nature. It is a wave, showing how a new idea may begin with a single thought and then grow into something much larger and more profound. 

Another level of meaning is metaphysical, the sculpture is a long black object, black and in some ways forbidding, but also elegant. You have two elements at work here, water and earth, and they are often considered in opposition to each other. A wave is always changing and this wave changes as sunlight plays off of it. The shadow of the sculpture, black like the sculpture, is a second wave, and both are impermanent, temporal, subject to either the long term change of material deteriorating or to the short term way sunlight changes one's perception of something. In either case, change is always present, whether short or long term.

 

Poetry is the Soul's DNA

Poetry is the soul's DNA, the memory of the human race. Poetry, not prose, not history, not fiction or drama or short stories or religious texts, but poetry is the expression of the collective unconscious. This DNA is the container and memory of everything humanity has done or will do, the Akashic record of everything that has happened in the past and will happen in the future; it does not recognize divisions of time into past, present, and future. Poetry is the single collective entity, the body of work, the distinct expression of the soul's DNA. Each poem is a separate expression of some aspect of the soul, the archetypes, emotions, intellectual musings, shared by all people living, to be born, and those that have died. It is both an expression of the Anima Mundi, the spirit of the world, and a celebration of humanity. 

St. Stephen's Anglican Church in Lachine, Quebec

I used to visit Lachine, Quebec, fairly regularly. It's only fifteen minutes from where I live in Montreal but it always feels like I am on holiday when there. You can walk along the Lachine canal, visit different museums, eat at some terrific restaurants, go fishing at the lighthouse, walk along Lac St-Louis... on one of these walks I came across St. Stephen's Anglican Church. This is the oldest Anglican church on the Island of Montreal; founded in 1822, construction of the church was completed in 1831. The church is located at 25 12th Avenue in Lachine, behind the Couvent des Soeurs Ste-Anne, which I believe is now a college. I made this video in the spring of 2013.

The longevity of glass buildings

I like older buildings that are substantial and that are built to last, we still have many of these older buildings in Montreal. The new Science Hub on the Loyola Campus of Concordia University is a striking addition to the university, it is what students and faculty expect and want in a new building. There is no point in constructing an old fashioned brick and concrete building, it would be incongruous and inconsistent with a contemporary campus. It would also be prohibitive in terms of cost. So, my hesitancy regarding this new building is just my taste in architecture; however, I also question the future of the building in a post-pandemic world, I wonder if buildings like this will be needed. Furniture has been carried into the new science building, it's ready to be occupied, but I'm not sure if they'll have any students on-campus this year due to the pandemic. Everything is changing, not for the better but just changing. The Science Hub doesn't look like it was constructed to last; I suspect that in a hundred years, if this building is still standing, people will scratch their heads and say "what were they thinking?" But do we even want buildings to last? Or are buildings like Ikea furniture, they look good for a while, they're functional, but they're still just made of laminated particle board, future junk.  No one had the idea of built-in obsolescence when they were constructing our many older buildings in Montreal; these older buildings add much to the quality of life in this city, they give us a feeling of substance, workmanship, creativity, and our culture and history. This is not the case with the Science Hub building, it could be located in any large city, in Toronto or elsewhere. 

The Garden in early August

I never throw out any plants, I just begin a new area to garden, so I conserve what I have and increase it. I wanted a traditional cottage garden, a garden where my grandmother would feel at home if she could visit. I am not opposed to grass and lawns but it isn't at the top of my gardening priorities; last year I extended the perimeter of the garden and I plan to enlarge the garden as long as I have surplus plants or go out and buy more. I am now thinking of islands; for instance, where I have the bird bath which also has hostas and a hydrangea beside it. As for plants, free or a gift is always best for adding to the garden; I like an anecdote, the human element, to go with a new plant. A few years ago I found what might be hostas that I hadn't planted, a sumac appeared this year, and ground cover has migrated from a neighbour's yard. When I began this garden I decided to grow only perennial flowers, daisies, day lilies, irises, ornamental grass; I also have lilacs, raspberry canes, and roses left by the previous owner from twenty-five years ago. I have a few pots planted with annuals and I've had pots for many years; it's a good quick way to have a garden in places where otherwise there would be no garden. I like hanging baskets of flowers. I collect rain water and water and dead head flowers every day. Visiting gardens can be like looking at photos of someone's vacation, even I gave my mother's garden a more or less cursory visit, and she worked hard on that garden with plants that she had returned with from visiting relatives in Woodstock, ON; for instance, rhubarb from Ruth Laflare; now I wish I had some of her plants, they would mean a lot to me. This year has been exceptional, hot, rainy, and the garden has flourished. In the evening fire flies are everywhere, a few days ago the hummingbird moth appeared in the bee balm, honey bees in the cone flowers, big bumble bees and the occasional skunk passing through, and so on. And if you sit quietly there are birds in the bird bath, they have a great time splashing around, completely submerging themselves in water. When I open the gate I leave behind the noises of the street and I think to myself, this is like the Garden of Eden!