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Hello February
Feb. 3rd, 2019 07:04 pmA post! It's like I keep a journal or something.
I still have low stores of energy for writing, and that crumb is eaten up mostly by trying to do my, you know, job, although I had a really good night of poetics last Tuesday at Finishing Class.
I hesitate to admit that, while technically in Canada, I live on the bit of the turtle that the polar vortex has more or less completely bypassed. It did snow today. LB and A. and I were watching Drag Race at LB's house; at the intermission, LB called out that it was snowing, so we ran outside to play. They were great leafy flakes, like conical blossoms, like an exaggerated ideal of snow. That slowing and cooling of time and gentle sifting down of space that accompany a proper snowfall were like wordless therapy.
It stopped quickly, but the air (as I walk to the laundry) is still sparkly and prickly, and the temperature is falling, so I have hopes. You understand, I was raised in the BC Interior; I don't recommend it, but it does make you feel a particular way about snow. My brother has it too.
Because we are temperate, climate change here has been less about catastrophe and more about subtle ironies: irises (April flowers) blooming on January 19th, and then snow on February 3rd. Louis MacNeice would love it.
J. and her partner went away for the weekend and v. kindly left me their ballet tickets for Saturday night. I meant to find someone for the other seat, but then I had a rotten couple of days and couldn't stomach the idea of having to talk to someone, even about ballet, so I went alone.
It was lovely. The program wasn't splashy; it was a showcase, with works I didn't know. But, I mean, people making beautiful shapes with their bodies -- usually good.
Ballet West gave two modern pieces, Sweet and Bitter and Fox on the Doorstep (beautiful ferocity, though a disappointing absence of fox) and also the white and black swan pas de deux from Swan Lake.
I don't have the dance vocabulary to make proper critical comparisons, but I played at it in my head anyway. ("This one is about the patriarchy," I muttered to myself at one point, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's about the patriarchy.") (First movement of Sweet and Bitter, if you want to confirm.)
I did wonder (as you do), watching these great feats of athleticism, balance, grace, what the role of ballet might be in an age of so much highly skilled popular dance and acrobatic performance. Still, I enjoyed it very much.
January was hard; this last week I started to feel more intellectually alive and joyful, but then I crashed on Friday. I feel as though the virus is out of my body but lodged in my, you know, soul.
The trouble is that I am editing a manual on communication skills. This points up all of the problems with my communication skills. Then I become frustrated with the way I relate to almost everyone, for my style is: passive. Passive is not the right style. Hopefully, the next chapter will discuss communication style conversions. Makeovers. I need a communication style makeover.
I've started posting doodles and things to Instagram @radiantfracture, so now I have an Instagram addiction. Come say hi and make it worse.
A local art store runs a drawing challenge through February; I did it last year while I was staying at my parents' helping them pack for renos. This year I'd like to complete more of the challenges. Here are the prompts so far and what I've drawn (in perverse ekphrasis, instead of just posting the pictures):
February 1: Tiny
Ladybug and forest fire (Ladybug is a go-to cliche for tiny, obvs; then, I was thinking of a Cowichan story about Ladybug saving the people from a flood, and somehow that became ladybug vs. forest fire. So ladybug looms in the foreground, with forest fire behind, and just visible a deer in the river, looking tiny and almost erased; all drawn more or less in miniature, or anyway about four inches square.
February 2: Echo
Echo and Narcissus obvs, but I can't draw that in a day, so I did some scribbled versions and two drawings of daffodils -- nothing very satisfactory, but at least I drew something.
February 3: Chase
I drew some of the dancers from the night before (with photo reference) -- so much of dance does evoke the chase, and it was that or try to draw the Wild Hunt, which again, would have been a delightful way to spend an entire week. Fun, but what would have taken an experienced artist a few minutes took me three hours.
I don't know what the hell to do with Januaries. It's February now, though. Maybe that will help. That and the snow.
{rf}
*Here's a hypnotic video of Ballet West rehearsing Fox on the Doorstep.
I still have low stores of energy for writing, and that crumb is eaten up mostly by trying to do my, you know, job, although I had a really good night of poetics last Tuesday at Finishing Class.
I hesitate to admit that, while technically in Canada, I live on the bit of the turtle that the polar vortex has more or less completely bypassed. It did snow today. LB and A. and I were watching Drag Race at LB's house; at the intermission, LB called out that it was snowing, so we ran outside to play. They were great leafy flakes, like conical blossoms, like an exaggerated ideal of snow. That slowing and cooling of time and gentle sifting down of space that accompany a proper snowfall were like wordless therapy.
It stopped quickly, but the air (as I walk to the laundry) is still sparkly and prickly, and the temperature is falling, so I have hopes. You understand, I was raised in the BC Interior; I don't recommend it, but it does make you feel a particular way about snow. My brother has it too.
Because we are temperate, climate change here has been less about catastrophe and more about subtle ironies: irises (April flowers) blooming on January 19th, and then snow on February 3rd. Louis MacNeice would love it.
J. and her partner went away for the weekend and v. kindly left me their ballet tickets for Saturday night. I meant to find someone for the other seat, but then I had a rotten couple of days and couldn't stomach the idea of having to talk to someone, even about ballet, so I went alone.
It was lovely. The program wasn't splashy; it was a showcase, with works I didn't know. But, I mean, people making beautiful shapes with their bodies -- usually good.
Ballet West gave two modern pieces, Sweet and Bitter and Fox on the Doorstep (beautiful ferocity, though a disappointing absence of fox) and also the white and black swan pas de deux from Swan Lake.
I don't have the dance vocabulary to make proper critical comparisons, but I played at it in my head anyway. ("This one is about the patriarchy," I muttered to myself at one point, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's about the patriarchy.") (First movement of Sweet and Bitter, if you want to confirm.)
I did wonder (as you do), watching these great feats of athleticism, balance, grace, what the role of ballet might be in an age of so much highly skilled popular dance and acrobatic performance. Still, I enjoyed it very much.
January was hard; this last week I started to feel more intellectually alive and joyful, but then I crashed on Friday. I feel as though the virus is out of my body but lodged in my, you know, soul.
The trouble is that I am editing a manual on communication skills. This points up all of the problems with my communication skills. Then I become frustrated with the way I relate to almost everyone, for my style is: passive. Passive is not the right style. Hopefully, the next chapter will discuss communication style conversions. Makeovers. I need a communication style makeover.
I've started posting doodles and things to Instagram @radiantfracture, so now I have an Instagram addiction. Come say hi and make it worse.
A local art store runs a drawing challenge through February; I did it last year while I was staying at my parents' helping them pack for renos. This year I'd like to complete more of the challenges. Here are the prompts so far and what I've drawn (in perverse ekphrasis, instead of just posting the pictures):
February 1: Tiny
Ladybug and forest fire (Ladybug is a go-to cliche for tiny, obvs; then, I was thinking of a Cowichan story about Ladybug saving the people from a flood, and somehow that became ladybug vs. forest fire. So ladybug looms in the foreground, with forest fire behind, and just visible a deer in the river, looking tiny and almost erased; all drawn more or less in miniature, or anyway about four inches square.
February 2: Echo
Echo and Narcissus obvs, but I can't draw that in a day, so I did some scribbled versions and two drawings of daffodils -- nothing very satisfactory, but at least I drew something.
February 3: Chase
I drew some of the dancers from the night before (with photo reference) -- so much of dance does evoke the chase, and it was that or try to draw the Wild Hunt, which again, would have been a delightful way to spend an entire week. Fun, but what would have taken an experienced artist a few minutes took me three hours.
I don't know what the hell to do with Januaries. It's February now, though. Maybe that will help. That and the snow.
{rf}
*Here's a hypnotic video of Ballet West rehearsing Fox on the Doorstep.
