Poems of Spring

Surging into summer, the first bright harbingers

of spring begin to fade, their optimistic colours awash

in the brightening sun. Purple streaking into white radiating

 from the tulip's sex, anthers cluster close to the central pistil, dust,

like ashes, shedding to the fading petals. Black pigment the remnants of words
penned in blossom, words written in the wind, now evaporated like the mist of dawn.

Photos by Ewa Monika Zebrowski

At day's end

Setting Sun,

I know exactly what you mean.
Save your explanations and excuses.

Wherever it is you are gracing with that light,
that heat I know within, it is enough

to know the sun is shining somewhere.
Fare well.

Before the Darkness

I love how a candle glows in the darkness just after

it is blown out, it continues to glow,like the blood-

red memory of the sun through shut eyelids, a spot 

like an ember, in that liminal state between, teetering

until the wick takes its final gasp, brightening 

for a moment, soft firework, 

before exhaling, into black.

Time, Suspended

As I entered the room, bathed in silence, a man dressed in black came and took my hand and guided me to the central pedestal. And there we stood, quietly, breathing, eyes closed, surrounded by others, stoic and immobile. People descended, new people were guided, hand-in-hand joined to their guides or solo, standing, waiting, stilling the mind. A breathing human monument, a moveable Stonehenge.

Experiencing Marina Abramovic’s '512 Hours' at the Serpentine is transcendent. With an open spirit and respectful demeanour, the entire experience becomes a meditation. In an adjoining room, cots, scattered in no particular order welcomed participants to lie and ponder and dream and rest. They were covered in colourful sheets by members of Abramovic’s black-clad team of assistants. A quiet room of contemplation, a peaceful ward brightened with pops of colour, all bathed in the to and fro of sunlight streaming in through the windows above. I stood and watched, and breathed as, in silence, a room full of people lay in their own meditations. On individual journeys but on parallel paths. As a woman arose from a cot near me, she caught my eye and invited me, silently, to take her place. The simple connection, the simple act of guidance – like the man dressed in black taking my hand – was contagious, somehow that parallel path we were traversing together in this exhibition space came to an intersection in a simple yet powerful way.

The final room features the most amount of motion (which isn't really saying much). It also had an incredible cinematic quality. From the doorway you see people walking along the length of the room with very slow and painstaking care, their measured movements slowed down, conscious of every move of every muscle that makes up the experience of walking. The scene reminded me of those from theatrical plays where all but one actor freezes – a tableau of a moment in time. But here, the movement, in extreme and personal slow motion, was stunning.

A truly powerful experience, especially for me who values introspection and meditation so much. I can only imagine this is a preview of the Marina Abramovic Institute planned to open in upstate New York in the coming years (designed by OMA). There is incredible potency in locking up all your time- and communication-devices and just bathing in pure quiet, experience and connection. Slowing down, reflecting in, connecting back ... after a few moments, you can hear your breath, and hear your own heartbeat pulsing subtly through your body.

Just Visiting

Driving into Montreal, the Five Roses Flour sign blinks red above its silos, an unofficial welcome back to the city after a drive down to the United States.

It is my last full day of a two-week trip back to Montreal and it has been filled with lots of family time and special moments. No matter how many phone calls or Skype calls, nothing really replaces time spent with cousins, sisters, brothers, parents in real time, in real presence. There is something affirming about family time, at least for me; we've had a whole life together, a constellation of moments we all share, people we cherish.

Even for all its maddening qualities, challenges and quirks, Montreal will always be home for me. These streets are familiar, this mixing of English and French, the great diversity, the funk and the fabulous. The sometimes languid pace of life here can leave something to be desired, or, conversely, it can be wholly instructive; time to check in, slow down, enjoy. The formation one gets growing up in this city is so incredibly unique and irreplaceable, and there is something ticking in the heart of this little metropole.

Perhaps it's just an ideal summer foray that has me in a deeply reflective mood. Maybe I would not say the same in the frost of winter. And it is not to say that I am not incredibly blessed with my life in London at the moment; I am exactly where I need and want to be. Just throwing out some mad props to MTL, ma ville, ma patrie. Cheers to Montreal.

Get in the boat.

At Frieze New York 2014 opening today, artist Marie Lorenz is offering tours of the East River in a handmade rowboat (below). 

It reminds me of Joana Vasconcelos and the Portuguese pavilion (below) at the Venice Biennale last year with its wild interior and azulejos decor also went for a meander from the fairgrounds.

There was also an incredible 2011 project a few years ago at the Wapping Project featuring the finale wedding dress from Yohji Yamamoto's 1998 collection worn by an illuminated mannequin suspended from the ceiling above a flooded former boiler room. The only way to experience the work was 2-by-2 in a rowboat. The installation project was part of a feature of the artist on in and throughout the V&A.

So are you getting in the art boat? 

I am a fan of committing to these meditative voyages, as the usual modality for viewing art (art fairs especially) seems to crave immediate impact at a speedy pace. Getting into the boat and going at the slower pace, swaying with the water, or advancing with the human efforts of the paddle,  rewinds our technological evolution, it acknowledges our roots, the path traversed. There is a journey. There is another perspective to embrace. I come back to the art, back to close observation, getting lost in expression, experience.

Heavy with Lightness

About this time of year, the trees float, their branches
disappear, blossoms from head to toe, 'Symphony
in White Number One'. Bare, stark, jagged turns
lithe, bright, ethereal. Winter's heavy white gives way
to spring's delicate hope, fluttering. Blinding erasure, sun caught
in your eyes staring up, enchanted, heavy with lightness.

James McNeill Whistler, 'Symphony in White No. 1', 1861-62.
Oil on canvas, 215 x 108 cm (National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.)

From National Gallery of Art website:

When Whistler submitted The White Girl to the Paris Salon in 1863, the tradition–bound jury refused to show the work. Napoleon III invited avant–garde artists who had been denied official space to show their paintings in a "Salon des Refusés," an exhibition that triggered enormous controversy. Whistler's work met with severe public derision, but a number of artists and critics praised his entry. In the Gazette des Beaux–Arts, Paul Manz referred to it as a "symphony in white," noting a musical correlation to Whistler's paintings that the artist himself would address in the early 1870s, when he retitled a number of works "Nocturne," "Arrangement," "Harmony," and "Symphony."

Whistler used variations of white pigment to create interesting spatial and formal relationships. By limiting his palette, minimizing tonal contrast, and sharply skewing the perspective, he flattened forms and emphasized their abstract patterns. This dramatic compositional approach reflects the influence of Japanese prints, which were becoming well known in Paris as international trade increased. 

Clearly, Whistler was more interested in creating an abstract design than in capturing an exact likeness of the model, his mistress Joanna Hiffernan. His radical espousal of purely aesthetic orientation and the creation of "art for art's sake" became a virtual rallying cry of modernism.

Quotable Quotes: Nigella in Observer Food Monthly

Nigella's London cheesecake. Photograph: Martin Poole.

(I like to think of baking as a mixture of chemistry and poetry.) All human beings have a deep-seated belief in, and need for, transformation and I feel that baking appeals to that instinct, in a way that - at the risk of sounding naff - soothes the soul.

-Nigella Lawson writing for the Observer Food Monthly, 16 March 2014

Return.

To be honest, leaving Montreal and returning to London, I was on the fence. I had been home for 20 days and had enjoyed a luxurious amount of time spent in the simple but profound presence of family members and reconnecting with a few friends. It was full of comfort (well, with an intermittent spat of drama, as is to be expected around the holidays). But mostly my heart was full from the time being back with my parents, my brother, my sister, brother-in-law & nephew and so many more. My aunt and uncle, my 99-year-old grandmother, were all just a short car-ride away. There is something lovely about the proximity of family. So London seemed to be tearing me away from all that, I've begun wrestling with the future and whether a move back to North America made sense in the long run, questions, doubts, all those ruminations of the new year and time away from the daily flow.

Yet, fresh off the plane and immersed right back into the workplace, I quickly remembered the community I have become a part of. I am blessed to work with a group of people who bring a wide smile to my face. Especially in the art world, it is unique to find a work environment that feels almost familial, the respect and fondness that exists between employees. 

And then the weekend, a return to Broadway Market and all the familiar faces of vendors waving hello and friends milling about, small dogs and small children, such a beautiful humanity about the place. I couldn't help but smile. And to my surprise, I ran into a few friends, unplanned, at the market, at a random train station -- life's serendipity and happenstance. Here is the life I have built up, slowly budding and presenting itself. Here it is a celebration of life and community. Here it is where I am and where I am meant to be.

Sunshine over Broadway Market

Flaming December

I saw the cover of Vogue for December 2013 and my brain set on fire. I'd seen this pose before, I knew it from art history. Without intending it, a voracious need to Google and solve this compare-and-contrast suddenly overtook me. And after too long searching various iterations of reclining women in dresses, I found the match in Frederic Leighton's 'Flaming June' of 1895. Quite the thrilling evocation, demonstration of timeless inspiration. Would make quite a thrilling start to a high school art history class...

The Power of the Noodle

Refrain: it's been a while.

It's been a long few weeks and now I resurface from the frenzy and flurry of Frieze. More like bobbing to the surface. Such is the energy-sapping nature of being alert at all times during an art fair. Don't get me wrong, it has been stimulating and invigorating. But now time for recharge.

Last night, for the first time in I don't remember, my trajectory was direct, straight home from work. It felt so foreign to return to joining the sea of commuters homebound to make dinner and relax. My mother flew in from Montreal to join in on the Frieze madness and it was a joy to share my daily life with her for a week-- but it too feels foreign to not have her in the same time zone, a tube ride away, to share a hug and debrief the day's activities. And now the return to the sometimes-solitary adult ex-pat life.

Today, I still felt drained; somehow I expected one night at home to act as complete recharge. Near the end of the afternoon, thinking of heading home and cooking, my lethargy kicked in, bemoaning -- or perhaps just whimpering -- to not being ready  and not being up to the task. Solution? Soup. Noodles. Koya.

When I am feeling run down, my panacea has always been a good bowl of soup. I'm partial to a bowl of pho or a simple broth with thick fresh noodles. Koya, now expanded to have a bar neighboring its quaint ever-popular permanent-queue-outside restaurant, hits just the spot with its, dare I say it, scrummy noodles. The bar serves all the same fixing of the restaurant but somehow not everyone has gotten the memo. Maybe they remain steadfast to sitting at a table or honouring the original; meanwhile, I walked past the queue and right into a near-empty bar and ordered a bowl of solace, a bowl of recharge.

Fresh udon noodles, simple broth and some thinly sliced scallions served in a thick handmade ceramic bowl emanating heat.

I left the bar, packed full of people in the span of one bowl of soup, to head home, feeling refreshed and recharged. 

I feel ready to re-embrace life's challenges and charge ahead with new energy. As the Koya website says in its charmingly badly translated mission statement, we 'believing in noodle power'. I believe.

Nighttime Rose

History in Language

Every now and then I become fascinated with a twist in language that contains within it poetic and intellectual dimensions. Recently I have been fascinated with French words for Mr. and Mrs. The words MonsieurandMadamecontain within them links to their Medieval history. Broken down, these words literally mean 'my lord' (mon sieur) and 'my lady' (ma dame). What is even more wonderful (at least in my nerdy mind!) is the fact that the plural versions,Messieursand Mesdames, aren't just simple plurals with an S added to the end, but have preserved the plurals of their pronouns from their older 'ancestors' (mes sieurs and mes dames). Neat, non?

Elemental Exploration

Something clicked yesterday, or unclicked, I still can't figure it out. Participating in an AcroYoga workshop, I got to a moment where I couldn't handle it any more, emotions just unlocked and I needed to get outside and re-centre, breathe. It is quite amazing when things align - whether positive or negative - and get you to a profound place. Not that I got to any sense of closure or explanation for it all, but it happened.

I have felt slightly unhinged through my recent experiences with Aerial and AcroYoga workshops. The purity of taking flight and fully embracing the air element is unsettling, at least for me.

Woodcut, man and the four elements, Hans Weiditz, Petrarch's De remediis utriusque fortunae, Remedies for Both Good and Bad Fortune or Phisicke Against Fortune, 1532

All this gets me wondering as to the elements and exploring their personal significance. Earth, Fire, Water, Air all harken back to a very basic experiences and everyone and anyone has some sort of relationship to each. What would it mean to lead a workshop where people explore their relationships to the elements? Which element feels more comfortable? Which element feels unsettling? Perhaps it should be a 5-part workshop, exploring each element separately, journalling on certain reflections/prompts, and then uniting the elements in various combinations? Somehow in parallel with the chakras?

Getting ideas out into the air...

Flowers at Blickling

Escape to Norfolk: A Triptych

Finding Ritual, Faith Lies Underfoot

"When people start to meditate or to work with any kind of spiritual discipline, they often think that somehow they're going to improve, which is a sort of subtle aggression against who they really are. It's a bit like saying, 'If I jog, I'll be a much better person.' ' If I could only get a nicer house, I'd be a better person.' ' If I could meditate and calm down, I'd be a better person.' Or the scenario may be that they find fault with others; they might say, 'If it weren't for my husband, I'd have a perfect marriage.' 'If it weren't for the fact that my boss and I can't get on, my job would be just great.' And 'If it weren't for my mind, my meditation would be excellent.'

But lovingkindness — maitri — toward ourselves doesn't mean getting rid of anything. Maitri means that we can still be crazy after all these years. We can still be angry after all these years. We can still be timid or jealous or full of feelings of unworthiness. The point is not to try to change ourselves. Meditation practice isn't about trying to throw ourselves away and become something better. It's about befriending who we are already. The ground of practice is you or me or whoever we are right now, just as we are. That's the ground, that's what we study, that's what we come to know with tremendous curiosity and interest."  -Pema Chodron

I  blame the changing seasons, but I have been feeling the flux lately and all the control issues and lack of control that comes with it. Amidst it all, I have been re-examining my yoga/meditation practice. Often, when I 'fall off the wagon', as I like to say, I tend to get anxious about it. I worry that I am not practicing, or, rather, I am painfully aware of the fact that I am not practicing. Yet it is something to realize that these practices themselves evolve constantly. It would be something to practice daily, every morning at the same time. However, such a staunch routine can ignore the flux of the body and the mind; there are mornings when yes, you would be better served to take that extra half-hour snooze in bed. And then again, it is good too, to establish a good habit of getting on the mat.

I also approach my yoga practice in the same way as the quote begins above. Many times, if I am honest, I have gone to my practice to be better, to look better, to feel better -- body image or perfect asanas coming to the fore. I am trying to re-found the core of my practice; health is very much a happy result of yogic routine but there is a deeper communion which should not be ignored; it should be explored. I think I miss ritual in my life, and would like to find within yoga a way to reflect more mindfully.

I'm not sure if it is being 27 and catching sight of 30 down the way, but the future presses heavily on my mind too lately. Where is my career headed? Where am I to live? Where am I to start a family? It almost seems like anything is possible (and, too, that nothing can happen). It's scary. It also seems so silly to get caught up in planning all the tomorrows and forget about the todays. But reconciling being present alongside keeping a steady but not-too-firm hand on the steering wheel is quite a delicate balance. And as always, it is about cultivating faith, that intangible concept to which I come back again and again.

So to practice loving kindness, to feel the earth beneath my feet -- and to breathe in and breathe out, it really is that simple.

"My path is the path of stopping, the path of enjoying the present moment. It is a path where every step brings me back to my true home. It is a path that leads nowhere. I am on my way home. I arrive at every step."  -Thich Nhat Hanh

Beyond the Runway

Sante d'Orazio, Versace, 1997.

Ethereal photographic treatment of fashion -- the fantasy beyond reality.

Buck Up

I have adopted the motto before to 'do one thing every day that scares you', and it has been really enlightening to notice those moments where fear paralyses you from action and, consequently, to let it go and move on.

I've also heard the expression 'Man Up', which in its batting around of gender in stereotypical ways really bothers me. Another expression in the vein of facing your fears and rising to the occasion which I think suits much better is 'Buck Up'. Whereas it is essentially the same as 'Man Up', somehow in jumping species, the use of the masculine gender as a verb doesn't seem as offensive. Man or woman, I think we can all buck up, i.e. don our antlers or horns and charge ahead!

Marc Swanson,  'Untitled (Black Fighting Bucks)', 2009

Dance Me to the End of Love

I didn't realize Leonard Cohen's song grew out of such a place. Darkness inspires beauty.

"'Dance Me to the End Of Love' ... it's curious how songs begin because the origin of the song, every song, has a kind of grain or seed that somebody hands you or the world hands you and that's why the process is so mysterious about writing a song. But that came from just hearing or reading or knowing that in the death camps, beside the crematoria, in certain of the death camps, a string quartet was pressed into performance while this horror was going on, those were the people whose fate was this horror also. And they would be playing classical music while their fellow prisoners were being killed and burnt. So, that music, "Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin," meaning the beauty there of being the consummation of life, the end of this existence and of the passionate element in that consummation. But, it is the same language that we use for surrender to the beloved, so that the song — it's not important that anybody knows the genesis of it, because if the language comes from that passionate resource, it will be able to embrace all passionate activity."