Stormy Weather

Many striking images emerge from the devastated northeastern seaboard. This one of a light house on lake Erie talks to me in particular because the force of the water is so clearly present, both enchanting and horrifying in its beauty, it's like a work of art.

My favourite picture of my father, in his element, at sea, but with a personal intimate twist - a stowaway bird resting on his shoulder:

And the kind of weather and environmnet I had while away, what contrast to ours:

More Shoes

I have a fascination with shoes. Always have, always will.
Luckily, some of the customers are similar. They bring shoes to consign, and they buy shoes from me, and the exchange is simply marvellous.
So we have some good ones, newly arrived, and those who share this fetish and need a fix, come by and see if you can get lucky.

Upon my Return

I will be accepting new items for fall and winter.
I'm going to see my family for a couple of weeks, so the shop is going to be closed. I'm going to witness my father being buried.
When he died of a terrible cancer 2 years ago he donated his body to scientific research, and that's where he's been for the last 2 years. Now that his body is returned to us, something has to be done. Even though we said our goodbyes at the time, we have to gather and see him go into the ground. It must be done.

I miss my father. He was a very present father, even from a distance. I think about him quite a bit. This is something I wrote and read in his memorial service at the time of his death:

I had a father
like no other
he smiled when he was happy
he cried when he was sad
he loved, he never hated
and now he's dead.

when I was young
he took me on many a ride
he sailed and traveled
to lands so far and wide
he never liked to sit around
he moved about the world
and then he got a little old.

he lived his life with passion
he loved his kids, he cared
he was there with every step we made
and even if he was a little pushy,
he helped us when we failed.

we're happy now that he no longer suffers
he wanted to be gone
but loved his wife, our mother, so
he held on to life, and on and on.
In time we'll grow to miss
his hands, so warm, his hugs, his kiss.

and each and every time we do
we will remember this:
he was our father
he gave us life
he loved us
and we will call each other then to say:
today aba is right here
in me, in you
and in this lovely air.

Tabu

A curious but compelling film:
Shot in black and white, almost completely silent but with good music, with a time frame which spans over a century and reveals the secrets and emotional life of an old lonely woman in Lisbon.
The main romantic plot takes place in beautiful, sunny, sensual Africa. The other parts of the story which happen in Lisbon are bleak and cold as befitting the story - life in Lisbon is punishment to the great crime of passion in her past.
Why is passion always punished so severely in stories? What are we saying to the universe with these lessons? that passion is to be destroyed, or is it self destructive?
I don't know.

The Search for Luminosity - Joseph Sudek

Joseph Sudek at the AGO yesterday - a photographer searching for light in times of great darkness. He worked in Prague until his death in the early 70's, documenting lights and shadows in his beloved city and studio during decades of troubles and wars, and finding great beauty in the process.

This picture, after Caravaggio, reminded me of my of my own living room:

Nuit Blanche Finds, and Remembrance of Summers Past

This year, with the help of a midnight shot of brandy and a warm up in a bar mid way, we managed to stay out and explore longer.
The man in the photo bellow was the most interesting thing we saw - he was not on the program, a partizan musician playing ethereal sounds on a self made instrument: hollow piece of wood attached to an amplifier, with an assortment of attachments that made the music simply hypnotic. He did not have a name tag, I don't know who he was, which is a shame.

Trisha Brown Dance company preformed this continuous climb, a re-anactment of an old show from the 60's. It felt completely contemporary.

This last of the Morning Glories was a fine one:

And the last incarnation of the new year flowers, they lasted nice and long: