Published Saturday June 26th, 2010
When Terry Graff, curator and deputy director of the Beaverbrook Art Gallery, goes to work each day, he stops to take in the beauty of the St. John River.
The mighty river pours from its source – a small lake in Maine – stretching along the Canada-United States border. On and on, it flows through New Brunswick, dividing the capital city and flowing past the gallery, before pooling into the harbour of the largest city in the province – Saint John.
Its waters are simultaneously tumultuous, powerful, serene and breathtaking, and this province was built along its banks.
New Brunswick poet Alden Nowlan described it as “beautiful, as blue as steel” in his poem St. John River, and countless other artists have been inspired by its striking presence.
This summer, the gallery wants people to take time to absorb the natural, historical masterpiece known as the St. John River.
On Sunday, the gallery will open an exhibit called Wolastoq (Beautiful River): The St. John River Project.
The exhibit runs until September and explores the meaning of the St. John River through the eyes of New Brunswick artists, many of whom created new work for the show. Molly Lamb Bobak, Romeo Savoie, Darren Emenau, Carol Taylor and Suzanne Hill are some of the artists who will have work on display.
My work was not shown in the article…I am adding it to my website:
Over the course of the exhibition, the gallery’s artist-in-residence team of Lance Belanger and Kitty Mykka will travel the St. John River and construct a series of works in response to ideas and connections that rise from their experience on the river.
“When I was putting this exhibit together, I was seeing (the river) every day. It’s natural. The light changes it, you see stuff floating in it, it freezes in the winter. It’s a constant. It just makes sense. Why wouldn’t we do a river show?” Graff said.
“We could have done a show 10 times larger.”
The exhibit includes contemporary pieces created for the show and a sprinkling of historical pieces that are already part of the gallery’s permanent collection.
The participating artists had no problem finding inspiration, Graff said.
“Many of them have talked about how they either grew up by it, or the river was part of their life,” he said.
The exhibit has strong undercurrents of First Nations-inspired artwork, such as a history piece by Mario Doucette depicting the First Nations legend of Malobiannah at Grand Falls – one of the oldest legends in New Brunswick.
As Graff strolls through the rooms of the Beaverbrook Art Gallery where people are bustling to install pieces and prepare for the opening, he takes time to tell the First Nation stories that revolve around the river.
The Maliseet people refer to themselves as the Wolastoqiyik, which means “of the beautiful river.”
Rarely has a people so strongly identified with a body of water, as the Maliseet do with the Wolastoq, he said.
“There are stories built into many of the pieces,” Graff said.
“There are different approaches to the river. Some artists will look at a story or a personal meaning; others will look at the natural beauty of the river and try to capture it.”
Last year, the oldest birchbark canoe in the world was repatriated to Canada from a university in Ireland. The Maliseet-made Grandfather Akwiten canoe will take up residence in the exhibit, as well as a replica that has been used on the St. John River and was donated by the Brooks family.
Visitors to the exhibit must only take a step outside the gallery to see the river come alive.
The gallery, like many other buildings in this city, sits on the shores of the St. John River.
The river has proven to be a blessing and a curse for some living near its banks. Two years ago, the gallery experienced the unpredictable temper of the river when its banks flooded and water flowed toward the gallery’s basement, full of priceless pieces of art
“It was quite an emergency, and many artists have taken that as inspiration,” Graff said.
One of those inspired artists is David McKay. He created the piece Before the Flood. The colours he chose combine yellows, greens and stormy greys, describing the feeling homeowners along the river have when the ice goes out each spring.
“My home property runs down to the shoreline of the St. John River at Fredericton. Every year, beginning around the first of March, feelings of anxiety arise as the reality of the spring freshet and the threat of flooding approach,” McKay said in his artist statement.
Molly Demma, executive director of the St. John River Society, wants people to appreciate the historic significance of the river the society calls The Road to Canada.
“The river was the main transportation route between upper and lower Canada, and Canada is formed as it is because of the St. John River being here,” Demma said.
“It’s been a landscape and a background for settlement patterns. Canada has gone from a colony to a country up the St. John River.”
Both Demma and Graff agree that visitors to the exhibit should take a moment to appreciate the river as the stitch that holds our cultures together.
“To all of us, not only who live along the St. John River, but those who have the river in our hearts and our souls, it’s our lifeblood that holds us all together,” she said.
“We want to remember it as we go through our lives.”
On June 24, 1604, French explorer Samuel de Champlain arrived at the mouth of the river. The day marked the Feast of St. John the Baptist in his homeland of France.
Bells rang out Thursday from churches that dot the river, marking the day de Champlain changed the name to Fleuve Saint-Jean – the St. John River.
But when de Champlain arrived, he neglected to consider that the river already had a name, a Maliseet name: Wolastoq, the beautiful river. The description carries on in the hearts of those who live along its majestic banks.
Contemplation Arch
and exchange of unfinished or unwanted art was made between members of various Atlantic artist Co-ops and artists made a new piece from the old. This is mine, painted over a Tyler Landry painting of two engaged figures. The trees on the left are his and some of the middle ground landscape. I repainted the scene, mostly the sky and water foreground and added a raku archway and a gold tree. It was great fun and I look forward to the fall show.
by Bernice Stack McQuinn, 1980
“The Driver Will Stop At Points of Interest”
quotation from a leaflet: _ The Ring of Kerry
The coach from Slattery’s Travel Agency (your guarantee of Integrity and reliability) is by now (10 a.m.) 45 minutes late leaving, and there is every indication of it’s being considerably later, since it has not yet arrived so that it CAN leave. So much for their fine guarantees. Mr and Mrs Flinn (Eric and Eileen), a roving Canadian middle-aged couple whose various overseas wanderings are fast transforming them from ordinary tourists to experienced travellers were in plenty of time for the scheduled departure, and now stand cushioned in mist at the side of St Brendan’s Hotel, under St Brendan’s hulking mountain in Tralee.
An old Kerryman brings a Japanese girl from across the street to wait with them. Before bidding them goodbye, he explains that the coach is very often late. More so today since the Rose of Tralee Festival ended yesterday, dispersing most tourists. The girl is Arkuro Fuji, an exquisite blossom from Osaka,m studying in London. The three of them agree that the “Ring of Kerry” bus tour around the coast of the southwest peninsula is unlikely to proceed today with so few passengers and Stephen Birnbaum’s travel book, page 709, specifically warns against attempting the scenic run if (Eileen reads aloud) “THERE IS A SEA MIST OR CONTINUOUS RAIN, YOU WILL SEE LITTLE, GET A WEATHER REPORT BY TELEPHONING THE VALENTIA METEOROLOGICAL STATION, CAHIRCIVEEN 27.”
Eileen produces her blue plastic rain bonnet and Eric teases her about looking like a new-type nun. “Loo! That child is playing it safe. She drew a line down and across her face as she went past you.” As usual, Eileen pampers his humour, laughs ; and Arkuro, as if prompted, follows suit.
This is not Eric’s first visit to Ireland. In 1966, in Dublin on business by chance, on the 50th anniversary of The Troublkes, he had stood on O’Connell Street and watched sullen workmen scoop up the rubble from the destructions of Nelson’s grand column that stood far too long in front of the General Post office. Like as not. These very same workmen had had a hand in blowing it up the night before. Only one generation removed from having been born in Ireland, Eric could see his own soul; reflected in that curious Irish psyche that never lets them alone..
(NOTE FROM AUTHOR: I nearly died rushing from my B&B to see the famous
column and there it was….gone! But people we met made it up for me by taking me to the Park….The Austin Stack Park”, he was arrested and imprisoned, but died by starving himself to death.)
The coach at last pulls into the curbside, and a deliberation ensues between the driver and the man in a navy blazer, who dashed out of the hotel and up the bus step. For the driver’s part, indecision is definitely evident. “Only three of them” he protests. “Yes, but there are three more to pick up at Killarney”, argues the other man who, Arkuro says, is the tour guide.
Eileen is thinking two things at once: A: how come Akuro already knows him and B; the driver’s right. How can they make any money on this run? If she were Clattery, she’d refund the fares. The trip is an all-day tour, think of the gas.
“But we’re expected, we must go”, argue red the guide. “This is the last day. “ It’s September, the end of the tourist season. There are further arguments.
No mention is made regarding the state of the weather, nor is an proposal made to telephone Cahirciveeen 27. Eileen choose not to point out the warning on p 709.
An hour behind time, our Ring Of Kerry starts out.
The persuasive tour guide is Charles Kidney, Bagr. Sc. He is about 35, tall and slight, long sharp nose and an experienced grin. By his dark eyes and hair , you know the Black Irish. His name is curious for a man born and bred in Ireland. Surely no one would invent it.
As the coach hobbles into sight of Killarney’s lakes and vales, it is obvious they will have to switch to another vehicle. This one is acting as reliably as Slattery’s other guarantee. It is decided to spend the mid-morning break here for coffee and scones, and get acquainted with the three waiting American girls, who are killing time flirting with the old drivers of the jaunting cars lined up for business across from “The Arbutus Cafe”. Ingrid and Jill are from L.A.; Elaine, New York….all blonds, ready to go.
First, they pressure Charles into taking group snapshots of all his passengers. He brushes aside offers to be photographed with them as he presents each one with a copy of his booklet, “The Visitors Guide to Killerney.” which ordinarily he flogs to tourists for one pound. He autographs them personally….only one between them for the Flinns….”Tpo Eileen Flinn. Best wishes on the Ring of Kerry, 6Sept. 1980”. This being his last trip, he declines the pound notes. When all assemble in the coach, Denny Walsh, the driver, pronounces a blessing, “Are we all ready? Then we’ll go in the name of God.”
Off along the Valley of Macgillycuddy’s Reeks, around the route old the swelling Atlantic, the bus, full of damp earthy odor, boasts far from full compliment:
1 driver
1 commentator/tour guide
3 US girls
1 Japanese maiden
2 Canadian
Everyone gets to sit by a window, either side of the bus, change from one to the other,mas Professor Kidney’s commentary dictates, even though it some area’s there is nothing visible but rain, streaking and snapping at the glass. When a road branches off the main route, the professor/guide explains that the reason some stopping places do not jibe with Burnbaum’s book is because rain -washed roads make it necessary to use detours. Eileen tells Eric she prefers it like this anyway. Pubs on the side roads offer a truer Irish atmosphere, better than that rinky-dink souvenir bar and trap where Arkuro bought a rosary made of black bogwood beads , “and is wearing it around her neck!”.
Everyone gets to chat with the professor. He shares himself around, curious about his passengers,m whom he mostly sees as escapists on holiday from their everyday world, anticipating some new discovery, or whatever happen-stance will mark their journey,….mark this day for looking back.
Only Eric is unimpressed by Prof. Kidney. “Something shady about him. I’ve a hunch he’s using this tour as a front. He’s an I.R.A.-ophile, collecting money for guns. In a sense we are all his accomplices. WE are the ‘Ring of Kerry”. Eileen turns on him firey-eyed, “Eric Flinn, your imagination is vividing again! Charles Kidney is a Dublin College professor. He is a man of sorrow. You can see this at once. Even though he smiles a lot, they are silent smiles, almost dead. When he speaks he looks into your soul. I can feel my heart founder.” She pictures him at school with his students, hypnotically challenging their emotions. Or she sees him as a romantic outlaw, leading a rally by raising his shoulders above the others, and tossing his head back in irresistible command, “Follow!” Be he’d never stoop to degradation.
For a time the son wins it’s encounter with bad weather and the passengers stretch themselves on the sandy beach at Rossbeigh Strand. The American companions, T-shirted in Carnaby Street Union Jacks, cluster around Charles, whispering, giggling and kidding him about all the pubs where they aree going to treat him and loosen him up. A more sensitive eye might perceive that the collegiate indifference that attracts them is the result of a jaded summer of their clones. He exudes a distance of culture, and personality, but more particularly, outlook. “You know” he chides the three sirens, “there is a pub in Belfast called ‘The Quiet Woman’….the sign outside shows a headless female”.
Eileen Flinn realizes she is not a true sightseer. She lacks astonishment for what would impress. She watches others. She often says “I am more interested in my fellow travellers than what I travel to see.” On this tour, Eileen finds nothing astounding in the spectacular heights, dizzying curves, valleys and mountains mingling heather and yellow furze on the hills; giant waves scudding water from their peaks, driving clouds of spray with the wind up on the cliffs where sheep blunder along stone walls. There is much uncultivated terrain. Peat is being cut all along the route.
“It’s a poor and lonely land, “ Prof. Kidney says with a bitter reverence.
Eileen, however, is not uninterested in the professor’s attentiveness towards Arkuro. At one refreshment break, after his usual words over the tavern counter with the publican, shuffling pound notes into his inside pocket (‘concession money” he winks), he sits Arkuro sown and orders an Irish coffee for her. Eric objects to Charles putting the make on her….”He’s twice her age”> Eileen thinks it is only natural that Charles spends more time sitting with Arkuro than the others; she is, after all, a travelling alone.
In pouring rain Denny, the driver, pulls into Waterville for lunch and stops at “The Huntsman’s Hotel”, which, exactly according to Birnbaum’s book, is furnished with dark oak priory tables and chairs, offering lovely seaviews. (Expensive to moderate). It is chef-owned by the brother of the “Smuggler’s Restaurant” proprietor.” No names are given.
Several men who are not diners, but known to Charles, pass by their table to an adjoining small room. One of them returns and whispers a word to Charles, who excuses himself and leaves the meal. Eileen speaks for her group when she says, “That bunch looks a chancy lot for our Charles to be with.”
Charles disappears for the entire lunch hour, which is a blow, noticeably to Arkuro. Eric does not regret the absence of competition. An International Tours bus drops a coachload of Texans in their midst and loud southern voices command attention. “Perhaps,” Eric goads the American girls, “you could share some of your grass with that lot and defuse them.” Horrified, Eileen administers a warning undercover kick, at the same time bent on sweetening the situation, “Oh please don’t mind him girls, he’s the worlds worst for teasing.” The American Girls quit the table to fraternize.
It is not incumbent upon Arkuro to provide amusement, or even pleasantry. She has no difficulty with sombre. Seeing a young local matron entering with a baby, Arkuro disregarding an reference, quotes, “Life is born, together with death” Eileen attempts to cheer her. “Aw, come on now, Arkuro, brighten up. Huh? You know what Eric did? When we came in, he signed the guest book “Seomra Feitheam’ That’s Irish for waiting room” Following Eric’s lead, Arkuro scares up a smile.
When Charles re-joins them, he announces time to go. Eileen and Arkuro are concerned; he has not eaten. He says he’ll take something to eat on the bus. Eric’s eyes are on the black attaches case Charles is holding. “Is that the Irish version of a doggy bag?” Eileen feels the pillow-soft leather and asks, since this is his last day, is this his retirement present, or is he taking it somewhere to be fixed? :This clasp isn’t right; the bag’s too full; what’s in it?”
“St Patrick’s souvenirs, madam. I’m delivering for my friends. Come, I’ll eat at the next stop. Let’s away.”
The most direct road back to Killarney takes them over the mountains through Moll’s Gap via a lookout point known as “Ladies View” The professor comments that it supposedly got it’s name as it particularly pleased Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting. The British reference puzzles Eileen; why mention it at all, and why didn’t the Irish ever change the name?
Nearing the journey’s end, the professor is more relaxed. In a last-minute exchange of travel plans, the passengers discover they are all, including Charles, heading for London from Dublin on the same day, the following Tuesday. Charles says he gets hassled every time he goes to England. They can hold people and interrogate them without charge for one week. Last year over 4,000 Irish were so held. He was one. “Time itself is of no importance” he says, “It only becomes important as you measure it against something else.”
Eileen whispers to Eric, “Why does he keep going back?”
“Because”, (her husband whispers too) “he’s some times the decoy, and other times the bag man.” Eileen’s voice returns , “You’re at it again, Eric!”>
It is their last night in Dublin and in the O’Connell Street Pub a hum of talking sounds, smooth music, and glassware welcomes patrons. Two silhouettes occupy the leathery banquette in a corner across from where Eric and Eileen Flinn are having Guinness. No mistaking the profiles of Charles and Arkuro—-in serious discussion— their earnestness at odds with the general light-heartedness of the place. Charles lays his briefcase on the little round table between them and opens the flap just enough for Arekuro’s quick look into it. There is positive ease in the manner of their collusion.
Eileen nudges her husband, “what is in that bag?”
M-O-N-E-Y! Money!”
“I wish I hadn’t asked you.”
“Go ask him then.”
“You’re jealous, Eric.”
On Tuesday, the Flinn’s very nearly miss their Aer Lingue flight. All Dublin city transit buses are on a slowdown strike. They drive round and round, slowing down and aggravating the queues by not picking up anyone, not even opening the door. As a result, taxis are at a premium. The Flinns share a brib ed one with a friendly young man from New Zealand, who is going all over the world studying protein….doing survey on grass and other greenery to find out if it might some day feed mankind. He says he is appalled at the painted green signs he sees in sky-high letters defacing public buildings: SMASH THE H BLOCK– BRITS OUT! Eileen says the strangest sign she’s seen is one with the words, “Penalty for Leaving This Gate Open—Five Pounds”> She has no idea what is on the other side.
Once the Flinns are through the barrier for the outward bounds, Eileen glances around for the Ring of Kerry passengers. Up ahead is Arkuro, a khaki duffle bag over her left shoulder. She turns and raises the black briefcase– a farewell salute to someone behind: the professor—he is not coming with them. Charles Kidney is not leaving Ireland today. He is back there waving to Arkuro. She moves forward; looks back again, searching, straining; connecting, their eyes devour the distance.
At the foot of the boarding stairs, Arkuro is having trouble managing, and Eileen slips the briefcase from her grip. “I’ll take that on for you. Eric has all my stuff and his own too…he’s up to his ears in cameras.”
As encumbered steps now slow Eric’s way, familiar voices of the American girls reach him, and he is flattered to see Ingrid, Jill and Elaine hurrying toward him. “Where’s Charles? Is he here? Let us help you, Mr Flinn.” They surround him; seize the carry-on bags and the Aran sweater he’s carrying. “Sorry, girls, Charles couldn’t make it today.”
Looking down from the top of the passenger-stand as she crosses the bridge into the plane, Eileen witnessed this furore of feminine attack on her husband and stands suspended in a haphazard moment of time. As the air attendant welcomes her and receives her ticket, her squeeze on the briefcase loosens the catch and it springs open. A moment of panic and discovery. Frantically Eileen clasps the case shut, and unsteadily follow Arkuro to a seat.
Eric is close behind settling bags under seats and overhead. Eileen turns to him, her voice a whisper, “Eric you were right all along about the money.”
“What money?
“In the briefcase.”
For a moment, Eric studies his wife’s solemn face. Of course she’s joking, getting back at him now. So he’ll play along, “Well the,” he says,. Fixing a broad grin on Arkuro, “we’ll just wait until her back is turned and help ourselves to a handful, and the IRA will be a little short in their next shipment, won’t they?”
Eileen shoots Arkuro a certain tenuous wary look. Boldly Arkuro flips the lock.
“Watch the clasp dear” says Eric.
Dublin to London is a short flight. Barely time for a gin-and-tonic. And a glance through in-flight literature. Eric draws Eileen’s attention out of her daze to next year’s Ring of Kerry schedule—stopping places changed– a new tour guide. “Well , Eileen, me love, it will be a long time before we ever match this trip again—six intimate passengers, a full-size bus, gentlemanly staffed, and Slattery’s guarantee of reliability.”
For once Eileen has nothing to say
The triumphs are few so far, the two largest pieces of the Norton sculpture seem to be coming together and drying nicely. (Now they simply need to be transported about five miles and put in a kiln without breaking….then fired to 04-03 of course before being brought back and finished. Decided against pushing my luck trying for a gold circle at cone 6….I’ll use acrylic. They were made originally of 3 bags of clay, cut in length and pounded together to get a large flat surface, once the top was somewhat dry, they were turned over on their boards (with help from Grant, my son-in-law) and the back side cleaned out except for supporting cross-sections.
The first sculpture is near being finished, base with one coat, need to decide if I like the matt black…hard to keep clean in a clay environment. The small sinks and stove fronts have been put together and my collection of metal objects is growing and the clay parts have been fired. It’s based on an idea I got while talking with David and Tanya’s friend Scott M. in Airdrie Alberta. THANKS Scott!)
Tribulations? Lost 14 twelve inch tiles in the first firing. The other twenty can be re-constituted, I am not firing them. They can kept until I duplicate the ones I especially like when I re start the 12 inch tiles piece. I’ve reconfigured it too, it will be wide instead of a rectangle now that I have a photo of the syncline plane from Randy Miller.
Why did they break? Hubris ,as Dalton Camp said of a certain young man whose over-confidence killed him. The breakage was caused by the combination not using enough grog and not being able to dry them between gyp-rock panels. Tiles can be dicey and mine had raised positive areas of impressions made by man-made objects. Trying to have both a smooth surface and three-dimensional objects. So now I am trying again, back to “square one” actually!!!.
Trials...icy studio steps and a split second later I’ve dis-located my shoulder…after a few bad words later trying various parts of my anatomy to see if they moved, I staggered into the house. I couldn’t lift my left arm on my own but that night I fell against my shoulder getting into bed and I heard and felt a distinctive “pop” and the next day I could lift my arm. Doin’ the dance of joy…carefully. That was 2 weeks before Christmas and it did slow me down a bit. Oh yes, and my large kiln isn’t firing properly, another element has gone.
I think that’s enough, I’m not complaining exactly…just trying to state facts. ..helps decide what is next on the to do list. We had a wonderful family Christmas and New Years…now if only the boys and their families were home from Calgary….sigh…..
Doing the “dance of joy”, finally bought a NEW, un-rusting square. Looks beautiful doesn’t it?
Almost everything I’ve ever needed to work with for the past 25 years I found in the old Warman window factory, which I use for a studio, including these very old “un-true” squares…now more rusty than ever. That never mattered because I wasn’t making fine furniture or cutting matts for framing. But now I have a new aluminum one. Doesn’t take much to make me happy….hope no one tells Gerry!!!! : )
holding fossilized river/pond bottom showing the impression left by the water
This is our second try at making a mold from a large section of fossilized “river bed”on the outside of Norton. Another sunny but ” cold on the hands working with water and plaster” day…..the end result? A great experience with my daughter assistant who discovered several fairly large sections that I could take impressions from in the comfort of a reasonably warm studio. I was especially glad she could pick them up and put them in the van for me. THANKS Laura…website designer turned “go-fer” for a couple of days.
In the photo below you can see a large section of the fossils. They show well in the afternoon sun.
large section of fossil bed
I’m home. I have a bad cold/cough and there is a tree in my studio!!!!!
(Actually, now that a couple of weeks have passed…I’m fine and the tree is gone to a new home. It was a surprise when I first opened the door.)
UPDATE:
NOW though the kiln is on, stuffed with small clay figures for the 2nd Unanswered Questions, the first Future Fossils and 12 small tiles for an upcoming exhibit in St Andrews ( up this month) something to get me back into the studio with a deadline.
A friend and I were going to do it together before I left for Calgary but life happens and we didn’t manage the colaboration. However I had bought the tiles and had the wood cut to use, so when I came home I was faced with the decision to FINISH it, or forget it. Trouble is, something like this sticks in my head and interfers with the next thing on the list. So I finished the sculpture/painting (what is the correct term anyway? Anyone know? I was told not to call my clay work, “sculptured paintings”…but use the term “low relief work”. The next question, does this still apply?) and took it to Saint Andrews and hoped they would at least show it!!!! They did.
Food and children
We’ve had a memorable summer with great contrasts….wearing steel toed work-boots on a hot summer day to dig clay and a wedding with a chance to wear my high red heels.
Love those 8O’s shoes….and wedges are back. I knew if I waited long enough I would be in style once again….shoe-wise at least.
Digging New Brunswick clay with friends and family labour, THANKS.
Geo-project 2009
Artsnb created a series of Regional Grants in 2008 to enable artists in each area to apply for funding in partnership with local business and or public institutions.
In June 2009 I was awarded a grant, partnering with the NBM to create a series of work relating to the geology of the southern area of New Brunswick…due to be completed by spring 2010.
Before applying I talked with Wendy Martindale ( Head, Community Services ) and Randy Miller ( Research Curator, Geology and Palaeontology), walked the geologic path at the Market Square NBM, listened to the related videos by Allison Hughes and then thought about the whole process and what I might do.
There are many ways to tackle any art project, from the wide choice of mediums to zeroing in one one particular aspect. Fossils have always fascinated me. I walked over the floor display in the NBM, touched them, remembered the tree like piece I had in my garden and wondered what would future fossils look like. What do we use today that may leave a mark in the earth of tomorrow?
I called my art project “Future Fossils”, and I see my job as connecting the ancient of yesterday with the immediate and familiar of today.; and do it in such a way that our humanity is apparent.
After the proposal was mailed I continued mulling over the infinite possibilities, continued to look around my studio as I worked on finishing “Unanswered Questions” (a peace project) and discovered a couple of examples that made connections in my mind to the geo-project.
One was a chunk of clay that I had fired….the texture ranged from fine to rough and I had broken it in half, chopped off the outside edges, glazed the inside a rather dark gold (a glaze given me by Sue Northrup years ago when I worked for the city of Saint John Art Center on Canterbury St.) The small sculpture had been sitting on the shelf for so long I didn’t see it most days. But it was a favourite and a distinct possibility for my new art series.
The second was a section of a wood with an obvious young tree and branch inside, I found it years ago midst the stove wood and brought it in to dry, wanting to use it as a sculpture in someway. The opportunity may have arrived.
The positive and negative about creating art is that usually you are not sure exactly what form you will use until you begin the creative process…..to me this is the fun part. Letting my hands and brain take over and see what they can come up with.
Thank you Arts NB, Wendy Martindale and Randy Miller of the NB Museum for their help.
Congratulations to Lisa Hrabluk, I am sure her book will be a great success.
and here is Lisa’s photo and the bottom part of the article…
