Cleverlotus Design

The other day my daughter who is in fifth grade needed to write a poem in class. It is their last unit in writing before they move onto middle school having gone through all the other forms of written expression – personal narrative, research paper, expository essay and so on. The topic was animals, and as she has said before having to write in class on the spot in a desk with a handed topic and asked to be creative and to “find your voice”, well its hard. Write what you know I said. What first came to you mind and get inside of that thing and become it.   So she wrote a poem as a fish hiding from being eaten. After all she has always loved the water.

I wonder why there isn’t more poetry in our lives. Who writes, reads or exchanges poetry now? My father’s generation, they were made to memorize and recite it and still he is able to draw on lines now as a source of comfort and inspiration.  I know I used to write much more poetry  when I was young, when I knew less but doubted myself more, and the skin between my thoughts and emotions was thinner.  Recently I stumbled across several I had written while in China long ago. They were unfinished, really just observations and thoughts but in that moment of reading I had walked right back to a different time in my life. It was the things left unsaid that allowed a way back in. And I think that is why I have always liked poetry and  have been drawn to certain kinds of writing. Spare and rooted in observation.  It creates a space to breathe in a day of crowded thoughts. To see the small and the large all at once. But even before we get there, to sit quietly, reading and letting the words unfold, that  requires patience with the world and with oneself.  And maybe that is why we need more poetry in our lives.

My daughter’s next assignment was to write a poem about her room. Her room? At once completely a banal and amazing topic. Ever tidy and organized her room is a summary of who she is and at the same time with a shaggy green carpet and blue walls it is, I reminded her, like Max’s room and when he, of wolf suit, mischief and certainty steps into his boat to sail away. “and the walls became the world all around”. Isn’t that where she is at, moving from one world to another?

circa second grade, 1971

Last night I searched the sky hoping that the Northern Lights would be visible from this far down in Michigan. You might be able to see them from the Great Lakes region, they had said on the radio. Earlier that day, a rare event had occurred millions of miles away with a huge flare on the surface of the sun.  A geomagnetic storm would happen, they had said, as the energized particles hit the earth. In the spring of 1989 a similar storm had knocked out the power in all of Montreal. I was living there then but have only a vague memory of it- a sensation of absolute stillness of the city, a walk up the mountain in a very dark night, quiet. Well, as I put out the garbage bins last night and looked up through the clear black sky toward the north, hoping, all I saw was an exquisite yellow moon rising. It was beautiful and bold and was taunting me as if to say, why look any further?

It is already mid January 2012, the start of another year and I have been thinking a lot lately about what kind of year this will be. Or what kind of year I want to make it. Last year portended difficult times from the very beginning when I missed the first day of the kids’ school back after winter break-scrambling and mad dashes are not the way to begin a year.  Then multiple disasters that hit Japan in March cast a watchful and wary pall over the year.  I can’t remember it being cloudier than usual but there were days that felt so.  Mind you, there were also great trips last year– in Montreal for the book launch, driving to Vancouver via Glacier, kayaking on Cortes Island, seeking art in New Mexico, and rediscovering New York with a pilgrimage to the Whitehorse Tavern and the High Line in November. Actually, a lot of travel.

So what kind of year it will be, this 2012? More reflection and less hurry. Less thinking about what I didn’t do, or need to do, and more where I am at the moment. Writing, drawing, being present. One recent weekend I was listening to NPR, the On Being program. A panel of scholars and religious leaders from three main faiths had come to honour the Dalai Lama. The topic was happiness, what it means and how it can be found. Happiness, said one, is behind us and all we need to do is slow down to let it catch up with us. In other words the potential for happiness, fulfillment, peace is with us always.  Listening, watching, breathing, calming the mind, being still while moving forward one step at a time -that is what I hope for this year.

(Photo of dawn in Quemado by T Brooks)

Been a busy few weeks. Today just finished the first of three holiday sale events, Homegrown at Cobblestone Farms, and despite the soggy weather a good turn out from people already into their holiday shopping. The space, often used for weddings and receptions  is in the barn on this historic property and today it was festive with white lights, nice music from a trio of local musicians up in the loft, great Salvadorean food below and a good group of local artists and craftspeople all about. I think everyone was happy about this first time ever event. Good work!

Its been a while since I have written. The Homegrown Festival came and went on what seemed like a gust of good energy and fun. The calm before the storm, since we have had nothing since, weather wise, but chilly rain and the garden is feeling quite neglected. Just as well I suppose, for me  since have been buckling down in the studio preparing for the new calendar. Am glad to report it is almost ready to head to press.  I am pleased with the images, having conceived them more as a whole this year, with an eye to  the rhythm of colour and form as you flip from month to month.  Many of the plants in the new calendar are ones I have encountered throughout the year, most having made their way into the garden or  the city via the open meadows or woodlands of this region. Some, like this spiderwort is a variety I have in my garden -a more stylized  riff on the native species.  As always it has been a  pleasure to do the research on them – discovering details of their growth habits, their beneficial relationships with animals and insects, their traditional uses and the puzzle of their naming, both common and scientific.  It is like unraveling a mystery.  As a friend once said, upon learning the full names of trees he had known all his life in Vancouver, it is like getting to know old friends.