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I must not let this blog go. It is an archive where I can come and quickly look for things. With Facebook and G+, though, I am finding it hard to post in triplicate so that I have a copy here. Sorry, dear readers! Blog comes first, the other stuff, which disappears nearly instantly anyhow, is definitely secondary. So shall be my New Year's resolution. Promise!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxooxxo

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I can't believe how complex the structures of these prose poems that I'm editing are, and how much work it is to organize some of them, their patterns of imagery and the other thought processes lying beneath the delicately engraved metaphors. They're my pieces, but geez. Every read through brings up more knots, which I gently massage with verbal acuity (let's hope!) until it doesn't ache anymore.

I'm preparing a manuscript for a potential chap book.

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direct link: http://youtu.be/IS8fq256b84

A Solsticean video poem to celebrate Solstice and to wish you a fine and elegant year ahead. It's the end of an eon, apparently - may you embark on the new era with vigor and brilliance.
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It's not much, and the decorations are still in their boxes. You understand, I have a kitten. A kitten! Nothing is safe. Especially not dangly tree decorations. But no tree? Oh no! So a $12. little tree that doesn't fit into the tree stand and is already shedding needles like it was January. I wrapped the tiny trunk in styrofoam held together with elastic bands, scotch tape and love and made sure it was in the water under the red felt and it sort of stands up, when it's not falling over. My son, who bought it, and I strung it with little white lights. Honestly, it's beautiful. A bright little spot that I know seems so homely but which I wanted to share anyhow. The smell of fir is divine!



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direct link: http://youtu.be/w4Xs2dIt2m4

Honoured, I share notes my dear friend John Walter (poet, playwright, novelist, teacher, intellectual, polymath) wrote while watching me perform Ink Ocean (as recorded in this video clip):

"Where plumes drag through the ocean's gloom" "Salt water on fire!" This poem is a wakeup call if I've ever heard one.  "Burning despair of illusion"--waw. Your response to the black ocean with words is powerful and moves from despair to love, Brenda. Your performance of Ink Ocean is powerful and rhetorically dramatic. It was so great to see you in front of a live audience.
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You get across the massive destruction, the complete wiping out of the entire environment, with the voice of a jeremiad poet who does not let herself lose herself in woe.
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I like the image of being 'fishermen of words' , the way you blend the ocean of ink and the blackened ocean, contaminated by the oil spill.
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"Let cold salt water wash our eyes until we swim in vision." So many great lines in this poem. I felt I was right there, in front of you, watching you perform.
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Your theatricality is impressive. Your voice is a skillful instrument. You demonstrate your ire and sadness and yet do not succumb to it.
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I like the way you undulate, 'anchored in the swell." The panoply of images you present is stark, and yet vast.
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Great finish. So gladdening to see you get such enthusiastic applause.

(Dec 3, 2012)


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Because I like to keep a record, and also to show you, I've uploaded my untouched drawings from The Keyhole Session last night, the last life-drawing session of its kind ever.

They're all charcoal drawings, some with watercolour crayons, some with Cretacolor Aquarelle oil pastels. The first eight are approximately 15" x 11" and on 130lb archival art paper; the last is 16" x 12" and on triple-primed cotton canvas sheet.

The theme was The Fight Club and there were about 20 models arrayed around the room. The Madame's sense of performance, dramatic poses and grand spectacle shone spectacularly in the spacious Mod Club in Toronto.

Below, there was still time after drawing the first image, so I began on the 2nd, for which I had only a minute or two left - it's much more gestural. Except for that one, they are 15 minute sketches, with the final group one being 45 minutes.

All in all, I'm fairly happy with my work last night. My artist friends, Jen Hosein and Jacques Albert, also came and the camaraderie was nice.












Sonia Barnett, the mastermind and Madame behind these sessions, took the photo below and posted it on Facebook while the session was in-progress. You can see me bottom centre, and the model directly in front of me is who the first drawing posted above is of. It was quite an event, as you can see from this terrific photograph.



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drawings photographed the next morning in bright sun for correct colour and white balance and posted in the next post
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Last Keyhole life-drawing session tonight - though I do hope she continues the Nuit Blanche extravaganzas. This charcoal and coloured conte crayon sketch from the last session, Nov 13th, three 1 minute poses on the same page. 17" x 14", archival paper. I do have to run over to the art store to get a pad of primed cotton canvas sheets. Twenty models tonight, it's going to be a blow-out.



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Many years ago I attempted a little plein air; my then husband and I drove to parks outside the city and I set up my easel and painted for upwards of six hours. It was rather fun, except for the people who would walk over and look at my work and make comments that made me cringe - people who aren't visual artists often don't seem to understand that an artist isn't composing a photograph of the scene in paint. I've always been a very private painter and writer. I don't even like my children around when I'm working. After a few tries, I gave up plein air. Painting and writing are secret acts of the soul.

An art class, or being in a group where a couple of people are drawing (like the contingent of artists at poetry readings here in Toronto), is okay - these on-site sketches are rough notes that can be completed in the privacy of the home.

Last Thursday a friend of mine was posing at the Art Gallery of Ontario - the AGO does this every month, and he's been asked to pose for 3 months now. I was determined, really determined. It makes a difference to him to have a friend come, and I understand this.

My bag full of my favourite supplies, good paper, compressed charcoal, Cretacolor oil pastels, I trudged from the streetcar stop up to the Gallery, but swerved, and stopped a snack. And then I sat in a food court across the street for an hour. An hour! I had some delicious spring rolls from a Vietnamese take-out. I couldn't bring myself to go in to the gallery. Another friend who had gone last month said thousands of people walk by and look at your drawing and make comments like you're not even sitting there. She said wear ear buds, listen to music, ignore them. Yet I just couldn't go in. The trembling was greater than. So I sent my friend who was bravely posing a text and a photo of the Vietnamese take-out with apologies. He was really touched I had made it that far and tried for an hour to make myself cross the street and join in with the crowds.

Maybe another time.


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