Changes

We're moving. Here is our house.

It's a dream house for us. In my mind, Diana fell in love with me after reading my past journals. In one, I wrote about how I wanted a simple life, a life long partner, maybe a farmhouse. A field. Maybe that is when I fell in love with her. I believed her when she said she wanted that life too. I'm sure her story is different.

We are really excited about our new life. Thinking of our place will cause me to pause, and stare into space. I stop, and stare into space, thinking about when I can stare into space, my space. The sky that hovers over the long rolling farm hills. My home.



We will live on a dirt road and I will see the dust of the approaching car long before its shiny metal appears over the hill. It will be an event, there are few cars. And who would have thought I would come to this place. Out in the country.

It will be quiet, and noisy with life. Organic life. Very few wailing sirens. We will still have a life in the city as well, but at least we know we have a sanctuary.

I leave our present apartment with an unfinished Ganesha. I gave a small push to finish him but quickly decided to let this painting run out on its own. Procrastination? The spirit of it all. He helped a lot.



I'm not sure what to do, or what he wants. I will take him to the new space. He helped get it, so he should decide where he stands. There will be more after him. We both like the idea of Goddesses in our garden.

Lakshmi will not be forgotten either. She kept things patient, and graceful. Ganesha can be a little hotheaded. He moves very fast, all the while staring you down. This Lakshmi was very young and her innocence helped keep me light.




I move out of this room. My Studio. It's one more I will remember. I did some good work in here. So I say I won't miss anything about this place but I will have some memories.



My new studio.

Ganesha

I am working on another Ganesha. This is him in progress. I have painted him a number of times in the last year. I made about forty small ones to give guests of my wedding.

Diana says its an english(ized) version. We both comment on the busyness of Indian art. We live in Scarborough in an area rich with images from Southeast Asia. I have had a strange connection to Indian culture most of my life. Indian food is my favourite.

We live in an area populated by Indian, Sri Lankan, and Pakistani people, so the food is really hot. Really really hot.

Yesterday I was picking up some chili chicken. I like spice, and the guy behind me was describing how spicy he wanted his dish. "Very dry, very very dry very hot. No sweet. Tell your Auntie, he said, she knows. He was so insistent.

We are in an old style "Canadian Chinese" restuarant that has been converted to "South Indian Chinese Pakistani and Roti". There is sanskrit and many people tucked into small restaurants getting the day's takeout. I'm still not sure where the Roti comes from.

When we moved into this area and got takeout the first time, we burned the crap out of our mouths. "We like Indian Food" we said. We are going to love this place. The smells are so good and look at all the places to eat.

A mean trick on us, we thught. The food is way too hot and even inedible. We can't take some of the heat. We admit it. All the years I have seen macho people prove they can eat spice, they have nothing on the people around here.

The guy at the counter last night was a black man with an accent I can't place. We don't even try anymore. Everyone looks different. Different from us and each other. There are many shades of brown.

Spice aside, the flavours are wonderful. I pick out the chili's in the chili chicken. It comes with extra and I am picking them out. I can't imagine pouring more on. The chilies themselves are deadly. At first a burst of refreshing flavour, followed by escalating, I can't believe it's getting more intense, outright pain.

We have it about once a week, it's delicous. The only food I both fear and crave.

There is a large mix down here in South Scarborough. When I was a kid I came here to play hockey and later when the subway opened I travelled here many times to go downtown. I grew up 10kms to the north. There wasn't much out here then. The same strip malls still exist, just different signs.The No Frills grocery store dominates.

I'm glad we are getting out though. We are moving to the county. We will still have a place in the city. We are splitting a house with Diana's sister in East York. That neighbourhood is kind of scary in a desparate kind of way. A lot of people looking to take advantage any way they can.

Here, it's the melting pot. New Canadians. I came here with a question in my mind of why I paint these images. I guess I am part of the melting pot. I am affected by what I hear and see. I express it onto the canvas.

Drawings

Thought I would show some drawings.
I'm organizing my iphoto on my MAC so I have good documentation of everything. I'm excited as its all coming together nicely. I'm excited about using this forum, the blog, as a platform for my voice. It's perfect for my type of personality.

It's important to me to be honest as I can here. It's an experiment to a certain degree. I can express myself how I choose here. I must still be aware of a potential audience but I can't let that get in the way. It's like having an ongoing show and eventually there would be a lot of content.

I have a need to express to the public my interpretation of the world. It's my job. I take it seriously. It makes me feel a part of society. A contributing factor. I like my seclusion but we are still social animals. A connection is found.

I am not going to send my work into a gallery. I am not putting that process down. I just want to find another way.

I want to show outside in the trees. I want an alternative space. Throw in a little performance. I want a spontaneous place. A place where passers by might stop for a second. Try to comprehend the unusual site. See the humour, the beauty. The reflection.

Sweet Spot

I hesitate to say I am struggling. I hesitate to come here after some time and whine. I am sketching, which is good but it means I am not painting. 

Not necessarily bad, but I am much happier when I am in the middle of a painting than when I am drawing. 

Painting seems more important. And I guess it is. Maybe I am happier because it feels more like a means to an end. Drawing is continuous perhaps. Income can come from painting easier than drawing. My drawings are more personal? No not really. 

I am more confident and there are less decisions to be made when drawing.  I want to stop saying I am not painting when I am not painting. I do a lot of things, and sometimes they are all going, and sometimes only a few, and sometimes none. Mostly I stay away from none. Drawing is the ember I carry from rainstorms in the forest. It all comes down to scratching.

And I love painting and I miss it. Such a silly notion given its proximity. Ah but I am my own worst enemy as they say. That said this morning I went on about how my drawings are much better than my paintings.  Destiny says its the easy way for me. To go off in a corner and draw. 

Focus. Let the scratching begin. The pen, and lately the pencil, are the quick easy route to settling me down. I will admit.

I scratch away with sharp lead, and soon the paper will open up, and I will be inside.  

Inside, where the minute becomes orchestral.

Every perception sharply poised

So like a fisher I wait. 

Like the Blue Heron... still... like a rock.

Lake Path

Rainy Bog

Diana's smile

Into the Trees

Cherry Beach

Shiva