Waiting for inspiration to strike

I feel there is too much of the modern in the above scene to truly inspire an artist to create a realistic representation of the tableau; however, it is one of the privileges of the artist, that he or she has licence to remove both in the mind’s eye and on the canvas, extraneous details which detract from the scene. Although the scene is full of modern clutter: plastic camping chairs, the throb of Napier engines, the cussing of inexpert crews launching their boats, the minimally clad people, the essential elements of a Renoir riverside scene are there; the dappled sunlight and shade, the relaxed pose of the sunbathers, the impressionistic aerial perspective in the distant shore line, and of course, the river itself with its red-blues and silver overtones. It is possible to tune all of this out, to replace modern with timeless, and to rearrange slightly the composition of the trees, the architecture and the placement of the subjects. Of course, all of this is possible with Photoshop and other programs, but to what end? For me, the joy of painting and drawing goes at least a short distance beyond the merely representational, it is the joy of watching at some later time, the same scene flowing from brush or pen!

We have now spent several hours on a number of occasions, by the river here at Varennes, a town which lies 11km downriver of Boucherville. It is reached by a delightful cycle path, for the most part passing through rural landscapes and wild habitat, a stone’s throw from the St Lawrence. The town itself is very picturesque and historic, vying with our own for the beauty of its church, postcard cottages and quiet back lanes- and its identity, completely different to that of Montréal. What inspired me to write about this town, indeed, to link it with art at all? Perhaps the sight of a group of artists who had spent the best part of the day by the water, sketching the trees and the landscapes. It refreshed my memories of a delightful summer afternoon at home in Peterborough, England, during which I produced a canvas which was extremely simple, but wonderfully evocative- a decaying brick wall, clad in variegated ivy. From a technical point of view, it was an appalling composition- merely a flat surface, with the whole canvas covered in the leaves, with here and there a glimpse of the red Fletton bricks to add contrast- but the fact it was painted alla prima and with a limited number of oil colours (this being shortly before I adopted acrylic) made it a very special canvas. Doubly poignant, I do not know if the canvas was scrapped, if it went to my parents, or if it is still languishing in my old loft back in Stamford, UK… the moral of the story no doubt being to keep a journal in pictures of all my artwork, drawings and paintings. I would love to go painting by the riverside, but a mistrust of oils, my experience with the associated inconvenience, and a lack of equipment precludes this. I content myself with taking pictures and making intensive sketches so as to be able to produce an acceptable studio painting. All this said, I believe there is nothing to equal putting colour to canvas or paper under the same lighting in which the subject is viewed: it adds immediacy, and captures the image in a way that millions of photographs could not.

The five minute sketch above illustrates many things, and probably triggers assumptions with those who see it. Given that it took a mere five minutes to complete, I am satisfied with the amount of information it gives me. I have more than enough material to work with for an attractive painting, and for practice, I shall be producing some watercolour postcards of the scene.

Musing on art leads me to believe that painting and drawing are like languages; they can never be “perfected” inasmuch as perfection is subjective. One could describe a scene in grammatically perfect language, accurately recording each and every detail with forensic precision- but the soul of the scene would be missing. The beauty of art, whether poetry, prose, drawing, sculpture, or painting- is that it allows a much deeper connection with the essence of existence- a reality greater than reality itself. The catholic taste for art is that it has to be perfectly representational- a painting has to be precise in every colour, a drawing should show no signs of correction, but should represent a technical diagram of a scene. Going a little deeper, it is the “inaccurate” use of colour, the adoption of pointillism or even the vaporous effects of Turner, which make the paintings sing to something deeper within, and the effect is often immediate. This is not to say that popular art is wrong or in any way uncultured, but so often I, as an artist, find myself wanting the approbation that comes with the merely representational!

Well, enough talk. I shall be updating my blog with the progress of a “finished” painting based loosely on the scenes above- and for those interested, the painting will be up for sale at the end of the summer.

En Pièces Détachées…

…could perhaps be a metaphor for my blog. As I experience new things in life, of course my blog changes direction, and notes new observations, which is the absolute intention.

The title of this post is also the title of a play by the author Michel Tremblay, with whose work I am not familiar. The performance of his play marked a première in many ways: my first experience of paid theatre, even though it was amateur drama; the first public entertainment I’ve watched live in French; the opening night for this particular troupe, and the dramatic debut for Sylvie’s cousin Sarah. Considering it comprised so many “firsts”, it was a very enjoyable play, and despite the vernacular (it is based on extremely Montréalaise characters) I managed not only to understand but to empathise with the actors. I had not realised since the days of Shakespearean plays at school, how powerful and deep a drama can hit home.

The location was L’école de la Baie St François, further South and West than anywhere I’ve yet been in Québec and not very far from the US border. The trip down was interesting from the point of view that we had never seen the lake at the foot of Montréal, and the region is very attractive in Spring. Despite the roadworks, we arrived in time to deliver a snack to the debutante, who had thankfully overcome her nerves. She went on to give a practically flawless performance, as did many of the actors and actresses, and we left very impressed with the quality of the show. We dined afterwards in a restaurant with the cast, and though the conversation was somewhat subdued due to a ban on alcohol enforced at the last minute, we managed to run on until well after midnight. The journey back took us almost as far West as Ottawa (I do exaggerate, but the huge scale of roadworks and bridge closures meant we skirted the other side of the city to arrive in Boucherville.

To add a moral to the story, I am now very enthusiastic to read the works of M Tremblay, though I don’t think I have what it takes to even take part in an amateur dramatic production. A good percentage of the ticket price went to help sufferers of fibromyalgia, and the play itself refers a lot to the different forms of suffering which humanity faced in the 60’s and still faces today. Mostly the play is a statement about dysfunctional families, surviving as best they can under the more or less constant scrutiny in the privacy-deprived Plateau area of Motnréal.

I’ve placed the pictures at the end, as I am still too tired to compile an intensive blog, having gone to bed at 2am!

 

Above: an extremely 60’s café scene, in which we learn about the principal, and perhaps most troubled character in the play.

Whiskey goes down the hatch, with inevitable results.

More scenes from the bar, I will have to research into which song the “diva” performed…

Pre-Gentle Revolution times, violence, control and sexism closely linked in this part of the drama.

Sylvie’s cousin Sarah (left) as a teenage, unwilling witness to her family’s dysfunctional nature: with her longsuffering  grandmother.

Daughter, grandmother and intelligent idiot uncle, all great players in the denouement of the drama.

Daunting?

In some ways, yes. It is not the prospect of an intense college workload that I find daunting, but the actual process of registering, choosing courses and making sure that I have my application finalised! Yesterday evening, I attended my orientation session, which was an introduction to how the nursing course functions at Dawson College; we learned a lot more about expected costs, the course content, and also had a bewildering array of options for the complementary courses thrown our way. It is the selection of these which is bringing to light a problem which has always bothered me, both within the religious sect and after leaving: that of making serious choices. I think that I’ll best make these choices if I’m well informed, so I’m canvassing other students to find out what the content is like for various subjects.

Nursing is by itself a full time course, so with my complementary courses including humanities, English, French and Physical Training, I’ll have a lot on my plate. That in itself doesn’t concern me, my biggest fear is that of selecting a demanding course, or ending up with a terrible schedule. In the days and weeks to come, I will be doing some serious planning, so as to be able to start with confidence on this major change in my life. I’ll have to get up to speed on my physical condition, as I’ll be in competitive sports with students almost half my age, fresh out of high school! My French will also need a fair bit of practise, although my placement test will determine at what level I may begin the courses.

Thankfully, student financing is in place so that I can buy my books and other materials, including stethoscope and uniform, but I’ll have to manage the money well in order to not drain our budget. With a summer of work ahead, this may be quite easy, and if possible I don’t want to touch the student loan- but with many things and expenses which we have deferred, I doubt I’ll reach the Christmas/ birthday period with much in hand. That depends, I’m very pleased with the ease with which I have been able to get into construction for Sylvie’s cousin, and the kitchen we have commenced with is nearing completion. Yesterday we fitted much of the trim and cleared away the tools, and it seems hard to believe that this trim, new room was the ripped out shell of a few days ago!

I don’t want to leave my readers hanging , but I have to head out to work very soon, and with limited time to prepare lunch etc, this is a must! I will try to keep updating more often as interesting things happen, but whether I manage this is open to conjecture!

Back with a vengeance!

This blog is very much in the same vein as my journals of earlier years; frequent spaces between long, sometimes dull entries. A lack of a definite schedule contributes to this sporadic posting, and although it may cost me my readers, I have no problem with this type of entry. I prefer to think that my regular blog readers who have any interest, will take the time to read more than the average “one screen, five minute” sound bite at the head of the blog.

One “epoch” has come to an end during this last month; with my final exam in chemistry, I have finally completed my prerequisites for the nursing program. That is, if I have passed. I have more than a feeling of pessimism about my final exam, which had several questions that I am certain I had no knowledge of. That won’t be confirmed until the first week in June, according to the professor who wrote and who will mark our exams. Thankfully my grades in the mid term assessments and the lab reports were sufficient that I should at least have a pass mark in this subject, and I hope the college won’t retract my acceptance.

With the finishing of my prerequisites, which has taken almost a year of “back to school”, things are gearing up for full time study. We have opened a student loan, my vaccination program is due to begin (on our wedding anniversary!) and I have to attend orientation and language competence sessions in the next two weeks. I have many questions about the course, some practical and others merely curious, as well as some concerns. I am still convinced the nursing program is the one for me, it is the other subjects that I must choose to make it a well-rounded college diploma, that are causing me curiosity. While I am not one who reacts easily to exciting developments, it is certainly exciting to finally be a nose length from starting on a real career, and one in which I feel I can do well! The change of career and also recent developments, have had me musing on my “experiences” with work.

I recall with some amusement one of my postings for a job with a local firm; the boss who interviewed me was politely sceptical at the long list of things which I had experienced in the workplace, though every one of them was attestable and not merely something I had “tried out”. I don’t think it’s possible to be a jack of all trades and master of none, if one takes the time to do each task in its proper order; if that were true, then we should have no general contractors, who do everything from plumbing to roofing. It does seem strange to see on the same CV that I spent several weeks selling cosmetics to Avon representatives, while only one year previously, I was sandblasting and repainting ploughs and washing tractors in preparation for sale. Even less plausible is the fact I have worked for family companies turning over a few thousand, then moved on to one of the 500 biggest companies worldwide, which turns over billions annually. I think that, as with all experiences, it is how one uses the experience of interacting with people and communicating, which is far more important than just technical competence. Broadly, most humans are capable of the same things, with the right training and basic physical health- hence the ability to “turn one’s hand to almost anything”.

If I can find how to post a document into my blog for separate reading, I want to list all of the things I have ever done for money (nothing illegal, perhaps rather boringly!) but I won’t bore my readers with that list in the main blog post!

To bring up to date on other things, the financial situation is somewhat eased, as I have begun working for my wife’s cousin. He recently graduated and obtained his contractor’s licence for general building and restoration, and his first official project is a kitchen which we have been rebuilding. I work almost every day, for hours which vary according to the needs of the job, and as well as providing much-needed cash, the job is providing a wealth of experience and knowledge of construction here. Despite occasional impatience, my boss is a great teacher of technique and a good problem solver, so our project is successful. Growing familiarity with the tools and materials available in Canada, and the construction techniques used here, has also motivated me to begin restoring the apartment which is in a state of decoration bordering on squalor. It has not helped that we have had a change of landlord, and are not sure that the promise of paying some of the cost of paint and material may not hold good with the new owners. Whichever, as we seem to be intending to stay on some time here, we have plenty of work to do in order not to feel like we’re living in the centre of Birmingham!

Roll on summer!

Even though I have enjoyed the cold, stark beauty of winter, the feeling that spring (and thus summer) is now due, grows stronger with each sunny day; as I write this, the sun is streaming quite fiercely into the office, bringing with it memories of outings, long and interesting days… and studying! Suddenly, all the long hours spent cooped up in the adult education centre last summer have borne fruit, and I’m entering the next phase of life as a student.

While it’s important to retain happy memories of relaxed and carefree holidays, it’s also important not to lose touch with reality;  the reality for me being that I have more than three years of hard study ahead, and my time will have to be much more strictly managed. As with all newbies to college, work, school, or any other organisation, I am feeling bewildered even before I begin full time.  There seems to be an endless stream of forms to complete, deadlines to be met, immunisations to be re-done. Of course, nursing is a complicated subject, and also it has been almost 15 years since I was in full time education, so I could be excused for feeling like this. It seems to be so tough to find out a lot of information about the whole experience, at least via the internet. I am following a number of student nurses’ blogs, but as many of them write about anything except their specialisation, these don’t give me a picture of what to expect when I begin in September.

It also feels slightly surreal, to be finally going to college to gain a proper profession, and I feel that the future will give me the most formative times in my life. This feeling of unreality threatens at times to take over, and has occurred a lot since I escaped the religious sect. Of course, real life is strange when one has to learn from square one. What I am trying to express, is the feeling when I reflect back three or four years and feel how different my life is now from before. The balance is heavily in favour of life now, different as it may be. I think the experience of growing up in the religion taught me somewhat to fear change, to fear uncertainty, to fear the unknown. Now that I am more ready to experiment, life is always much more interesting! At times, I have found myself descending into a reverie, and smiling wryly as I look back at my former self, with a mix of pity and regret that I didn’t break free sooner. On reflection, one of the most awful lies that are perpetrated by the sect, is the lie that people who leave are “blinded” and can only see the sect in a negative light. No doubt, those who escaped from communism or apartheid also come to realise how they had been forced to live with a counter-prejudice such as this. I don’t think that I’m better, or cleverer, or even to be praised for leaving the sect- I am extremely fortunate though. Those who choose to remain, who have a grain of intelligence, must have to silence daily their consciences and intelligent inner voice, to unquestioningly accept the regulation and doctrine they are exposed to; to render their opinions null and void, and to adopt the opinions and interpretations of a despot. It is a very unhappy situation which has only one solution!

Reflecting on life, I also feel a tinge of sadness, today being Mothers Day in the UK. I recall previous, very unhappy mothering Sundays as a minion of the sect, when my brothers would attempt to deliver flowers to our house or to call and speak to my mother. Unhappy, because of the torn feeling of having to reject one’s flesh and blood in the name of “purity” and “separation from evil” and to behave in a basically un-Christian way to people who were emotionally and sometimes financially in dire need. Sad today, because unlike so many sons,  I cannot simply pick up the phone, or Skype, or email my own mother to wish her a wonderful day, and to thank her again for being such a wonderful and self-sacrificing woman, who inspires me to this day. The blazing sunshine only makes it still more poignant, as I feel the distance of the ocean as well as the theological barrier that has come between us.

Before my posting becomes morbid, I should finish and take advantage of the beautiful sunshine to go for an outing, take some pictures, and refresh my thirst for painting!

Normally…

I avoid posting two blog posts in rapid succession, today, however, I have the time and inclination (as when one crosses Westminster Tower with the Tower of Pisa!) and wish to update on the personal situation as well as give a tourist’s review of Québec City!

During last week, I ran the full gamut of emotions on receiving a thick envelope from my college. Waiting for my bus to evening classes, I tore open the package in the bus shelter, both apprehensive and excited, to discover that my dream is at last coming to pass, and the last year of agonising, studying, waiting and doubting, is at last over. The envelope contained a precious document, my acceptance into college for the full time, three year nursing programme, at the end of which I can begin university  in the same discipline. From the moment I received this confirmation, many parts of the jigsaw puzzle of the future fell into place. I now know that I can succeed, I have to pass my chemistry exams (my current evening class) and also to have a whole raft of vaccines (the UK does not provide, or did not provide when I was a child, a vaccination booklet) before I can begin clinical studies, but it is very exciting to be able to really and truly plan for  a future career. Before receiving the letter, the suspense and uncertainty had almost destroyed my already low reserves of self-confidence, I was in fact even beginning to doubt the validity of my current chemistry course, but this has returned with a flood.

Also omnipresent at this time is the search for work. This has become especially urgent with the end of all financial aid from the government. It is hard to believe how difficult it is for someone to obtain a job, even in my current circumstances. It is impossible to gauge in advance, just what kind of a CV a company is searching for. Including too much irrelevant information is not likely to win favour in a low-skill employ, nor is a CV with apparent gaps in it. Worse still, as so much of my experience is “home grown” or non-professional, and most of the companies for whom I worked are within the isolation of the Exclusive Brethren’s “system” it is very hard to prove that I have in fact worked during the past fourteen years! I am almost tempted to take along photographs of all my previous employments to my prospective jobs, but this would do little more than present a diversion for the interviewers, as did my CV at the last interview with a local company just across the road. I accept that a  prospective employer has to appear neutral or even negative, but to say that my CV is “intriguing” leaves me with no feedback whatsoever.

One thing which is clear, when posting for a job, one cannot afford to rely on “hope” that the employer will call back. One has to become a virtual nuisance, politely bombarding the company with calls and messages, to keep the file warm. An area in which I also need to work more, is in “spontaneous jobs”. These are considered unreliable, but the hidden job market apparently accounts for over 80% of the jobs “available”. This includes jobs where friends and family members are commended for a post, or where one simply walks into the store, requests an interview, and presents the CV  immediately. The fear of rejection is a huge barrier in this case, and it is very tough not to go away with a mild sense of exclusion, almost of rejection, when the potential employer says “no”. It also requires being in top form nervously, not something I can clearly say applies to me. I have received some excellent career advice, I have people close to me who are willing me with all their might to find a job, and in fact who depend on me to do so… but that in itself is not enough. It is one more stage in my life, just as with the education, where that which I receive is directly proportional to the effort I exert to succeed. I would love to have my own  business, to make money with paintings, with photography, with a whole host of other things which I am good or accomplished at, but, at the expense of being cynical, none of the above are a stable, even if small source of income, the most desirable form right now. Of course, I do not want to choose a double career- I cannot become a builder or carpenter, and expect to work just when I am available, during my full time studies. I cannot truly commit to a call centre, with the inevitable evenings, which would conflict with my current courses. Probably I should be best, simply flipping burgers or cleaning rooms, because this is a mentally undemanding job that would provide a steady and sufficient income to supplement our current funds- and to buy all the expensive materiel I shall need for my classes.

In all this, all my reserves of patience and foresight will be needed, with one aim in mind:

Three weeks later…

and it is almost difficult to remember the sensation of walking in several inches of snow during our short stay in Québec City. I intended to continue my account of the experience immediately after the first instalment of the blog, however, many things intervened. Thankfully I documented the trip in some detail offline, so hope to share some of the more pertinent facts and experiences here.

After a fine breakfast on the Saturday morning at our ancient and yet comfortable B&B, during which we ate blueberry pancakes, fresh fruit, cereals, breakfast muffins and a whole host of other good things, we decided to make at least one sortie before the falling snow made this impossible. What had initially begun as forecasted rain, had turned overnight into a heavy fall of snow. Thankfully, the temperature was hovering just below zero, so it was not uncomfortable to set out from our accommodation and head for the Plains of Abraham.

A bit of seasonal snow was not enough to deter the owners of the calèches which ply the streets throughout the year; although we were there as tourists, we’re not completely in agreement with the quality of life that the horses receive, so we passed this mode of transport up for walking on foot. Thankfully, the snow ploughs had cleared the paths up to the Plains, and we were able to have an invigorating walk up towards the old fortifications, in the teeth of continually falling snow. The view of the semi-frozen St Laurence was somewhat obscured by the weather, but if anything, the resulting aerial perspective was mellowing (below).  The uncomfortable mix of architecture in the city (quasi-modern mingling with historic) reminded me of Guildford in the UK, where the historical castle overlooks a concrete multi storey car park and a modern cathedral.

We felt cold and extremely damp after wading through the still-drifting snow up by the battlements, so decided to visit the nearby tourist information bureau and find out where we could visit and still remain dry. Quebec’s tourism is an ultra-organised industry, and our informative guide gave us some great tips on where to dine, and attractions to see. We decided to make our way to the Muséé national des beaux-arts de Quebec http://www.mnba.qc.ca/Accueil.aspx as I had not yet explored the fine arts in my adoptive country. It proved to be a wonderful choice.

The museum housed a running exhibition on the artist Marc-Aurele Fortin, a name I had previously not encountered. I was pleasantly surprised to discover what a talent (and motif) this Canadian artist had, and to view numerous of his paintings and drawings. From the number of landscapes and cityscapes in his paintings, I came to the primitive conclusion that his style is an amalgam of Constable, Lowry and Turner. The figures in his landscapes, even his city views, are small and insignificant “insects”, walking with bowed bodies or seated beneath his towering trees and mountainous clouds.

It was an inspiring visit, and the time we spent in the gallery left us drier and more prepared to seek out our lunch. We did this at the recommended : http://www.cafekrieghoff.qc.ca/home.html

The cafe Krieghoff provided a simple but very well prepared comfort lunch, and also offered a local “pub” atmosphere. It was also surprisingly tourist-free, and we mostly heard French and local accents filtering from the bar. We dined late, and then sought out some replacement socks (the walk on the cliff had left our feet soaked, not being prepared for any depth of snow). We then walked, dried and refreshed, to see the Chateau Frontenac. The first, and lasting impression I have of this building, would be summed up in the word “ostentatious”. It has little more appeal for me as a historian, tourist or new citizen, than Harrods in London had in the past, and we did not take the tour, contenting ourselves with exploring the route back to the main square, where we decided to book a restaurant for supper.

We were feeling slightly negative when we called at the Beffroi, a steak house built into  a hotel in the central square of the tourist district, but this only slightly contributed to a disappointing customer service experience.

http://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g155033-d1140130-Reviews-Le_Beffroi_Steak_House-Quebec_City_Quebec.html

We simply felt that, as non-staying guests, the reservation was made in such a detached and indifferent manner, that we were not happy to return there for supper, and after spending a few minutes in a cafe nearby, watching people slipping over on the freezing rain-covered sidewalks, we decided to forget the unfriendly restaurant and make our way to a place nearer “home”.

http://www.entrecotesaintjean.com/flash/index_fr.htm

We decided on The Entrecote St Jean, in the old quarter just a couple of blocks from the guest house. Not only did we receive excellent service at an extremely busy time, with no prior reservation, the food was cooked to a very high standard and equal to any we have enjoyed in Montréal. It did not have the snob factor of the Beffroi, nor the ambience, but we were more than satisfied that the service made up for this, and it is a restaurant I would feel safe recommending to any friend.

The Sunday dawned with even less pleasant weather, a mixture of melting snow and freezing rain turning the sidewalks into treacherous skating rinks. We almost decided to stay at the guest house until departure time, midday, though this would have been a considerable waste of time. The effects of the chill and damp were also making themselves felt, and we both had colds. The only place of any interest within “winter walking distance” of the station was the farmer’s market.

We enjoyed almost every part of our experience of our stay at the Maison James Thompson, save one; we were not pre-warned that they accept no payment cards, only cash, therefore it was a partial relief to know that I’d packed the cheque book. Even so, this one negative experience was not enough to spoil our stay, where we were very well looked-after. Sylvie’s boots were even provided with a heater overnight to dry them out, a fantastic and sympathetic level of service.

Our trip home was a series of unsettling experiences; firstly, our taxi to the station had to be diverted when we discovered that there was a major fire incident in the old quarter, through which we had to pass. The taxi driver diverted up a steep and extremely slippery hill, and instead of easing off the accelerator when his front wheel lost grip, he simply piled on the gas, so we spent several fruitless minutes listening to shrieking tyres and smoke from the differential before we finally made more progress uphill than down. The farmer’s market proved to be interesting, but many of the products were identical to those available in Montréal’s better supermarkets. We did indulge in some locally-prepared nougat, which was comparable to that from Montelimar, and then made our slippery way to the railway station.

Thankfully the rail service was more efficient than the taxis, despite the weather, and we made acceptable progress Montréal bound. Two families of screaming kids incarcerated in the same carriage with us made it a far-from positive journey, as did the frequent stops to allow the Canadian National freight trains to pass our “lower priority” train on the single track sections, but we rolled into Montréal acceptably on time. The whole experience was a learning curve, but gave us plenty of ideas for future visits. We intend next time to:

• Hire or borrow a vehicle and not be shoehorned into a cattle wagon with hyperactive and undisciplined children,
• Take a trip at a more favourable season of year, though preferably not at the height of summer,
• Stay in a similar accommodation: affordable and comfortable, very quiet, and near to the “action” as far as tourism is concerned.

All in all: a very positive experience, though it left us both with severe infections- these were more likely contracted before we left, and in fairness, were probably provoked as much by the change in routine as by picking up “fresh germs”.

(Above) Mr Ghandi feeling the burn.