Rodin

In the fall of 2006, my mom and I visited the Auguste Rodin exhibit at the WAG. Besides the “Thinker” and “The Kiss” I didn’t know much about his work.

Rodin’s bronzes were impressive. They were harsh and beautiful at the same time. Their rough texture made you feel the emotional state of the subject (love, passion, sadness, tension). I wanted to touch one. Run my hands over it, feel the smoothness, the bumps and try to imagine what he was thinking while sculpting it. Not touching was torture.

His subjects seemed more real than a Michelangelo. Don’t get me wrong, seeing a real Michelangelo will be a dream come true, but his subjects are the embodiment of human perfection. Rodin’s are almost grotesque in comparison. The feet and hands are way too large and everything looks harsh. It’s like Rodin’s pieces are the working class to Michelangelo’s upper class.

After seeing the exhibit, I wished I had the talent to sculpt. To take a big piece of clay and chip away at it to create something (besides a smaller piece of clay). I would love to sculpt the human form. But sculpting is all about removal and I cannot do that. I’ve tried many times, and it’s just not something I can figure out. I guess I’m more about addition. I have been blessed with the ability to look at a blank canvas and add to it to form an image, but never have I been able to subtract. Maybe that’s the difference between painters and sculptors. When you paint, you add. When you sculpt, you subtract. You have to chip away to form your image.

Back in high school I would take clay, form individual pieces and try to stick them together. It always ended in disaster. Oh well.

If you ever get a chance to see a Rodin exhibit, do it. You will not be disappointed. Just don’t touch! (Or at least not when security is watching.)

Frida

Frida Kahlo is one of the greatest artists I have laid eyes on. I didn’t used to think so. I would look at her paintings in art books and think “nice unibrow.” Her paintings didn’t interest me. They were colourful for sure, but otherwise they looked boring and depressing. Seriously, how many self portraits can a person paint?

I changed my opinion awhile ago. I was in Vancouver visiting a friend and on a day she had to work I went to the art gallery. The main exhibit was showcasing the work of three women, Kahlo, Georgia O’Keefe and Emily Carr.

O’Keefe was the reason I went. I love her orchid paintings and wanted to see some in person. Once there though, I was disappointed to discover they only had her adobe paintings.

I was starting to think the exhibit was a bust (never been a fan of Carr) until I ventured into the Kahlo wing. I was struck. I couldn’t look away from her paintings and spent a long time in front of each one. They were all self portraits and the unibrow was still very prominent, but the depth in her gaze was jarring. It made me sad. I didn’t know anything about her life, but looking at those paintings told me that it was not a happy one. To this day, I can still remember the pain I saw on the canvas. To think that something that beautiful could be so painful to look at. All the paintings I saw were similar in that they had the vibrant colours of Mexico surrounding a woman in absolute pain.

I never saw the movie about Kahlo’s life that came out a few years ago. Not sure I want to. Sometimes you don’t need to know everything about a subject. Seeing the movie might ruin the experience I had. For me, watching a biography on an artist is not always necessary as their life is depicted in their work. You just have to look for it. Maybe it’s not the correct version of their life, but it’s the one you imagine.

You're gonna need a bigger boat

Tomorrow, my sister Sherri is coming out to the beach to spend the night. It’s our first night together in the new house.

We are going to watch Jaws, a family tradition. We’ve been watching it together for as long as I can remember. It’s one of her favourites, which is funny since it scared the crap out of her as a child.

You see, my parents took her to Jaws when she was 6 years old. I have no idea what they were thinking?! After seeing it, she was frightened of the bath! It was a traumatic summer for her after that since we practically lived on the beach. I could even tease her about the existence of the elusive “Lake Winnipeg Shark” and it would freak her out.

But a few years ago, when we were in the Dominican Republic, she did what I always thought was impossible for her. SHE SWAM WITH SHARKS! If you know her, you would have been shocked. I certainly was. But she did it and she had the time of her life. It was awesome.

She didn’t even mention the need of a bigger boat.

What a difference an hour makes

I just spent a wonderful evening with my mom’s friends.

I have to preface this by saying I was in a horrible mood before going to my aunt’s for dinner tonight. I just had a tonsillectomy and for the last couple of days I’ve had an extremely sore jaw that has made me grumpy.

My bad mood was completely erased once I got to my aunt's. You just cannot stay grumpy around these people! They are hilarious and crazy and make you laugh constantly. You will never see a group of people having more fun together. I ended up having an excellent time tonight. There was even some spontaneous polka dancing going on! (I ran from that)

I also had a great conversation with Cummy, a longtime family friend and distant relative. He’s 81 and you would be shocked by that number if you met him. He is a spry guy. I’ve been calling him an “old coot” for years and it totally fits. He’s set in his ways and usually starts a sentence with “Well, in my day…”

At one point in our conversation I ask him how he’s feeling. He turns to me and says “You know Kirsten, I’m doing really good. I have the greatest friends. Nothing is better than being with this bunch.” He then goes on to say he has no idea if he will be here for two months or twenty years and all he wants is to enjoy whatever time that is with his friends. Love him!

That’s my evening, ended up better than expected.

FAIL

I was a total failure in university and I don’t care.

When I was a child I wanted to be a marine biologist. No joke! This prairie girl wanted to swim in shark cages and help save the whales. I loved the sea, even though I had never been in it. So imagine my elation when UBC accepted me. I was going by myself and was extremely excited.

When I arrived the excitement quickly faded. I was scared. I had never been away from my friends or family. I felt alone. I spent my first week crying before I went to sleep. I missed my parents. I missed my friends. I started to wonder why I left them in the first place. Why would I leave the comfort of home to come to a place where I knew no one? I was homesick.

After that first week, I bucked it up and started to meet people. I just couldn’t keep wallowing in the self pity. Once I set my mind to it, I started meeting people easily. I met so many different types of people and began loving the experience. Everyone was so unique and it was thrilling to get to know them, where they came from, where they wanted to go.

My year there became a life learning experience. It enabled me to open up and see people differently. You could sit and laugh and joke all night or you could get into a rampant debate. Both were good. You found friends that you could rely on, who would help you study (or so I’ve heard) and would understand you when you were missing home.

After that first week, I loved every minute!

University is a blank slate. It’s not even similar to high school. Why is this? Is it because we are all in the same boat; just wanting to connect with others, think for ourselves, have a unique voice that will be heard? In university you are encouraged to have your own opinion, to not let anyone speak for you. It’s refreshing! The experience is like no other for that. It becomes so much more than studying.

Well, I digress, I should be telling you about my failure. I took first year science courses and here’s something not everyone knows… I got 10% in Calculus! Is that even possible you say? Yes. I did that. Not even remotely proud of that number.

I ended my first year of university with horrible grades (failed all but two classes) and a lifetime experience I will never forget. I think of those times often and I wonder what person would I be without that failure? I don’t want to know actually. I might have been a failure at studying for exams, but I found that I was a success at being an independent person who can do things for herself.

I also learned that I will never succeed at everything, but I tried, and sometimes that’s the hardest thing to do. I’m not proud of the waste of my parents money, but if its any consolation, they did pay for a life experience and invested in the person that I would eventually become. I know my mom is proud of that and my dad would have been too.

Everything in life happens for a reason, so the fact that I didn’t continue with my childhood dream was a blessing. If I didn’t fail, I would have stayed at UBC and got a coastal job and probably wouldn’t have been with my dad for the last years of his life. Thinking about this makes me so glad I didn’t become a marine biologist. I wouldn’t give up that time with my dad for anything.

I had a friend tell me recently that he hates failure. But then he changed it to say, “maybe its not failure I hate, but the embarrassment of failure.” How true is that! I fail at something every day. I don’t care when no one sees it, but it is so hard to fail in front of others. Well, here you all go, here’s my failure… I got 10% in Calculus!!! You can’t fail much worse than that. (Oh and 45% my second time around.)

This one's for Denise...

The night was sultry.

Ah, beach life!

From Saturday, August 22:
Its 6:30 a.m. and I find myself wondering what to do this beautiful morning. It’s sunny and breezy, a great combination.

A morning walk into Gimli is the decision. I put the iPod on, tie the laces tight, and away I go. I find myself enjoying every minute. I love to walk, it's a great way to reflect upon your day (or in this case, plan the day ahead). I walk through Loni Beach and into Gimli, walking as close to the water as I can. I walk to the very end of the Gimli pier.

On my journey back, I pass two teenage boys carrying fishing poles and a small tackle box. It’s nice to see. No electronic gadgets in sight. Just two buddies going to do a little fishing before continuing on their day. It struck me when I saw it. It’s funny, I think you get to an age that when you see kids doing things you did when you were that age, you have to stop, smile and appreciate it. With how quickly things change and evolve in this world it was nice to see that the basics – a good friend, a fishing pole and endless conversation – are still enjoyed.

Happy Monday!

When you have a day like today, you stay inside and start a blog. I'd rather be swimming though.

Life is either a great adventure or nothing

Well, I finally decided to start a blog. This past year I have been thinking off and on about starting one and since becoming a Twitter addict, I think this is just a natural evolution. So here we go… here are my ramblings about life, art and anything else that catches my fancy (in more than 140 characters).

I guess, for those who don’t know, a little about me would be in order. I’m in my thirties; I have a career I enjoy, a house that I love, and friends and family that I adore. Those are my necessities, but there is so much more out there too. I love, love, love art, any kind, it doesn’t matter. If someone has created something, I want to see it, read it, hear it or touch it. I think it’s a sad life to live if you don’t enjoy art, whatever it may be.

I also want to thank two friends who have inspired me. Clancy and Anna have been delighting me with their blogging for some time now. It’s a nice way to get a glimpse of the real them.

So the adventure begins…