a tray of memories

This, my friends, is my erhhhh... kitchen table... The problem is there is no simple way to put a table in that kitchen. Every wall is taken so I have to find some clever trick and for now this above is it. Yes, looks pathetic but  I kind of like it actualy!

- mostly it reminds me of when I would go visit my dad, when he still lived in cannes, in his small apartment-slash-workshop. The kitchen was tiny and was more of a tech lab than a kitchen and we would have delicious coffee and chocolate to dip in on a drawer with the very same tray on it for table. it was cozy and magical, like playing doll with your dad: best fun! ...so I am playing doll too!

The tray has an interesting story. My uncle Tonton-la-Pipe found a truck load of these trays many many years ago in a garbage dump (wonder why he was in a garbage dumb but lets move on...!) they were from Air France, it seemed they had renewed their trlunch trays and thrown out the old ones.  My uncle kept them, but was terrified that he would be accused of having stollen them ...for some reason... So he gave them away to various people and I inherited, eventually, of 10 of them and still own 8 I think... 

Tonton-la-Pipe was known to suffer from a variety of psychosis... but then, who doesn't? A great character he was. He would go everywhere with a large briefcase full of mysterious documents and would not let go of it. I think he had a sizable conspiracy theory of some kind. I don't know why he seemed so traumatized or what happened to him during the war, was he a prisoner of war? or was he too young? My dad was too young, and was sent to a youth camp where his older buddies played shoot-the-nazis, and sadly most of them died foolishly. I remember Tonton-la-Pipe with his white hair and his brisk white beard.

I wish I had known him better.

knock knock

The sunshine knoked on my door yesterday...

being of two minds

Today I left work early as I do on Sundays and speaking of the sun, it was a beautiful sunny day. I thought I should erh... go somewhere! so I did. I went to Above Ground Art Supplies, the equivalent of a candy store for me. I walked about and started down an aile but was stopped by a group of young people standing there. I said "sorry" in a friendly manner. The girl blocking the way moved 5 milimetres back. She had a coffee in hand. I said sorry again, she remained frozen there and did not look at me at all. Not sure what to do I went through, brushing against her. Then I felt anger. I was surprised at that anger since, after all, I had meant not to disturb : the girl remained undisturbed - so why the anger? 

...Pondering on that I walked up to Baldwin street, a really nice street just above the AGO. Spent money I don't have there, then on my way back down to Dundas street, I passed a group of older folks walking and talking. I squeezed by the wall but I could already see that the lady on my side was not going to alter her course a milimetre. I squeezed more against the wall, she brushed past me and I scraped my pants against the rough wall. I felt anger again.

That's when I remembered what my sister said to me once: we are, in times like that, of two minds: we want to be kind and when people take what we offer we are angry. Why? because we didn't really mean to give, or, we gave but only if we obtained thanks for it. That is "being of two minds". I vowed right then and there ; and you can hold me to it ; to no longer be trapped by these conflicting emotions.

It reminded me of how much I need to meditate to improve on things like that.

Illustration by wonderful Moebius.

brown doll

Yes!  Brown doll is taking shape and as of today she has a finished face! Here she is.
More about her on my flickr page.

butter dish memories

I was washing this butter dish I had bought in a vintage store, a short while ago. And I was thinking – I bought it because I had been wanting one just like it for a long time. How odd that it brings up a whole slice of my childhood even though I can not remember my mom owning one like this... my Grand-Ma maybe? ...Anyhow, it is so fascinating how memories work. When I hold this in my hand, I feel I am holding my childhood, even though I have no image in my mind of such thing.

I have noticed it before: finding a book and knowing we had it at home yet not having a visual memory of it. I guess you can preserve the emotion of an object without saving a picture for it. It is the emotion you recognize... not the object!

...

While I'm here, I want to mention the true story of this little wicker tray you see, under the butter dish in the photo. It came from my dad. Once he had moved to his last home in the 80's, he still had a whole warehouse of all the things he had accumulated from his life, inherited from the aunt who raised him and I was thinking as I walked through it with him one day when I was still young. "He has given us so few of his things and here he is, with so many possessions that he even needs a warehouse to hold it, in addition to his home! I looked with my eyes for something I could ask him to give me. I picked up this tray and showed it to him. He looked at it with wondrous eyes and said "this is very ...very old".

I knew that in the mouth of my dad such statement had a whole different meaning than in an other. My dad had an antique store, all he owned in his house was antique, He could recognize the era of any piece of furniture from ancient time till last year and had a very sharp eye for craftmanship, style and character. I did not comment on that then but asked him if I could have it. He said yes and apologized for the dirt on it.

And ever since then, I have wondered... How old is it ...really???

dishes drying

"The Return"

Here is a detail of a new painting I am currently working on. It is about "The return" I really want everyone to interpret it in their own way, even though it has a particular meaning for me, it can be many things: a return to innocence, to youth, to nature, to home, to the old ways... it doesn't matter.

It is just started but I am happy with the main figure's look so far.

This is my 1st large size watercolour in a long long time.

A good omen.

search for the little blue bag - and other follies

If you have ever seen any of the movies about Monsieur Hullot, then that, in essence, was me a few days ago, at the Etobikoke Ikea store, first buying 2 boxes of cookies, (that is after I had ordered my new wardrobe which went incredibly smoothly especially considering how things went thereafter) ...then being kicked by a little kid while lining-up, then looking for a place to buy a bag to put my 2 large boxes of cookies, lining up again among people with large carts full of furniture at the self help counter, with my little blue bag in hand. Asked a very robotic gentleman to explain how you scan a bag, he never looked or talked to me went to the bag shelves, came back, typed on the screen endless rows of numbers at light speed for a whole minute then left. Very Kafka like I thought. There was a price on the screen and I pressed ok.

Having payed for the thing that was for the things I had bought, I felt I deserved a nice relaxing cup of coffee before I plunged back into the arctic cold. I went upstairs to the restaurant bag in hand. That was actually more "on shoulder", rather, for in my hand was a white tray, and nothing on it, and like so I approached the register as is the surrealistic custom ; swallowed up in a long line of screaming parents and children with over-flowing trays of meat-balls, all meeting up this one saturday night in that specific Ikea restaurant, it seemed ; to pay for my coffee. As I got closer, I put a white cup on the tray for the sake of dignity. I was allowed to pay. Then they all watched carefully as I meandered around various counters in desperate search for sugar, milk, towels, spoon, with the tray in one hand, bag in the other, with the coffee cup spilling half it's content in the process ; to finally realize I don't *need* a tray for a cup of coffee! Found a table in the middle of chaos and drunk my cup with great serenity and dignity in a puddle of coffee having ran out of paper towels and without a spoon having never produced one.

you may think I felt like an idiot since I looked like one but no. This sort of place (a large IKEA warehouse on a Saturday night) is a very Monsieur Hullot sort of place by nature. I thought even though IKEA is known for trying to make the shopping experience human, even *they* can not achieve it, why? Because it is all just too big, to gigantic, and human do get lost in it, body and mind and soul.

It's time to rethink our whole society don't you think?