A Brush with War in Victoria

Reflections of broken glass in Vancouver's Chinatown.

About a week ago or so when I was in Victoria for the day, I dropped in at the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria. I had finally made a visit to Emily Carr House and from there discovered that their was another exhibit of 50 Emily Carr paintings at the gallery.  I was pleasantly surprised to see more than a couple paintings there that I hadn't seen before so that was interesting. I've gained a much greater appreciation of Emily Carr's work after learning about her life through her writing and other books about her.

While I was standing looking at some of the work, a slightly older than middle-aged couple who looked like they might be on a date came in. They did a whirlwind tour and the first words out of his mouth were, "I really hate Emily Carr. I really don't understand how some of this can be considered important and I'm not one to just wander around a gallery like so many others pretending that I think it's good." As you can imagine, it took everything I had to keep my mouth shut. So, you come to an exhibit of Emily Carr as a little pre-date entertainment and yet you hate her. Alright. Idiocy has no boundaries.

Moving on from Emily Carr, what I hadn't expected and what turned into the highlight was the exhibit entitled, A Brush with War: Military Art from Korea to Afghanistan.  Did you know that there is something called the Canadian Forces Artist program (2001 - present)?

One artist, Gertrude Kearns really stood out for me. When I passed the painting she did in 1996 of a Canadian Soldier torturing a teenager in Somalia, I was riveted. I'm not sure a painting has ever caused such a visceral, instant reaction as this one did for me.  I'm not sure where I was or why I wasn't paying attention when it was first shown but I was stunned by Somalia 2, Without Conscience, a painting that was done from a photograph.

The exhibit consists of 30 post WWII paintings from the Canadian War Museum and other venues. Most of the paintings have never been see prior to this exhibit which was first shown in 2010 with 50 paintings.

The diversity of the work on display ranges from famous historic paintings by Alex Colville, A.Y. Jackson and Pegi Nicol MacLeod to contemporary artists including Kearns, William MacDonnell, Allan Harding MacKay Scott Waters and others.

If you're in Victoria, even if you think you couldn't possibly like art that depicts war, just put away all  preconceptions and be a wide-eyed, sponge-like observer. You could even schedule in a special talk by Canadian Photographer Ted Grant on September 1  that's taking place at the gallery at 7 pm.

Daytripping Mayne Island

There are few things I like better than a spontaneous decision to go somewhere or do something that I've been wanting to do. Usually, what happens is that one day I wake up, the wind is blowing in the right direction or who knows what, and voila, I know it's the day to do it, Mary Poppins-style.

That happened on Sunday. I have been wanting to get over to Mayne Island for a while now and after almost 3 years on Salt Spring you wouldn't think it would be a difficult to get to another Gulf Island but it has been.  I'm always at the market on Saturday and the inter-island ferry schedules are, surprisingly, not the greatest for daytripping in terms of the scheduling and the amount of time you're left with to explore if you plan on returning the same day.

So, I packed a knapsack, threw in a toothbrush and some toothpaste, added my flipflops, an apple, a nectarine and my camera and off I went. It wasn't until I was walking to pay for boarding that I realized, hey, just a minute, if  I leave the car at Long Harbour, I have to come back for the car. I can't just come back via Swartz Bay at a time when the bus no longer runs on Salt Spring and the buses don't run later than 7pm here. But, by that time, my intention was set and come hell or high water I was going to Mayne Island even if it meant I had to sleep under a Garry Oak in a meadow. (Yeah, right!).

And, let me just say, doing the walk-on inter-island option has to be one of the best travel deals in B.C. It cost a whopping $5.70 each way.

It was a spectacular August day. I got off the ferry and felt like walking. In fact, by the end of the day, it was like I'd become the female version of the fictional Forrest Gump; as if my car-dependent lifestyle on Salt Spring had reached its zenith and my body told me you just keep moving there you little slug. So, I just kept walking. I walked from the ferry to Miner's Bay where there's a little village, a bookstore, a bakery, a real-estate office, a General Store and a pub.

From there I decided it really wasn't that far to walk to Georgina Point Lighthouse. I enjoyed the slow pace looking at the scenery that I'm very familiar with from jaunts in past years, albeit I'd typically be cycling. I sampled a few blackberries to see if they were ripe, I stopped in at a garage sale and there's nothing better than perusing someone else's stuff with all the weirdness of it. I enjoyed the aromas of dry golden grass and nature's sweetness and scenes of long meadows of yellow grass with the occasional Garry Oak breaking the flatness. I saw empty shacks and rusted cars fantastic for photographing and an old rowboat behind the lighthouse building. I talked a bit with a man out for a walk with his son.

While I was at Georgina Point, I decided  that I really didn't want to to get back on a ferry in 3 hours so I called the Mayne Inn and found a room for the night. I pictured the beautiful old white house that was on the point near Bennett Bay. I was feeling really happy.  I know it's weird but sometimes just exploring on my own makes me really, really happy. Not that I don't like good company but when I'm in the right mood, solo, day-time meandering is just something that I absolutely love to do. As long as I have my camera, I'm good.

I walked back towards the Springwater Lodge and had lunch on the deck which has to be one of the best decks in all the Gulf Islands (although the food there could be better).  The food is edible but it's not Bruce's Kitchen.

After lunch, I poked around, got some fruit, a bag of nachos and a beer for later and walked towards Bennett Bay. When I arrived, I was shocked to see that the old white Mayne Inn and the charming country style room that I was fantasizing about, was gone. In its place, I had actually booked myself into one of those time-share style condo-things that had replaced it. The view out the deck was spectacular except my room was right above the restaurant deck which meant I'd be staring down at people while they were eating. But, the restaurant, or at least the deck, wasn't that busy and they cleared out by around 7:30 so it was no big deal.

I took myself out to Bennett Bay and explored that whole area. I had no idea there was a park there and walked among the gnarly Arbutus to the end of Campbell point with a spectacular view of Mount Baker. As I left the complex, I ran into this woman, whom I'm guessing may be in her 80s, riding the coolest electric bike she bought from a place in Kitsilano. She just struck me as the definition of "cool" with her clothes and her helmet and her bike and the fact that as an elderly person she was still rockin' it.

My room was small but clean. Unfortunately, the toilet seemed to have a problem in that it would be silent for a long time and then suddenly, inconsistently, it would spring to life, runing and ending with gurgling sounds. I awoke at 3:00 am to gurgling sounds and in my semi-conscious state, I imagined the toilet blowing the ceiling off the place wondering if they'd built upon a natural spring or something like Old Geyser.

I awoke to a very grey and rainy Monday. I got dressed and walked to a designated Car Share sign and stuck out my thumb. I was picked up by two older men who were going to the island's coffee-shop hub in the village. There were lots of regulars and part-time islanders with tourists sprinkled in. It's a great little bakery/coffee-shop/breakfast and lunch spot and it was good to just drop in to an environment that was completely foreign and watch all the interactions.

It's good to get off one island and go to another where nobody knows you and none of the faces are familiar.

The moral of this story? Do something you've been wanting to do. Just do it. You'll feel better afterwards regardless of how small an "adventure" it is.

A French Messenger in Victoria

Perhaps you have heard of that old television show, Touched by an Angel.

 

Don't you just love the psychedelic in the door?

Today, I truly felt as if I was "touched by an angel." The really weird part is that until I started writing this, I hadn't thought about the meaning of his name, Raphael, which is of course the name of Saint Raphael the archangel. Sometimes I really feel like I'm living that book, The Celestine Prophecy that says you must pay close attention when synchronistic events happen to you. And, I don't even believe that book, but you know, I'm beginning to think maybe I should. Here's the story.

I'm in Victoria strolling along the upper harbour in front of The Empress Hotel on the water side where you can look over the cement wall down onto all the tourists and the buskers and the vendors selling their arts and crafts. A man arrives to my left. I notice him when he arrived because he was alone. As I have begun to notice, when these types of interactions happen for me, I have an instant feeling before they occur that there's something about the person that draws me to them, and with this man,I felt it but I didn't have the energy to do anything about it.


If I had been feeling more social, I may have even started a conversation on purpose because it might sound weird to say, especially if you have never had this experience, but I get a very distinct feeling prior to these types of interactions. I'll just call it intuition but it's an actual physical feeling that I can't really describe except to say, an internal knowing that I need to interact with the person in some way. In his case I had the thought that if my feeling was correct, I would see if he would find a way to talk to me.

 Don't you just want to get to know whoever made this fountain?

I wasn't feeling very social or like making any effort however so I didn't. About six or seven minutes passed, and then he stepped closer towards me and began telling me about the busker we were both watching. I was surprised when he did that because I'd become engrossed in the crowdwatching.

This man proceeds to tell me how good this particular busker is and how he has watched him for years. I'm a bit confused because this man has a very thick French accent and I thought as soon as he spoke that he was a tourist from France.  Later, I discover that he is from the French Alps. He ended up in Victoria where he and his wife have lived for five years when their participation in a biosphere in the Kootenays turned out less than stellar and they followed friends who had moved to Victoria from there.

I can't explain our conversation but it was almost immediately at a very deep level and not the kind of conversation I ever have with strangers. It rambled from life after death to the connectedness of all living beings and how we draw those of the same frequency to us to choosing our parents to reincarnation and Buddhism to German New Medicine,  and the fact that this year's 13 moons, instead of 12, has impacted the weather and if you were to go back and examine the data, you would find that every year that has 13 moons has the same problems.  Let's face it, you don't launch into these types of conversations as a matter of course with just anyone.  

(Employee of RedfishBluefish making an unusual fashion statement.)

We were so intent on speaking with each other that time seemed to stand still. When we parted company, 45 minutes had passed and we hadn't moved from the spots we were in.

 Decent shot of kayaks I'd say

 These were in front of the Parliament Buildings; metaphorical Amber and Red lights perhaps.

And, for you cynics out there, he wasn't trying to pick me up. The nature of the interaction had none of those overtones. When we parted, I shook his hand and told him it was lovely to talk to him. That's it.
But, as I walked away, I was feeling amazed, as if someone was trying to tell me something that I just haven't been hearing.  It wasn't just a conversation. It felt as if he was some sort of messenger.  I know this will sound ridiculous to many of you, especially to those of you who don't have these types of interactions, EVER, but I like to pay attention when extraordinary meetings occur seemingly out of nowhere.

Can you allow for the possibility that we can't understand or explain everything but we can be open to wondering about it the way we might have as a child before our natural instincts or clairvoyance was deadened by socialization?

 

 PS: The photos have absolutely nothing to do with the text, other than they were taken in Victoria!:-)