At the Vietnamese Resto. Fast sketch in brown felt pen on crummy paper out of my purse, about this size.
It's becoming clear to me that keeping up this pace is going to be impossible if I do "finished" drawings each time, especially the ones with watercolor added. So there will be some days with fast sketches like this one. Good thing I didn't use the placemat, because a few minutes later we spilled a cup of sauce all over it!
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As the Boston manhunt story unfolds, I sit here filled with dread and sadness at how this will play out politically, socially, militarily. Some of the stuff I've read people saying -- including people who should know better -- makes my hair stand on end.
What a disheartening week, in so many ways. When will we learn to connect the dots?
Anyway, I'm turning off the computer and going home. Here are some phone-camera images from several days ago, when we rode our bikes up to the market, just to enjoy the warmer weather and pretend it was summer. Today they remind me that people all over the world are going to markets and buying food and going home to prepare it, in spite of violence, danger, and war; in spite of their own personal problems, in order to feed themselves and the people they love. They remind me of those who don't have enough to eat, and can't take care of themselves and those they love.
I wish all of you peace this weekend.
A typical young Montrealer, with her shopping bag on wheels.
The egg and honey man.
Clementines.
She always wears pearls.
Perhaps an omelette...
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Outside the entrance to the zoo (and, for that matter, outside the entrance to almost every place a crowd passes through) individual vendors set up stalls and compete with color, noise, calls, and whatever attractions they can think of to sell their goods or services.
The gauntlet at the zoo was very long and particularly creative, offering a everything from the typical, ubiquitous snacks to all sorts of zoo-related paraphanalia, photos with Spiderman and Captain Marvel, fuzzy monkeys that you could wrap around your shoulders or perch on your head, and some of the best face-painting I've ever seen.
We succumbed after half an hour of walking through this; J. bought some old-fashioned cottn candy, spun on the spot in a machine like the ones I remember from county fairs when I was a kid, and I bought a cone of real potato chips. We had had some the day before; the vendor makes them fresh, puts them still warm in a paper cone, squirts on a little chili sauce, and then squeezes a lime over them. Need I say more?
We never figured out what these were -- at first I thought they were fruit leathers, but they're some sort of candy.
Then, amid all the noise and shouting, we came upon a small stall filled with bonsai. In a quiet voice, a Japanese man was explaining to these young people what the plants were and how he cultivated them. It was like a contemplative oasis in the middle of...well... a zoo.
In such a teeming city as this -- a mind-boggling 20 million people in the greater metropolitan area -- the first impression, especially when encountering the traffic or the streets, is of barely-contained chaos. But again and again this week, I've seen scenes like this: little pockets of calmness, quiet, and beauty in which people are alone or with a friend or two. And even in the most crowded places, Mexicans don't seem agitated or numb. They are alert, warm, friendly, helpful, and coping with an urban situation that seems, on the surface, utterly impossible.
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I hope you've had a happy Christmas, if you celebrate it, and that this week leading up to New Year's is restful and a break from your normal routine...
Last night's conversation over a multi-course, cooperative Christmas dinner at a friend's house included (not surprisingly) a brief mention of the word "indulgence," but in its plural, historical, Catholic context. "I think it is a French word originally**," said one of the French guests, raising an expressive eyebrow. "Borrowed by the English."
"Well, indulgence is a rather French concept, wouldn't you say?"
Eyebrow up again, slight smile, no comment.
A bit later, as we pushed our chairs away from the table after the main course of roast goose, groaning a little, this same guest -- who had come to the party straight from the airport -- pulled out a bottle of Calvados (apple brandy) he had brought back from France as a gift for the host. "You are feeling perhaps too full?" he said. "In Normandy we like to have a small cup of apple sorbet with a shot of Calvados on it between courses. It calms the digestion and then you can eat again." There was mango rather than apple sorbet in the house, but we tried it anyway, and then went on to dispatch three more courses -- a large beautiful salad; a platter of clementines, grapes, and Quebec cheeses; and dessert (a Gâteau Reine Elisabeth) -- before tumbling out into the cold at 1:00 am.
Tomorrow: reform!
** the etymology and gradual change in meaning of indulgence are, in fact, fascinating:
mid-14c., "freeing from temporal punishment for sin," from O.Fr. indulgence or directly from L. indulgentia "complaisance, fondness, remission," from indulgentem (nom. indulgens) "indulgent, kind, tender, fond," prp. of indulgere "be kind, yield," of unknown origin; perhaps from in- "in" + derivative of PIE root *dlegh- "to engage oneself."
Sense of "gratification of another's desire or humor" is attested from late 14c. That of "yielding to one's inclinations" (technically self-indulgence) is from 1640s. In British history, Indulgence also refers to grants of certain liberties to Nonconformists under Charles II and James II, as special favors rather than legal rights; specifically the Declarations of Indulgence of 1672, 1687, and 1688 in England and 1669, 1672, and 1687 in Scotland.
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"Rémy Gélinas,
Agneau" -- small truck parked
behind the bistro.
Their bleating's morphed to morsels --
here's the chef in his white coat.
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These are the last days of autumn, and the season is going out in a blaze of beauty. Yesterday we took off on our bikes in the middle of the afternoon for a quick trip to the Jean-Talon market; we wanted to go while the outdoor stalls were still up, knowing they'd close soon. In spite of a stiff wind from the northwest that nearly stopped us at times, the ride up was beautiful too -- the streets are piled with golden leaves, and the sun was shining through openings in dark clouds.
When we arrived, we saw that some of the vendors have already packed up and left for the year. There was an over-abundance of pumpkins and squashes, leeks, cabbages, cauliflowers and, of course, apples.
But that wasn't all: to our surprise there were still paniers of Isle d'Orleans strawberries, and it's also cranberry season. Even during these late days of October, the market was still pretty glorious.
As a treat (we were feeling weak! hungry!) we went to the little gelato shop and shared a small cup of 2 flavors: dark chocolate, and caramel brulée d'erable: caramel brulée made with maple sugar. Oh my. (Merci, Martine et Ed, for turning us on to that place!) I can't even tell you how delicious that little cup of intensity was. And how restored we felt, for the ride back!
As the sun went down, the trees lining the streets were in deep shadow, but the tops were blazing with light - red, orange, gold.
It's always a little bittersweet, this time of year, but honestly, I don't know how I'd exist in a place that didn't have seasons. Life here -- and my life, in general -- is so defined by the weather and the time of year; there's always something to fuss about, but also to look forward to, and because we know that we can't hold onto the present, there's an incentive to enjoy it for what it is.
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These were meant to be breakfast, but they got painted first. We went shopping yesterday and found the markets just bursting with beautful things, and no wonder -- the hot weather has accelerated and also compressed the growing and ripening process, so that Quebec strawberries are still coming just as peaches and corn are beginning to be available. It seems a bit bizarre.
When I was eating my breakfast at home today, I was visited by a very fine neighborhood cat, no doubt the one who's been digging in my planter-boxes...
At the studio I'm about to start work on a new print. And I've uploaded some new things to the shop this week, including a small handmade journal/sketchbook. All of this feels like a big venture into the unknown, so different from a physical gallery, but I was gratified to see there had been many visitors - mainly from this blog and FB -- and delighted to sell four things in the past week, which, along with the blog re-design and your kind and helpful comments, was enormously heartening!
I've lightened the blog background and hope it's sufficient. Please let me know.
Bon fin de semaine, everyone, or as a lot of people say here: bon weekend! My sympathy to all my friends in London -- and please write about it!
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