Return

A sketch of the Acropolis done at home, back in October, shown here in three stages. Drawn with a Sailor fude nib pen on toned paper, with some added gouache in the other two stages below.

Apologies for my long absence here -- I've just come back from 2 1/2 weeks in Greece, and the month before was a bit crazy because J. had a show for the launch of his new book two days before we left. I don't like to post much online when I'm away; maybe it's paranoia, but it doesn't seem smart to telegraph to the world that you're not at your home or workplace for an extended period. Anyway, we're back. On Friday it was 20 degrees Celsius in Athens. Today it's -4 C. here in Montreal, and there's snow and ice on the ground and sidewalks. We were forewarned, and to be honest, it wasn't that big a shock when we stepped out of the Trudeau airport terminal  into air temperature and wind I could only describe as "bracing" and a complete change of seasons from when we left. As lifelong northerners, winter feels normal to us, and we had packed extra layers in case, so we opened our suitcases near the baggage counter (like a lot of other Montrealers were doing) pulled out the hats and gloves and parkas, and stepped off into home territory. Still, the next morning we couldn't help remarking about the bougainvillea and lantana that had been blooming around us the day before, or the taste of beautifully heavy, ripe tomatoes, or the oranges, limes and lemons just getting ripe on the trees that grow along Greek streets and in gardens. As I described to a friendly barista in a favorite Athenian cafe, in Canada it really is like the tale of Persephone, where she ate six pomegranate seeds in Hades and the earth was plunged into winter for as many months. At least, that's what how Roman writers like Ovid told the tale. For the earlier Greeks, Persephone's punishment for eating food in the underworld only required that she spend a third of the year there -- a more accurate reflection of Greek seasons. Winter, even in the mountains in Greece, doesn't seem to last much more than four months.

November is the time of the olive harvest, and of pruning and burning in vineyards and olive orchards. We also saw people pruning shrubs, like overgrown laurels, and pollarding their trees, especially in villages.  Their fall has been unseasonably hot -- it was certainly cooler when we visited last year -- and everyone remarked on this. Last year there was snow on Mt Parnassus and skiers already on the slopes; this year people were still swimming in the sea. But further north in Europe and in northeastern North America, the cold has been much earlier than usual, and the storms more violent. When we passed through Paris on our way home, there was snow on the ground and our flight was delayed for de-icing. I don't see how anyone can possibly deny that climate change is real.

Last year we were in Athens for a shorter time, about a week, and drove through parts of northern Greece, visiting Meteora, Thessaloniki, Vergina, and Delphi before returning to Athens. This year we spent longer in the city, on both sides of a road trip to the Peloponnese: Napflio and Epidaurus, Mycenae, Sparta and Mystras, an amazing drive over the mountains through the Langada Pass to Kalamata, down into the remote Mani Peninsula, and then back past Tripoli and Corinth, stopping for a night on the sea at Kineta, and driving above the Gulf of Corinth to visit the Osios Lukas monastery and then drive past Thebes before heading back to Athens. Along the way we met and talked to a lot of different people, and while we had planned the basic shape of the trip beforehand, a lot happened that was unexpected, which is one reason why we like traveling this way. It was such an epic trip that in some ways it doesn't seem real. It's hard for me to process all that we saw and experienced, let alone formulate words to describe it -- which is also what happened last year: I started to try, and gave up.

But I did draw quite a lot, throughout the two and a half weeks, trying to keep to my goal of doing at least one drawing a day. The only sketch I did in color was the very first one, of a baked-goods and candy seller in Syntagma Square while J. was buying SIM cards for our phones. After that I switched from the toned paper sketchbook I had made to my usual Stillman & Birn hardcover, and sketched in pencil or ink only. Whether these drawings will form the basis for other work now remains to be seen, but I'm happy that I was able to keep up the sketching practice, even sometimes in the car as we drove through changing landscapes, and to work quickly. I was very aware of being helped by all the drawing I've done in the past -- it's like playing scales on the piano; you do get better, and more confident about tackling difficult or complicated subjects. This awareness also helped to keep me from being discouraged by the inevitable, less-satisfactory drawings. It's all a process, and these are sketches after all: a very personal way for me to record places or experiences that, for various reasons, I wanted to remember as important. Sitting down with the sketchbook for half an hour in a place that has touched me is an experience in itself that is forever linked to that drawing -- I remember the calls of the birds, people's voices, the sound of the wind, the feeling of the earth or rock or bench on which I was sitting, what I was thinking as I worked.

After two trips to Greece and one each to Sicily, Lisbon, and Rome, I know that the Mediterranean, and Greece in particular, have gotten under my skin. Actually, I suspect that they touch something that was there all along, even from childhood. I'll be exploring that in more depth over the next weeks. For now, it's good to be home, and back with this far-flung community of online friends.

Comments

[Kathy Hughes]

Love following your and Jonathan’s adventures Beth! Your drawings let us see your travels through your eyes. Sounds like it was an epic trip!
XXXXOOOO

[Rachel Barenblat]

Oh, Beth, these drawings and your words are glorious. Thank you.

I was in a frame shop yesterday (picking up four small prints that I bought in Cuba, which I had framed when I got home) and saw beautiful art supplies and they made me think of you.

[Natalie]

That's a lovely drawing Beth, especially the monochrome one which, to me, is more atmospheric. Minkey and Philip were in Greece again quite recently and you might have met up there if I'd known you were going!Looking forward to more of your Greek sketches and verbal descriptions.

I hope Jonathan's show went well. Love to you both.

[Roderick Robinson]

I've looked at the lines of latitude defining Montreal and Athens and I'm reminded I did this when I moved to Pittsburgh and found I was now on a par (roughly) with Madrid and Istanbul, a long way south of chilly, damp London which I'd recently left.

Ah, the temptation. To beat the seasons and move to somewhere warm for the winter months. I suspect this would be financially do-able given the property prices in Greece. A retired acquaintance of mine, a Brit, who is far from wealthy has done just this. But then you previously lived in Vermont and must have understood the seasons. Avoiding the Canadian winter would, I suppose, be avoiding an important part of what makes Canada Canada.

And there's Britain's stark example. Politically I'm supposed to revel in cutting myself off from the landmass that gave us Rembrandt, Schubert and Proust. But this act of populist insanity merely strengthens the emotional and intellectual ties. More particularly the immediate benefits of a quotidian mingling with people who not only speak differently but who think differently. Also I'm working on what Fischer-Dieskau regards as one of the greatest and most difficult songs ever written, Du bist die Ruh - my own hidey-hole, my own place in the sun.

Your drawing captures the crampedness of Athens, the cheek-by-jowl nature of what makes Greece Greece. Welcome back.

[Priya]

What a difference to see bigger pictures of your drawings on your blog. Now I can appreciate them better. Although Instagram is convenient and fun it does tend to cheapen things. I have to chuckle at your comparison of the contrasting seasons to Persephone's punishment.

[Beth]

Thanks, Kathy! Well, you know us and our style of traveling. Hope to catch up in person with you two sometime soon!

Rachel, thank you for thinking of me and for this lovely comment!

Robbie, Du bist die Ruh is indeed a great song, and I never sang it to any satisfaction, so I wish you better luck. The winter here is more of an aggravation as we get older -- I love the seasons, including winter and snow, and we used to downhill ski which was a big attraction in Vermont. But those days are over, I'm afraid (both because of knees and the ridiculously high cost of lift tickets, plus why do I want to ski in beautiful remote mountains with people who are talking on their cell phones?) in recent years, climate change has replaced beautiful fluffy snowfalls with episodic snow and ice storms that leave the city sidewalks covered with six inches of treacherous glare ice. Because we've committed to not using our car unless absolutely necessary, we always walk the half-hour to and from the studio, even in mid-winter, so this means crampons on boots, bundling into down coats, wooly hats, etc. When winter begins in November, as it has this year, by late February and March we've all really had it, knowing that the snow will last into April. So Persephone's six months in Hades really means something to us! I don't think we will ever buy another place in a warm climate, but getting out of here once or twice is something we are fortunate to be able to do. As long as I'm still singing, too, I don't want to be absent for great long periods of time, and there's something in one's soul that connects to the darkness of deep midwinter, and the candlelight and warmth of interiors, with friends.

Priya, yes, you're so right, that little IG window doesn't show much. As for Persephone, see my reply to Robbie, above!

[Beth]

Natalie, thanks. Your friend TC agrees with you about which of the three versions he prefers! I thought of Philip and Minkey but thought you told me their place was on one of the islands, which we weren't near. But perhaps one day we can meet there -- I think London is more likely though!

[Roderick Robinson]

Thanks for that generous comment and, in particular, the reassurance that Du Bist die Ruh is difficult. After one session V observed I'd become so absorbed I was singing it as if in Morse code. More effortless legato, then. But oh the irony of "effortless".

[Marly Youmans]

Hope Jonathan's opening was splendid...

Lovely hierarchies of little houses and big clustering around the Acropolis... I look forward to more!