the cassandra pages

Candlemas: Looking Forward

Whether you note Candlemas or Groundhog Day or any other festival around the beginning of February, all of them represent a mid-winter tipping point, when we've definitely made it through more than half, and can start looking forward to spring. Up here in the north, we know that's a pretty far look into the distance, but it's still real: the days may be super-cold still, but it's brighter and the light lasts longer.

Liturgically, Candlemas is a day when the next year's candles are blessed -- this past Sunday the whole congregation processed around the dark cathedral carrying lighted tapers -- and it occurs forty days after Jesus' birth, marking the required time when a Jewish first-born son would have been presented in the temple. It's the official end of the Christmas season, when we start looking instead toward Ash Wednesday, Lent, and Easter.

I marked the day at home by burning all the leftover holly and evergreens in the fireplace, and putting away the Christmas cards, after making the drawing above. The lovely print of a Madonna and Child is by Natalie d'Arbeloff; the cards are in a Mexican palm-leaf basket, and that's a volcanic rock in the left foreground, not a hunk of cheese or bread!

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In other news, last weekend a feature article about my husband Jonathan and his new book appeared in the local paper, the Valley News, back where we used to live. The article includes an excellent portrait of him and a number of photographs from his book, many of which were taken in that area of Vermont and New Hampshire in the late 60s and early 70s. Although that was a few years before we actually met, the article has quite a lot in it about our later life there, so I thought some of you might be interested in the link.

Christmas is Over

 

 

We attended a Christmas Day service at St. Paul's Cathedral in London, many years ago, and as soon as it finished, one of the ushers (formally called "sidesmen"), in a red waistcoat,  stood in the center aisle and began -- in a quite rude and perfunctorial way -- to shoo people out. A woman in front of us was still looking around and lingering and he bent from the waist, hands behind his back, looked down his nose, and intoned, "I am sorry, Madame...Christmas Is Over!" and then turned on his heel and strode off. We were both horrified and sort of amused by his manner, and the phrase has become one of those repeated lines in our house.

Individual Montrealers, as well as city neighborhoods responsible for the main thoroughfares and shopping streets, tend to leave their trees and lights up longer than we used to; the lights cheer us all up during the dark days of January. We took our tree down last weekend, and the house is back to normal, but I wish we'd put up outdoor lights that could be left on for a few more weeks. The city comes around and picks up the trees on certain, pre-announced days, and then chips them for mulch that's used on public gardens, and distributed to community gardens like ours. Still, I always find the discarded trees rather forlorn but photogenic, in the alleys and on the curbs.

Twelfth Day

Holly and a Skull, fountain pen on paper, about 18" x 6"

Epiphany, the Twelfth Day of Christmas, has come and gone, so Christmastide is officially over. For those of us who still live within a liturgical calendar, the end of Christmas means a look forward toward the rest of that child's life and eventual death, and toward our own as well. The other parts of that story are hinted at or even mentioned explicitly in a lot of the old Christmas carols and Advent motets, reminding me that in prior ages, human beings were not in the present state of denial about what happens to all of us. Christmas was joyful, but carried with it the same poignancy as every human birth, and in many of the songs about Mary, in particular, later events are darkly foreshadowed. The steady increase in life expectancy for adults in developed countries, the decrease in infant mortality, and the decreased likelihood of sudden death have all contributed to less preoccupation with being prepared to leave this mortal coil at any moment. That's nice for some of us, but a luxury that's still not available to millions of people on our planet. I ponder this as I survey the charitable donations I still haven't made for 2014.

Lent, the penitential season, comes early this year, and Easter could be - in Montreal at least - still a wintry holiday. Even though we're in the depths of winter right now, with new snow on top of ice just last night, and treacherous walking and driving everywhere, by the end of January the days will be visibly longer, and by the end of February, there will be palpable hints of the spring to come. I was surprised and happy, when drawing these little branches of holly, to notice little bunches of white flower buds at the tops of the stems, developing in the unexpected heat of the house. In the studio, my bougainvilla is putting out beautiful pink flower-bracts, while snow falls mercilessly a few inches away, outside the window. The life force is very great, even when we pluck and transplant ourselves and other species into unfamiliar environments; somehow, most of us survive to reproduce, create, and live this mysterious and miraculous existence, at least for a time.

Christmas Greens and Reds

Drawing and painting a bit, on these slower days of Christmas week. The holly and yew branches I brought back from central New York are still looking bright and cheerful.

This "Turkey Red" tablecloth is an heirloom of sorts and always comes out at Christmas. My grandmother had a collection of these and I always loved them. They are reversible; the other side is simply the opposite, with the lighter parts of the pattern appearing as dark red and the background lighter pink. The other day I got into drawing these patterns; it's interesting to me how a proliferation of patterns flattens the picture plane. Matisse and Gauguin both used that effect in their paintings.

Still life with smoked salmon and dill on a Chinese plate. Fountain pen on paper, 9" x 6".

Maybe this profusion of pattern says something about how I'm feeling after the holidays, too...

It's been dark, windy, and rainy in Montreal this week, though not terribly cold. The snow is almost all gone, but we wake in darkness and the sun is going down again around 3:30 or 4. A Christmas present to myself was a lightweight v-neck cashmere sweater, on mail-order sale, in a beautiful bright pink, and I've been wearing it almost every day to cheer myself up. Nevertheless, I feel perpetually sleepy in this kind of weather -- and probably need to catch up on some sleep as well.

And how are you all doing? 

Merry Christmas!

May all the sweetness of this season fill your heart!

With love to all of you,

Christmas Baking

Another quick sketch, of Saturday's activities. It doesn't show all the flour on the floor! I think what I like best in this sketch is the crumpled plastic bag at far right. I've almost filled the sketchbook I started in January 2014 -- time to order a new one!

 

 

Scary Montreal

Complete with a ghost in the window. Happy Halloween, everyone!

We'll be celebrating quietly at home (no kids ever come to our condo -- I miss them) after a quick trip this afternoon to the market where we might get a few treats. So that's All Hallow's Eve.

On All Saints' Day, celebrated liturgically a day late, this Sunday, we've got some special music to sing: a wonderful Mendelssohn mass in the morning, and the Fauré Requiem in the afternoon, with a string quintet and organ. You can listen to that on the radio at 4:00 pm EST (daylight savings time ends this weekend!) streaming live on Radio Ville-Marie, or, if you're in Montreal, come to Christ Church Cathedral - it's free. I'm really looking forward to it.

 

Happy Fourth

Delphinium petals and a fossil, acrylic on paper, 6" x 3"

Once again, this is part of a larger painting, but when I got out the cropping corners, this is the part that I liked - partly because I'm partial to that fossil, but also because the composition and colors just work better. In the full version below, I think the leaves on the left side are too fussy and the daisies feel a little too literal - in this style of painting simple shapes are required, and a lot of attention to positive/negative balance. I do like the stiles of the chairback, though.

The national holiday up here, of course, is July 1, Canada Day, but for me the Fourth of July will always mean parades, cookouts, bonfires, and fireworks, American-style. We've been in the studio all day but are about ready to go home, have a drink, watch some soccer, and maybe fire up the seldom-used grill.

Enjoy!

Easter Weekend

The new light from the Pascal candle, lit from a fire made outside and brought into the darkness, is shared and spreads through the cathedral as the Dean sings the Exultet or "Easter Proclamation." It's a long chanted prayer that includes the repetition of the words "this is the night" with mentions of Passover and other events in the history of the Judaeo-Christian people, and also includes a beautiful stanza in praise of the bees, when the candles are blessed.

Here's my friend and fellow second soprano Christie, cadging a quiet moment in the organ loft between sung pieces to do some law school work.

 

The cathedral spire and some of the other towers of downtown Montreal on Easter morning at 8:30 am, as I arrived for rehearsal.

The men who sleep on our front porch and on the grounds were just waking up. Some are homeless, some just passing through.

Daffodils, trying hard!

And a message of hope and renewal on the front doors.

Hidden. (Holy Week 1)

It's Wednesday in Holy Week, and I'm singing nearly every day, so I'm not going to be around here much except for posting a few photographs. And, after all those Mexican posts, I need to take a litte break!

This wrought iron knocker and grill were on a door in Coyoacan, and now that I look at them I think it must have been the front door for a convent or monastery; the wooden panel behind the cross probably slides out of the way so the person inside can see who is at the door. All the buildings on that street had tall walls along the narrow sidewalk and you couldn't tell what was inside or whether they were residences or offices or public buildings of some sort. Occasionally a door was ajar, and you could peek inside into a beautiful, mysterious courtyard, or an entrance hall.

Best wishes to all who are observing religious holidays this week.