the cassandra pages

Women's March, Montreal: Nous Sommes Avec Vous

Photo by Jonathan Sa'adah

That's me, leaving for the demonstration at 10:30 this morning. I didn't sleep well at all last night, so I was tired, but woke up determined to go add my presence and voice to the rally at the Esplanade at Place des Arts in Montreal, in solidarity with the Women's March on Washington. If I'd been in the U.S. I probably would have gone to D.C. Eight years ago, Jonathan and I were there for Obama's inauguration. What a different feeling on that day - never in a million years would I have expected that a far-right candidate could be elected in the U.S. less than a decade later.

I am tired: I feel like I've been doing this all my life; I'm angry, sad, worn-out. But I wanted to be there, taking a physical stand for human rights and diversity, for peace and non-violence, against racism and hate, against the unleashing of police violence, and especially for the younger women I love who should never have to fight these battles that we thought were already won. So I got up, and got going, knowing a lot of you were doing the same thing in your cities.

When I entered the metro, the tv screens were showing footage of angry Montreal women burning and stomping on an effigy of Trump. But when I arrived at the Place des Arts, I saw nothing of the sort; there was a large crowd of women and men and children, it was peaceful, respectful, and attentive to the speakers who spoke in French and English. I even ran into several people I know, which made me feel like I really do belong here in my adoptive city. After a while I began moving around through the crowd, asking permission to take photos and having my own picture taken too. Here are some of those images.

"Solidarity Doesn't Have A Border" - this woman was so kind when I told her I was a dual citizen; her purpose in being there, she said, was to support American women.

This young American woman is a student at McGill.

 

The sign reads: "Yes to: the arts, diversity, compassion, public education, feminism, social justice, electoral reform, climate protection, human rights. No to: hate, fear, homophobia, trans-phobia, xenophobia, misogyny, isolationism, toxic masculinity, and the culture of violence."

 

 

 

How's that for a great slogan?

 "Justin" refers to the Canadian Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau.

I had a really good conversation with this Iranian woman who has lived in Montreal for the past 18 years, and was holding a banner for an association of Iranian women. She was concerned about the fate of the recent treaty with Iran, but mainly upset about intolerance in America, where she has friends and family.

Yes, and the rest of us are with you on that.

And a final word from the late great Montreal son, Leonard Cohen.

--

I'm glad I went. I feel considerably better than yesterday, which was one of the darker days in my life.

But to avoid the problems of protests like the Occupy movement, it's crucial that this is the the first day of an increasingly organized, disciplined resistance, with clear positions and demands, and a coherent leadership. Our next task is to organize. We have a great deal of work to do, and it's going to be a very difficult road, but there are a lot of us, we're strong and fierce, we've have justice on our side, and we're everywhere.

Creativity, Christmas, and Politics

In December, I didn't have much time for holiday-related creative projects. I was busy with a commissioned pastel painting of an Icelandic seascape, and the linocut illustrations (still not completed) for Dave Bonta's Ice Mountain: An Elegy. J. and I made a trip to central New York to celebrate my father's 92nd birthday, in mid-December. There was a lot of rehearsing and singing with my choir for two Lessons&Carols services, one at the beginning of Advent and one just before Christmas, and of course the music for advent Sundays and the midnight mass on Christmas Eve, but we didn't do a Messiah this year, and that was, frankly, a relief. I managed to bake a couple of batches of cookies, but for the first year in ages didn't make any fruitcakes, better known here as Christmas cakes, at all. I had hoped to make some other gifts, but alas, it didn't happen.

However, during the week before Christmas I made some linocut cards that I wanted to share with you virtually, since I only made twenty or so. This is the third holiday medallion-like image I've made; I guess it's turning into a series. So...Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays to you, dear Readers and Friends!

But through it all, there have been a few drawings. I did this drawing of some quinces at my niece's house in New Hampshire, over Thanksgiving, then the dried-up pomegranate in pencil after I got home:

Yesterday I finally found a box of colored pencils I had misplaced since our move up here, and did a couple more drawings last night:

I like the illustrative quality of this Santa with the subdued background - he was originally a candy box, made of flocked paper, with a tree tucked in his arm and a head that bobs on a spring. He belonged to my maternal grandmother and always came out at Christmas in her home, and now in mine. But I think the persimmons, below, deserve a much bolder treatment than they've received here. However, it was a good opportunity to find out more about working with the pencils.

Often I do better without little pointy things in my hands, although speed of drawing helps a great deal to avoid fussiness. I like the vigor of the pomegranate above, and the spontaneity of this dashed-off, fountain pen sketch of a desktop in my studio, on a sheet of paper that already had a big scribble across it:

As the year draws to a close (uh, no pun intended) I do feel the urge to draw, both for its absorbing and meditative quality that I always find restorative, and because I see commitment to creativity as a radical and hopeful act. Not only does it affirm some of the best qualities of human beings, it speaks to a future with hope. I need to shore up my own defenses against the difficulties to come, but I also want to be doing positive creative things that say, "yes, this is who I am, always have been, and always will be, and nothing can take that away." I will be doing political activism too, sometimes combined with art or writing I'm sure (the first thing is to knit a pink pussy hat for a friend who's going to the Women's March on Washington the day after the inauguration) but I think it is vitally important that we don't allow our deepest selves to become de-railed by anger or fear.

Expressing emotion through art is one way forward, but I think it is more true to myself to continually point toward the tender beauty of the world and its people and the love I feel for them, hoping to encourage deeper thoughtfulness and embody positive emotions, rather than making dark and angry paintings or prints. I'm not talking about putting my head in the sand, or fiddling while Rome burns - not at all. What I'm trying to say is there is harmony, balance, and simplicity around us and within us, even at the worst time and in the worst places: the fact that these qualities exist is a continual encouragement, and we can always cultivate greater ability to find, nurture, and protect them. But I don't know exactly what direction my work, including publication projects, will take as events unfold, and it is part of what I know I'll be facing and exploring in 2017.

At the National Cathedral

While in D.C., we went to the Washington National Cathedral on Sunday afternoon. I hadn't been there since singing with my choir from St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Hanover, NH, at the bishop's invitation, on New Hampshire Day at least ten years ago -- and a memorable experience that was!

This time we arrived at about 3:30 p.m., before the 4:00 service of Evensong. And just as happens in the Montreal cathedral where I now sing, the choir of Men and Trebles (boys, in this case) was finishing their rehearsal as we walked up the long aisle of the nave.

While my friends looked around, I went up into the side chapel where the choir members were putting on their white surplices and waiting until it was time to begin the processional. I went up to one friendly-looking fellow and asked some questions about their schedule, and very soon we were deep into a happy conversation about lifelong choir singing, liturgical repertoire, Benjamin Britten, and the differences and similarities between the musical life of our two cathedrals.

Then I saw my friends starting to come up the chancel steps into the choir loft and realized we were going to be able to sit in the stalls: a treat that sometimes happens in big cathedrals. As it turned out, I ended up right next to the choir, facing the conductor, and across from the organ, so I could hear the performance and watch the director almost as if I were singing myself. Some of the young boys had absolutely beautiful, clear voices, and the men were professional and supportive, singing the tenor and bass parts. It was extremely interesting to watch and listen to another top-flight choir in action -- and, if I can be permitted a little bit of self-praise, it made me realize how very good our choir and our director really are.

There was netting above us throughout the space; we learned that this was a precautionary measureto catch any loose mortar, as restoration work proceeds on the damage caused by the magnitude 5.8 earthquake that struck the Washington area on August 23, 2011. The cathedral sustained quite a bit of damage but has been declared structurally sound.

After the service, which filled me with happiness and peace after a very busy weekend (that's what can happen when you aren't performing!) I visited some of the other side chapels, and took some photographs of favorite windows. Aren't they gorgeous?

 

 

All the windows in the cathedral are modern, and they are just as beautiful to me as the stained glass of Chartres or Notre Dame. The cathedral "is a privately-owned and operated non-profit organization that receives no federal or national church funding," and while it is staffed by Episcopal Church clergy and follows Episcopal/Anglican liturgical tradition, it is ecumenical in spirit. They try hard to make everyone feel welcome, and the architecture, carvings, windows, ironwork, art, and gardens -- many of which commemorate history and people from our own times -- are all well worth seeing.

Earlier that same day, in honor of St. Francis of Assisi, there had been a Blessing of the Animals. In this press photo, Rev. Baylor blesses a pet mouse:

The vision statement of the cathedral is this:

The National Cathedral will be a catalyst for spiritual harmony in our nation, renewal in the churches, reconciliation among faiths, and compassion in our world.

Scaffolds and Bars

National Gallery of Art, facing Pennsylvania Avenue.

 

Washington Monument and guard, across from the White House

 

As close as you can get. (The White House has been closed to visitors by executive order since March, in another fight with the Republicans.)

Emerging into Empire

Arrival. US Airways terminal, National Airport, Washington, D.C.

 

 

Metro tunnel, Dupont Circle, Washington, D.C.

 

Metro Tunnel Entrance/Exit, Dupont Circle

 

Thus in silence in dreams’ projections,
Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals,
The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,
I sit by the restless all the dark night, some are so young,
Some suffer so much, I recall the experience sweet and sad.

Walt Whitman, "The Wound Dresser:"