first snow

there is something so wonderfully heartwarming and yet also deeply melancholic about the quiet beauty of the first snowfall. the lure of pure white, blanketing the muted browns and already barren landscape as if giving permission to hibernate and rest. marking the change of seasons and yet also distilling that change into one silent and suspended moment. the lure of pure white when it is still magic, the air fresh and crisp and remarkably warm, before the drudgery of the northern season unapologetically sets in.

i wish i could have stood in that reverent moment, looking out at my favourite snow-covered spruce trees, just a little while longer....

intention(s)

i started this week with intention(s)—i won’t call them good; i want only to say that i set out with intention, with purpose and plans and the mind to see them through, only to be impeded by falling ill with a common cold and the body aches, chills, and fatigue that came with it. sometimes life simply interrupts our plans and we have to accept it with grace, perhaps even interpreting the interruption as a sign that we need to slow down, take pause, or otherwise make a change in our lives; other times these interruptions become excuses that we attempt to use as reasons to justify our failures, faults, or nonperformances.

as i failed to meet some of my goals and deadlines this week, spending a lot of time resting in bed, i thought more deeply about what it means to live with intention—to live everyday with purpose and meaning, according to one’s own beliefs, values, and convictions, whatever they may be. i will refrain from saying living authentically, because i am not sure that i know what that really means or that i even believe in “authenticity” or an “authentic” mode of being, which has become something of a catchphrase in the blogging and other communities where it is embedded in discussions of transparency, uniqueness, and speaking from you heart and in your own voice in a way that is unique and unforced rather than unoriginal and contrived—a notion that i find highly problematic.

there is a discourse in my field of study (contemporary art history) around the impossibility of “presence” and authenticity in the visual arts that inhibits me from taking notions of “authenticity” or “authentic” meaning and expression seriously. i am not talking about the authenticity of a work of art in the sense of identifying its maker and provenance, but of the discourses of authenticity that develop around particular art movements and forms, of the notion of authenticity as a value possessed by a work of art as a result of the “authentic” expression of it its maker. while modernist art discourse is well known for having claimed this so-called authentic expression for modernist painting and sculpture, i am thinking more specifically of interrogations of claims for the authenticity and “presence” of live art, that a live art performance is somehow more truthful or “authentic” than its documentation. just like there is no “original” body outside of discourse, so too there is no “original” live art event that can somehow be retrieved or known, that we can refer to in order to confirm the true meaning of a performance work (i have to credit my supervisor, Amelia Jones, here, whose scholarship and thinking on contemporary art, performance, the body, and identity never fails to influence on my own thinking on these subjects).

my investedness in this kind of scholarship means that i necessarily separate living a life of intention from one of authenticity, however superficial such a separation may seem. simply put, i am suspect of notions of being “true to oneself,” of being “true to one’s own personality, spirit, or character” despite external influences and pressures, as if such a definition is self-evident or even possible given the cultural influences and media with which any notion or sense of self is necessarily entangled. the contemporary discourse of authenticity suggests that there is an authentic, true, unmediated, original self that we can somehow magically access without any external influence and share with the world, say through the pure, uncontrived and unfiltered form of social media. right. see why i’m skeptical? despite my skepticism, however, i do believe that we can choose to live with intention, to mindfully choose how we live each day—or at least, attempt to choose how we live each day and according to what values.

most of the time, i think i really do with with intention, purpose, and thoughtfulness, but then i have one of those days that seems to magnify my shortcomings and failures and seeming inabilities to “do” certain things, idly allowing time to pass or things to happen without taking full control—one of those days that makes me feel like i need to try to be a better human, where i take notice of all the good and beautiful things that i don’t deserve.

i am not sure where i am going with all of this, and i certainly do not have all the answers. but what i can do is try to be the best person i can be, with constant, conscious effort, and in ways both big and small. i can be honest with both myself and with others; i can be transparent about how i live and do things without making some grand claim for authenticity, the very notion of which necessarily and falsely implies a dichotomy between authentic and inauthentic living.

on change and rest and things to come

"Rest and be thankful." - William Woodsworth

"Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop." - Ovid

while i've been absent from this space over the past two months, things have transitioned from a seeming state of upheaval to one of rest. without warning, andrew and i introduced some big and fast changes into our lives—although now that things have had time to settle, the changes don't feel so big. there have been so many things that i've wanted to share in the interim, so many images i've wanted to post, words i've wanted to write, and updates i've wanted to make, but i felt this strange responsibility to account for my absence and fully explain the changes before i could do so.

in one of those serendipitous sequence of events, where the decision almost seemed to make itself, we decided to leave Renfrew County and make our lives elsewhere, closer to the city but still outside of city limits. part of what precipitated this decision was our discovery of a hidden black mould problem in our country apartment, which had without a doubt been negatively affecting our health and mental states. but more than the immediacy of the mould problem, we also knew that we had to plan for the future, in advance and before it hit us hard. which meant andrew leaving the bush to take a new, better-paying (although still forestry-related) job that would allow me to focus on finishing my PhD while also having easier access to the city and its resources. and finally, we simply needed a larger, more appropriate and productive space, where i could more effectively work from home and where we weren't tripping over each other, the animals, and all of our stuff. we realized that we were expending far too much energy trying with everything we had to make things work, and it simply wasn't working. we needed more than anything to make a change, and so we did. but part of making that change also meant admitting a lot of hard truths to ourselves.

and so here we are, over a month later. we are still in limbo, living out of suitcases and boxes with our three animals in the attic of my in-laws' 180 year-old stone house overlooking the St. Lawrence River, as much as i am embarrassed to admit it. but i think it goes without saying that we've all been there in one way or another. you swallow your pride, take your alms with a thankful quietude, gather your resources and make your way. more than feeling ashamed, i am humbled and thankful that i have been allowed this rest. for the first time in all of our moving adventures, we have been able to take the time to find the right place to live, to steadily choose the place that we want to call home. and i think we found it—a charming two-storey apartment in an historic red brick house built in 1880 in Prescott, Ontario. like any place, it's not without its faults and quirks, but i think it is going to give us what we need. we don't move in until October, but for now the feeling of having found a place and having something tangible to look forward to is enough. the fruit of the decision we spontaneously made over two months ago awaits us, and once it is ours everything will have been worth it.


the first photo is a scene from my mother-in-law's effortless garden, which i am blessed to experience every day while we stay here, and the second is a view of the backyard at your new place. i love the installation of empty frames hanging from the arbour and even had a discussion with our new landlord about the institutional and discursive function of frames in art history—yes, i totally geeked out.

spring equinox // double exposure

today is the Spring Equinox, that fateful day filled with equal hours of light and darkness, where day and night are held in perfect balance. more than the "first day of spring," it is a moment of pause followed by what is perhaps the most cherished seasonal shift for those who live in the North; a promise that budding growth and long, sun-filled days will emerge from beneath the frozen landscape—even if not precisely on this seemingly arbitrary day. while it snowed most of the day here, the light seemed almost tireless, uplifting. for me, that's what today signals most: the coming of light, the reassurance that soon the light will outlast the darkness and we will be able to emerge from hibernation and shed our heavy layers. captivated by this promise, the feeling i had today was one of dissolving into nature, of dreamy double exposures, subtle florals, and soft, enchanting light. 

photo sources: one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve

taking time

i have been somewhat of a ghost around here lately, i know. the transition into the new year was a difficult and emotional one for our little family as we endured a significant loss. time stopped for awhile. everything became quiet and still as we took the time that we needed and allowed ourselves to grieve, wrapped up in a world away from here. 

i have also been hard at work on a number of projects, keeping them mostly to myself during this time of solitude and repose. but i am happy to announce that BIG changes are coming to this ever-evolving space as part of a larger re-branding project. i feel good about where it's headed; where i'm headed. it feels much more 'me.'

here is a little peek.

until it is time, 

sara

p.s. Jane's thoughtful post came at the perfect time for me as i was wrestling with my own emotional terrain and when and how to return to this space in a way that felt right, that felt honest. hopefully you will find something in it, or take something out of it, too.

winter reflections + tidings

since moving to a country environment, i have started to track the seasons in a way i never have before, even though growing up in the North i have always felt so intimately connected to, and affected by, their ebbs & flows. while i have always been detail-oriented, taking notice of the little things that often go overlooked, the past year has changed me. out here, away from the noise of the city, i have learned to slow down. to pause in the middle of the woods and simply listen, taking in my surroundings with every breath and sense in my body; to take a break from my research and writing and wander outside simply to stand in the middle of a snowfall, feeling the cold, soft flakes on the skin of my face as i look up—and not only once in awhile, but regularly, at every opportunity. slowing down and taking pause is something i deeply respect about winter, even in its turbulence when it snows us in, stranding or preventing us form going anywhere. it is a season capable of teaching us how to take small steps towards a slower, more thoughtful and meaningful life.

since the first snow last month, winter has started and stopped countless times, moving from cold temperatures back to warm ones before plunging once again into deep cold; from light snow barely dusting the ground to heavy snowfalls, rain, freezing rain, hail, and still more snow, creating sheets of ice and hardening the earth—what have become the frenzied characteristics of a bipolar Canadian winter. but in whatever form, winter is here (to stay) and i welcome it. just this morning we woke up to a fresh blanket of snow, renewing the winter landscape and prompting me to go outside and, as contrived as it might sound, take in the fresh beauty. to take a wonderful little moment to myself. 

while i know i will grow tired of the cold in the coming months, the magic has only just begun, making me feel like i am experiencing winter again for the first time. the startling, frigid beauty contained in the smallest of details: a delicate snowflake, soft snow adorning the branches of pine and spruce, a frozen bud or needle closed in on itself, frosted treetops, an icicle frozen in time like a distant memory, jack frost quivering on windowpanes, frost-covered eyelashes and beards, gently falling snow that seems to hang, unmoving in the air; the way that snow changes the light, producing a field of colours and the most amazing range of whites and greys in what at first seems to be a barren, colourless landscape.

and so maybe my photos are overdone or seem a little tiresome, but they celebrate something simple and yet monumental, something dear to those who live here: a still & quiet beauty, a wonder contained deep within the winter landscape, but that also shimmers so visibly across its surface as it reaches out with open arms. there is a strange comfort in winter, as if it wraps us up and gives us permission to slow down, even if only for a short while.

for those of you dreaming of a white Christmas, i suppose this glimpse into a winter wonderland is my humble gift to you. a gift of beauty & wonder as we nestle in to celebrate the holiday season with the ones we love. as we try to slow down.

i also want to take a moment to thank you for visiting my blog this past year, for sticking around and engaging with its original content as i have worked hard to construct something thoughtful and meaningful. i have been reflecting a lot on blogging and my relationship to it lately, on what i want this space to look like and where i fit into an evolving blogging culture.


to that end, i want to leave you with a few wonderful and evocative posts from writers whom I admire and respect on blogging meaningful. on producing more carefully curated and thoughtful posts that celebrate process and writing, and on building small, meaningful relationships based on respect and a willingness to accept constructive criticism:

✚ Erin of Design For Mankind's post on "slow blogging," with an emphasis on research, thoughtfulness, storytelling, and writing, on crafting a culture of blogging based on less rather than more. i am happy to see a commitment to this approach from a prominent blogger.

✚ Jane's thoughtful reflections on how we support each other in the blogworld, in which she criticizes the notion of "automatic support" and outlines the consequences of giving our support uncritically and too readily, proposing a new model of support that aims to be more meaningful.

✚ Hila's "Lesson's Learnt," a reflection on her experience of blogging in which she challenges the notion of an all-encompassing blogging community and revisits her thoughts about how little writing is valued in the indie blogging community since she wrote this landmark post together with Jane earlier this year.

wishing you love & warmth, and tidings of comfort & joy.

xo, 

sara

all photos are my own, taken with iPhone 4 and edited primarily with VSCO Cam.

spring forward

I will be fully emerging out of hibernation soon, but for now I wanted to at least say a long overdue "hello" and imprint myself here, even if in the smallest of ways. I officially submitted my comprehensive exams a week ago today and am now back in the city. I am still a little stunned and am slowly returning to a slightly more normal and balanced life (i.e. one in which I am not hunched over my computer for 12-16 hours a day frantically trying to make sense of large amounts of material and write coherent essay responses to two excellently posed and provocative exam questions). I still have an oral exam to compliment my written work next week (for which I am of course nervous and feel utterly unprepared), so I am not out of the woods yet, but I at least have time to pause and ground myself before then. I am absolutely and in every way exhausted, but I have so many exciting plans and projects ahead, and Spring will soon be here, so I don't feel completely defeated (despite losing an hour of sleep this weekend as a result of "springing forward," when I needed it most!). I did, however, have to say a sad and emotional (although also temporary) goodbye to Andrew on Sunday evening, when he left to return to the country after taking me and all my stuff back to Montreal for the next few months as I live out the rest of the school year in flesh instead of as a long distance "ghost" student. Although our long-distance relationship will soon be coming to an end and we have SO much to look forward to, including a small and intimate wedding this summer, it nevertheless gets harder and harder every time we have to say goodbye and return to our respective posts (I hestitate to say "homes," because I feel so divided between our two residences and my real home is with him and our little family, so "posts" is perhaps a better description). Both Hunter and Glasgow are staying with Andrew, so I am deeply missing the whole family.

Inspired  in part by this exhausting exam process, as well as by Hila, the writer behind the always inspiring le projet d'amour, and by conversations with my colleagues, who likewise experience the loneliness, stresses, and self-doubt as graduate students and researchers, I am thinking of starting a new series "on doing a PhD in the arts" to relate my experiences and provide a small forum for a discussion of the difficulties (but also the pleasures and rewards) we face as PhD students in the humanities and social sciences. Although I am admittedly the type to lock myself up in my home workspace and self-isolate as an academic, community and encouragement in this field are so important. I also want to share more of my research and art historical perspectives, integrating these aspects of myself into arterie & co. rather than simply using the blog as a healthy escape from my academic work.

I have a few unfinished draft blog posts floating around, but I have not yet committed to anything and am undecided as to how I want to return to regular (or semi-regular) blogging. I am also trying to focus on nova lily designs and a new website so that I can launch the new collection(s) soon! There is so much to do, so please be patient as I readjust, slowly come out of hibernation, and continue to spring forward....

The above image is a view from my desk at our small and humble home in Laurentian Valley. Both the botanical calendar and fox card are from the lovely Rifle Paper Co., and the other small prints adorning the magnetic board (which is actually a door conventiently covering an electric panel) are by artists Leah Duncan, Yelena Bryksenkova, and Eva Juilet.