Remembrance Day, Three Thoughts

Thought One

On Remembrance Day I think about my Grandfather Lester Schmidt and the few stories he used to tell us, his grandchildren, about his experiences in World War II.  He never served on the front lines but he did provide supplies for others in the war.  He used to also tell me not to get old, it was hell.  This comment still makes me smile, like any of us have a choice.  Les dies many years ago and he passed away while sitting in his favourite chair.  I did not have the chance to say goodbye but I am glad that I did learn more about him after living with him and my step-grandma, Marjorie, for a year in Calgary.  If the Oral History Archive project had been around while he was alive, it would have been very interesting to have heard his more detailed stories and to have added them to The Memory Project.  I am of the generation in which people say we are in a war and my life continues as normal.  War is an experience that happens in other countries, is a ceremony we have every year at this time, it is a museum I visit whose exhibits I view, an thing with a name that is remote and distant.  Others, who are Canadian and from other countries, have experienced more personal journey's through war.  My hope for them today is that through remembrance, thoughts, tears, we can find a place closer to peace and farther away from war.

I also wonder about my grandfather Lloyd Bates.  He died due to suicide the year before I was born.  From the stories I have heard through family, he bore the physical, emotional and psychological scares of war, and in the taking of his own life, I wonder if those issues were ever resolved.  What supports were there in the 1950's for returning soldiers, nurses and doctors?  Who was helping those with the yet unlabelled issues of PTSD?  How many others needed help and did their best to make their way in life as best they could?

 

Thought Two

I have memories of my father asking me if I wanted to go to Flanders Fields every November, when my family lived in Brussels, Belgium.  Every year I remember saying yes.  On one particular Day of Remembrance, we approached the fields of crosses, row on row, but could not see due to the hovering fog.  As we quietly approached the ceremony area, a trumpet began playing the Last Post, and as we slowly approached the song we began to see shapes of people, crosses and the gathering remembering those who had fought and died, as well as those who had lived.  As a pre-teen I did not understand the broad scope of the ceremony, the graveyard, the uniforms, the sacrifices, the years of repair, but I am fortunate to have had parents who took me to a place that have provided me with a personal connection to an historic place.

After the ceremony, large planes would fly by and drop thousands of poppies across the graves of the dead.  The children, including myself, would jump and run about collecting as many poppies as we could, but there were always too many to hold.  One year the wind was not taken into consideration and during the first fly-by the poppies landed on the highway next to Flanders Fields.  On the second fly-by, the poppies landed on the graves.  I would like to attend this ceremony again some time during my life as it is burned in my memory and to compare a childhood experience to an adult experience would be interesting.

Thought Three

While living in London (almost two years ago) I took the opportunity to go on a guided tour of France's  northern World War II sites.  We visited the D-Day Beaches, the towns first liberated in 1945, memorial museums, and cemeteries.  It was mind blowing as the guide's knowledge was incredibly extensive and he provided us with a two hour lecture of information as we bused from London to northern France.  It brought the previous stories I had heard, the museum exhibits I had visited, the people I had met who had been part of the war all together and connected to a place.  Here were the craters 60 years later, the cannons, the now clean beaches of operation Overlord, the remaining buildings and pieces of history that the French have left in place to remember.  If you ever have a chance to visit these places, please do.  The type of experience that causes you to think deeply and with great care.  Another opportunity to remember and attempt to understand.  

Standing in one bomb hole at Point du Hoc.
Bomb holes all around this entire field close to the cliffs of beaches.

The American Cemetery at St. Laurant

Juno Beach where Canadians first landed.
The first tank to have landed that became stuck and
remains as part of the museum collection.

Pegasus Bridge, the first bridge to be liberated
between Caen and Ouistreham, in Normandy, France.

Utah Beach, one of the locations where thousands of soldiers
who had just crossed the canal in tightly packed ships that landed
and begin the land attack in hopes of ending World War II.

Arromanches, Gold Beach, the remains of the temporary port
built by the UK government and its Allies as part of the liberation. 

Added Thought:

PS.  Listening to CBC's The Current and five grown men just started talking about what they cry from now after having been in a war: Tim Horton's commercials, kitten and Kleenex adds, one man just said he cries all the time.  Love it.  Men letting down their 'tough guy' guards and enjoying a moment honesty.

Toronto

My first presentation at a conference occurred last weekend (thanks to a friend and colleague of mine).  It was a small audience and we presented information concerning the many uses of technology in online courses in the distance education world.  But Tonia, you may ask, this is not even in your faculty as you have made the switch back to recreation and tourism?  True, yet after almost a decade of training and learning how to be a teacher, I got skills and I shared them.

More importantly we went to Toronto and as it turns out I have 4 friends who have moved there from Calgary or have always been in Toronto but I met in Calgary.  Three I was able to catch up with and we did the following amazing things.  Here is a brief synopsis of my stories and pics:

• Catching up with my cousin Dorian (whom I still by reflex call Chris).  Truly he reminded me of his dad as they share similar voices and mannerisms.  He also reminded me of my dad as he knew more about politics, current affairs, good books, and demonstrated a high amount of cultural capital which I enjoyed.  He even spent the afternoon in the Gardiner Ceramics Museum with me, a must see for me on this trip.  Once you have bonded over pottery, you are bonded for life!

• Having seen the documentary that recorded the millions of dollars worth of renovations to the Art Gallery of Ontario, spending a good part of the day helping my non-Canadian friend learn about the Group of Seven + 1 (Emily Carr), was also an essential visit.  They have been renamed the Group of Five, or as my friend said, "I knew it was an odd and prime number."  She just had the wrong number.

Gallery Italia, part of the new addiction.
Feels like you are in a bow of a ship or a belly of a whale.

Asymmetrical Spiral Staircase

Juxtaposition of the old and new.

The old neighbourhood just outside the gallery window.

!WAR

Recently on the website 'big think', Bob Duggan reviewed the movie '!Women Art Revolution'.  He tells the reader about one women's documentary journey, Lynn Hershman Leeson, filming 42 years of women fighting the battle of being under-represented in the art world.  The film is being premiered at the Sundance Film Festival this January, a festival in my list of 'must do's before six feet under'.  In hopes that the film comes by the way of a film festival or other event to Winnipeg, I hope to see it in the next year.

My love of the visual arts was instilled in my soul as a young child living in Brussels, with parents who ensured their children received a first hand education in art as we toured European art galleries.  I have fond memories of asking my mother about certain paintings, and feeling a whisper on and in my ear of the symbolism of a particular piece of art, the reasons for it being painted a certain way, and even why there were so many nude and semi-nude people in European art.  All queries of a young mind.

As an young adult I moved to Canadian cities where the art world was small and lost contact with my childhood memories and connection with the visual beauty of another person's creativity.  Visits to Ottawa and Montreal and their respective museums rekindled my love of art.  During my first brief trip to New York City, I walked through the MoMa, MET and other galleries to build on my knowledge of art which had deepened to an appreciation of not only Medieval, Renaissance, and other European art, but also a further respect towards Surrealism, Abstract art, Pop art and now Contemporary art.  While in the NYC galleries I had a sense that I was missing something, though I could not ascertain what what it was.  After three days of meandering through various forms of art I realized I was missing my mother's voice in my ear, providing me with information and answering my queries.  I was now an adult and had to provide the answers to my questions through my own research and thoughts.  The adjustment to the missing voice was not easy.

Building on my childhood knowledge and developing my own art voice, I was intrigued when I say a group of women in the NYC streets with make-shift small stands, in odd costumes, asking people to complete their art survey.  Being willing to participate in other people's work it slowly dawned on me that this was not an academic survey, but a rouse of different stations, each one enlightening the participant to the lack of women artists represented in museums and art galleries in New York.  As it turned out, these interesting, vibrant and intelligent women were part of the Guerrilla Girls movement showing us at the end of the survey, that there are large numbers of female artists but their work is presented in on a fraction of major art galleries and museums in New York City.  I had no idea.

This group along with many other individual artists are featured in Leeson's movie, which is one documentary not to be missed.

(Copied from http://www.guerrillagirls.com/posters/getnakedshanghai.shtml)

Postcards To Myself

Before I set out on my travels during the 2009 - 2010 year, I decided that I was going to commemorate my journeys by writing to myself as soon as interesting travel experiences occurred.  This meant that I either had to carry around a large journal everywhere I went (far too heavy with the other assorted daily things one travels with: SLR camera, water, snacks, purse, reading book, etc), or find another way to document my thoughts, ideas and inspiration while out every day observing and absorbing all that passed around me.

My brain stumbled upon a brilliant solution.  I tend to purchase post cards at most places I visit as a professional picture or snapshot of a particular piece in an exhibit is a fantastic memento, but once purchased I would tuck these postcards into a drawer or a photo album without every being properly used.  This time around I decided I was going to mail the postcards to myself.

This way I would be collecting visuals, written memories, stamps, postage and date stamps in various languages, and immediate documentation of my impressions and ideas.  In the end all I had to do was carry around a few pieces of rectangular paper, a pen, and find a convenient locale at which to purchase stamps.  Most travel books I used provided excellent details as to where to locate stamps, post offices, post boxes, and postcards are everywhere.  In the end, during my eight month travel excursion I acquired just over 50 postcards and after I returned from each mini-excursion, I had several, inexpensive, wonderful gifts waiting in London from me to me.

While writing this post I have been re-reading through some of the postcards and I have already forgotten some of the experiences I had, or the details have faded and my documentation has helped my brain rediscover what I loved or found interesting during my travels around Europe and Egypt.

Here are some of my mental meanderings over the course of the eight months after having traveled through nine countries:

Egypt: Further Than the South of France

When I was child my family moved all over the world but despite my lucky life I complained that I had only been as far south in the world as the lower regions of France.  This complaining came as a result of two 20 year old cousins who came to live with us in Belgium for one year when I was 13.  They were travelling all over europe and I was stuck in Grade 8 waiting to have a real grown up existence.

I am currently at the Red Sea in Hurghada, Egypt and have spent the last 12 days on a tour travelling throughout this interesting, shocking and incredible city.  In 15 minutes I will head to dinner with my small tour group and I had requests to update my blog.  Here are some of the things I have learned while I am here or information that I want to remember to research when I get home:

1.  When Egyptian men flirt propose marriage or make sexual advances it is only because they want more of your money, a Visa to enter Canada, or sex.  Not a shock.  We Western women are not always portrayed as the most wholesome by Hollywood, and well, that is what people see this far away from that shiny place by the ocean in the 'America'.

2.  Hagle for everything.  Fix the price you are willing to spend in your head and walk away of you don't get it.  Either the vendor will run after you and give you the price you want, or you will find the same item down the market street and you can begin haggling all over again.

3.  Don't open your mouth in the Red Sea.  Salt water, ick!

More Artsy Coolness

Part 1:
The History of the World with 100 Objects
I LOVE THE BBC!!!  Despite rumours of top-heavy overpaid brass, a yearly mandatory payment from each TV owner in the UK of 120 pounds, using the same comedians and celebrities over and over and over, I still love them.  Sites such as this, with a partnership to create such originality, necessitates an even deeper devotion.  (Let me know if this link functions.  At times, outsiders cannot connect to UK sites.)  Link your brain to the past!

Part 2:
Londoners enjoy a plethora of markets with delights to tempt every enthusiast (or simply a chance to purchase this weeks fruits and veg).  This weekend I ventured to a 50 year old market I had never visited, Bayswater Road Market.  This market runs on Sunday and boasts professional artists (mostly painters) from all over the United Kingdom, who venture forth to sell their works of art.  Oh the delights to my eyes, the ideas for the creative spirit, and the slow beat of my step as I inhaled the individuality of each artiste.  Below are the websites of my favourites:

The Studio Gallery
Michael R Reynolds and I had a discussion about his painting techniques with his swirling, landscape-esque pictures using oils.  The cavernous blues and ominous reds (MR 49, MR 57); so magnificent as 'one-off' works of art.  I may return to make a purchase in the next few weeks.

Lucien Simon
Dear Lucien,
I want to have your children...I mean...your surealist art made me giggle aloud, not because it was meant to, but sweetie the wasp, the carrot, the fungi...oh what dreams you must have!  Someday I will buy your piece...I mean a piece.  Those legs...how sleek...what a pleasure to observe...they make the eyes draw upwards to the top of your glass table!  Such blissful book perches!  Perchance could you mail a jagged-edged coffee table to Canada, and throw in an outdoor glass sculpture just because I blinked my pretty eyes and asked.
All my fanatical adoration,
Tonia

How Are You In the Darkness?

The darkness. 

Do you sleep in it?

Sit in it and think?

What do you do when you are in it?

Avoid it altogether?

For me, I have always disliked the dark. My older brother was in charge of babysitting us on occasion, and when those times occurred, he dragged his four younger siblings (me included) into the basement to watch scary movies. Due to one such occasion When a Stanger Calls has been burned into my long term memory and shall never leave.

Other than this, I have always had a vivid and active imagination; constantly over engaging scenes and expounding on creative thoughts in my mind. This includes Freddy Krueger under my bed as I sleep; green slobbery ghouls in my closet; strange, creepy men trying to break into my home; dark creatures ripping open the shower curtain as I attempt to wash my hair. See?!? My imagination, one of my loopier sides.

You might have thought I grew up, but no. As an adult I still do not EVER sleep in the dark. While at university for the second time, I slept in my Aunt’s house in a bedroom with no window, and in order to sleep at night I had to purchase and use a nightlight. Darkness is too creepy for me.

This past week I went to the Tate Modern Museum in London and stumbled upon an enormous, black, dark, empty, box. To enter or not to enter....that was the question. Upon further investigation the ticket agent mentioned he liked the box, and went to hide in it during his lunch breaks. With this knowledge I realized it was time for me to face my fear of the dark, and enter the blackness of the gigantic, installed shipping container titled How It Is.

Before entering the box of fear I read the curator’s description (Heather Sainsbury, Kathy Noble):

HOW IT IS

Artist: Miroslaw Balka

" 'How shall I move forward?' you might ask yourself, as you stand at the threshold, confronted by the darkness ahead. Many of us learn from an early age to fear the unfamiliar or unknown. If the unknown is also without light, it can become unjustifiably terrifying. How you approach the unknown is unique, as your first encounter with anything can only ever be as an individual. Staring ahead into the black void of How It Is may make you wonder whether to move ahead at all. How Is It simultaneously embodies the unknown and the familiar; the darkness is contained in a structure mimicking both the architecture of the Turbine Hall and a contemporary shipping container, luring you inwards through its recognisable form.

'It's fine', you reassure yourself, 'what can actually be inside?'

How It Is is only complete when you, the viewer, enter. Yet rather than forming a stage or spectacle, the container focuses you inwards, both physically and psychologically, as you enter into the darkness. In choosing how to move ahead - to march in fearlessly, or to skirt along the walls, probably surprised by their soft, furry touch - you create your own journey. But, as you bump into others, or mistakenly grab a stranger's shoulder, your trepidation eases and you collectively navigate the void."

I entered with confidence, then quickly skirted toward the walls. Felt its softness, used it as a guide, regained my confidence and stepped out again into the blackness. I could make out two human shapes in the distance, but I did not grab onto their arms. My legs just began stepping one in front of the other, slowly becoming accustomed to the black I had always feared. It was so incredibly enjoyable! I left the container, then returned proud as I was not yet done in the black box. Here are my illegal pictures of the black box.

Face your fears. The dark is not as horrible as I thought. Freddy Krueger did not appear. But I shall still sleep with a nightlight to illuminate the complete and utter darkness of a windowless room. My imagination is sure there are still monsters out there.

If the darkness does not help you, perhaps this might:  On Becoming Fearless by Arianna Huffington.

Last month I took the opportunity to visit the newest addition to the Natural History Museum here in London, UK. It is the Darwin Centre, a gigantic (and I mean monstrous) white pod fixed in a glass and steel box. This museum has taken technological discoveries, artifacts, the daily work of scientists, and the collection of specimens to a new educational level.

The visitor enters through a timed system in smaller groups (ie. meet here at 2:10 pm), is given a NaturePlus card which s/he can scan at different locations in the museum. The visitor then takes the card home, registers it on the museum's website, then reviews the information learned during their visit, joins clubs, and remains abreast of museum research. During the visit there are interactive videos, button activation and highlighting stations, problem solving areas, and glass windows into the researchers' labs for intimate views of their daily work.

Thanks to the triple W, we can all see their work:

Natural History Museum in London

New Darwin Centre at the Natural History Museum

The second museum I have not visited yet and will not be able to attend until mid-February. It only opened this year and it already sustains large amounts of traffic and has to coordinate all visitors who attend the museum. Have you ever tried to describe a cell and all its parts to a group of kids or even one other person? Extremely difficult. Here are visuals to make it easier:

Centre of the Cell Museum