a statement

A statement I included with the History as Personal Memory exhibition:

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The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete.
-Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

As I began to look at WW2  history as a daughter seeking to understand her roots I became aware of how little I knew– especially of civilian tragedy with its situational complexity. The work I am involved with pays attention to German war time stories which are not well known and yet, I believe, need to be included in our understanding of WW2 and the Holocaust. With them the larger narrative is protected from becoming an homogenous stereotype with limited relevance for our present day.

Drawing is traditionally a preliminary practice yet by using drawing materials my work becomes a method of working back into a personal and collective past, opening it up to questions in order to discover what might have been overlooked.  Conte crayon, charcoal, ink, pencil, eraser and acrylic paint are used expressively as I search beneath the surface of historical narrative.  Artworks are distressed through various means to explore rich textural possibilities of medium; I bring a tactile reality to images sourced from historical photos so that the past is symbolically embodied in the present.

My current work departs from historical photos as a source and uses my own photos of roses found in my neighbourhood as reference for a symbolic interpretion of the story of German resistance. I am curious about how since the 60s, our post war ideals call upon love as being the answer to our world’s troubles, yet our understanding of love does not seem complex or muscular enough for such a task. Through learning about those who resisted the Nazi regime- even at the cost of their own lives – I am discovering love is an antidote to violence and the means by which we may develop the character and values necessary to resist oppression.

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Grateful for the opportunity to talk about my art in the latest VISA Newsletter! Although I have not had the time for courses since Advanced Drawing, I have taken workshops which are a rewarding way to keep learning while working full time. Follow this link to the latest newsletter with an interesting article on how to look at art, and scroll down to “Feature Student.”

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I am honoured to have my work in an exhibition at the Slide Room Gallery, 2549 Quadra str, Victoria BC, Canada; opening on February 16th at 6pm.
Learn more via the Facebook event page or Slide Room Gallery website.

a poem and a painting

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At various stages of my painting’s evolution, different genres have suggested themselves- landscape, figurative, abstract, floral- and approaching resolution the painting, rather than having become one or the other, remains “all of the above.”
The other day on Facebook I came upon an excerpt of a TS Eliot poem and as I read, I felt it to be a description of the themes that are on my mind as I attend to my new work, particularly of this painting.  It is the poem Burnt Norton, one of the suite “The Four Quartets.”
Here are a few excerpts:

Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
                              But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
………………………………………………..

The trilling wire in the blood
Sings below inveterate scars
Appeasing long forgotten wars.
…………………………………………………

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
………………………………………………….

And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.
Yet the enchainment of past and future
Woven in the weakness of the changing body,
Protects mankind from heaven and damnation
Which flesh cannot endure.

The whole poem can be read here.

a repetition of roses

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I have taken as reference my own photos of roses and am hand transposing the shapes and contours onto large paper and working with ink. I have a love of repetition- perhaps it was having visited fabric stores with my mother and gazing at myriads of patterns. I look at what is emerging in these pieces and I think of the interior of home, of the heart; stars, voices, faces, love; graffiti on the Reichstag, the Vietnam war memorial in Washington; I think of Germans who died- especially women – who sought to resist the Nazis through humanitarian means.

learning to paint


It is wonderful that social media helps keep us in reach of our audience, but I admit to being somewhat torn about posting often; it seems contrary to the instinct of nesting, nurture and privacy that go along with developing a body of work.
I am at the beginning of a new exploration – one that is absorbing and which needs time to mature and form itself. I am researching and sketching, thinking and feeling my way into a new series.
I am also learning to paint. The last workshop I attended with John Luna at the beginning of August allowed me to at last feel that painting “is my own” even if it is feels unfamiliar and often awkward. It is a tremendous learning curve and one that at once challenges and nurtures my artistic instinct and mind.
Contrary to what is a very wise and useful approach- that of working on a number of pieces at once- these few weeks I have been working with one painting that I began as a part of a set of 3 at the workshop. It has filled my mind, with I and others, often thinking it close to finished but then it has asked more of me.
It occurred to me that this painting is like a mother- one that is teaching me a lot and allowing me to explore the problems of composition, colour, texture, narrative, abstraction and symbolism. I at once think it the most wonderful painting in the world and the most horrible thing I have ever seen!
The painting has been set aside now and the skills I have learned from it will inform the other two paintings I began at that workshop and even paintings I began last summer which have waited for me to gain more knowledge and confidence. Perhaps after a good rest, my eyes will be wiser and the painting will speak to me again as to what it might want, if anything at all.

father’s work


Art by my father on Fathers Day. The ancient Chinese described war horses as dragons in disguise. I see that in this small piece of art I have from my father. He was a blacksmith. Horses, the sound of the hammer and anvil, the black coal and flames of the forge and the steam from the red hot iron in water, were all contained in our tiny backyard.
This piece from my childhood was returned to me only last year from Australia, and while taking these pictures, I realised how much it has influenced my own war horse.

shelter ( mother and child)

It was lovely to have three of my works selected for Voices of Women Through Canadian History curated by Astri Wright for the International Womens Day exhibition in Victoria at the Bay Centre, shown from March the 2nd to the 12th.
Here is my statement about my work:
My three watercolour silhouettes are part of a series of spontaneous responses to war time photographs, and represent many women of that time. I have presented these pictures so they hang slightly out of the frame to represent history joining our present.
Through these pictures I am reminded of my mother and my grandmother. My mother had her first two little girls during WW2 in Holland; Canada’s role in liberating the Dutch moves me with deep gratitude. The third picture represents my grandmother who as a refugee from Latvia, just after WW1, fled to Germany and then lived through that country’s depression and WW2 experience. As an immigrant to this country I often imagine that my grandmother, who lives on in me, has somehow found peace here.

 

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