Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Down and Up, Up and Down
stunning exhibition of Inuit prints, explaining their connection to the Japanese tradition of print-making, could only have been exhilirating. Go, if you possibly can, and see these brilliant images for yourself. Here's Kenojuak's Ravens Chorus. Isn't it wonderful?!
Here's her equally amazing Enchanted Owl, the exhibition's emblem.
Nor did this contemporary Inuit artist's humourous vision of a staple fashion icon bring me down. Quite the opposite, his stiletto made me chuckle, his "little person" finding utility in it, as a harpoon shaft..
Still, something pushed me from happy to sad at some point Saturday. I hope not many of you suffer from these episodes -- and I'm lucky that mine are few and far between -- but I find them so difficult. While a rational voice persists in offering perspective, it becomes less and less convincing, and tears overtake me, becoming me. I'm nothing but crying, tears. Words get tested and rejected as impossible and I need to curl up and hold myself together. My body hurts, perhaps from the tension of keeping myself glued. And worse, there's a judging self that despise the weakness it sees curled up there on the bed or sobbing in the bath.
That's enough of that. Indeed, I'd prefer not to share this at all, but it seems required as an honest counterpart to the many busy, happy images I offer up here. Real life generally balances up with down, and I've been having lots of happy lately. This was the other side.
I was so low Sunday that Paul wondered if we really wanted to stick to our plan to see the Merchant of Venice at Bard on the Beach, but we'd already bought tickets, and I thought it might be good to force myself out. Did the best I could with make-up to disguise the puffy, red eyes, then jammed on the sunglasses. And yes, even the walk across the bridge to the theatre tents was good, the movement loosening up my painful joints. The magic of the twilight sky as backdrop to the stage distracted, even soothed me, and once the play began, I was caught up following Shakespeare's rhythms, imagery, and lively humour. Indeed, I'd forgotten how much comedy there is in this play, all building to that excruciatingly uncomfortable "resolution" of the climax, the jarring disjunction between the three loving couples staging a comedy's traditional culmination and Shylock's words echoing across centuries: Hath not a Jew eyes?
As for me, I woke up Monday morning feeling much better. Except. . . .I had the start of a really colossal cold sore on my lip -- by midday, I swear it looked like a lip injection gone very wrong. In fact -- and this is a true indicator -- by midday my husband had stopped claiming that he couldn't even notice it. Given that I only ever get cold sores when I'm stressed or tired -- perhaps once or twice a year, and I can't remember the last one -- I realize that the depression was probably a result of pushing myself too much over the last several weeks. I loved all the company we had, the entertaining we did, enjoyed adding to my runs and taking on some yoga classes, felt good about getting some academic writing done in the mornings before anyone else woke. But I learned yet again that I can only push myself so far before my body rebels. Probably a useful lesson to be reminded of as I head back to campus this week.
And you? Any lessons to share? Any comments to make? You know I'm always keen to hear from you.
Oh, and yesterday, Paul and I (and my cold sore) did a bit of retail therapy. I've been holding off on shopping for quite a while now, trying to refine and filter, but I discovered a new Vancouver line I really like. I'll tell you about that soon. . .