Sunday, October 23, 2016

The Game is Afoot

As you all know, I love a good mystery. The past couple of days have been very exciting, as I have been on the chase. I could be an art historian yet!

Now, you may recall that I have written before about the source of many of the images that Louis Nicolas drew for his Codex Canadensis. As Francois-Marc Gagnon proved in his introduction to The Codex Canadensis and the Writing of Louis Nicolas, Nicolas's drawings were not made from life. Most often, large volumes of engravings (such as those of Konrad Gesner) provided the models for the creatures he depicted. (Of course, Nicolas often exaggerated the teeth and claws, so alterations seem to have been permissible.)

I have avoided working with any drawings of humans up til now. The politics of a white woman of colonist heritage depicting a missionary`s vision of a First Nations person just felt too fraught. But I have been taking part in a discussion group at the Nanaimo Art Gallery that includes a young woman of the Kitsumkalum nation, who talked enthusiastically about reconciliation and that all people could work with First Nations imagery, given permission and with respect. And that sent me to thinking. And once again to the pages of the Codex.

From Plate 68, The Codex Canadensis and the Writings of Louis Nicolas
Above is Nicolas`s drawing of Jacques Cartier. Surely it would be okay if I worked with this image. With the idea of reconciliation on my mind, perhaps I could place two men together, if the context was carefully thought out. I flipped back to plates at the beginning of the book, where individuals from various First Nations were depicted.
From Plate 12, The Codex Canadensis and the Writings of Louis Nicolas
And what caught my eye but this man of the Maskoutensak nation? Notice how his posture is identical to Cartier's, right down to the extended index finger? I scanned both images, printed them out and, overlapping them, held them up to the light. The outlines matched almost exactly. Clearly, they were drawn using the same source, and Nicolas altered the details of dress and weapons.

Now, assuming that Nicolas was using a source image, where might that have come from? By chance, I was flipping through another book looking for more of the Du Creux engravings that Francois-Marc Gagnon established were the source of several other drawings of First Nations men, when another illustration caught my eye, this one from Samuel de Champlain`s 1632 volume Les Voyages de la Nouvelle France occidentale, dicte Canada. Look at figure B. The body is turned in the opposite direction but the posture is very similar. The text says the engravings were made from Champlain`s original drawing.

And where might that drawing be found? On an inset of Champlain`s 1612 map of North America, perhaps? (Located in my trusty copy of Derek Hayes' Historical Atlas of Canada.)
Notice the figure on the left? Facing in the opposite direction of the engraving (but of course, since engravings are by nature reversed), the figure is clearly the one the engraving is based on. The figure is a woman carrying (and breast-feeding?) a child. She holds a paddle in the other hand. Importantly, the Champlain map is one that Louis Nicolas would have had access to.

But this discovery may just be one link in the chain. Champlain`s figure is very sturdy and muscular for a woman, and her breasts are more like well-developed pectorals. Perhaps Champlain used yet another image as his source? Down the rabbit hole!
Well, maybe that is a search left best to the professionals. I am playing with Cartier and the Maskoutensak man, reversing and juxtaposing. I love how they are looking eye-to-eye, and could be doing a little do-si-do. My next piece has begun!

P.S. Re: Jean=Pierre`s comment below. Here is the very familiar image of Jacques Cartier, painted by Theophile Hamel in 1844. Complete artistic license at work, considering there are no known contemporary images of Cartier.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Autumn Light

Late afternoon rain.
After it ended, the last rays of the setting sun warmed the trees,
bronzed the heliotrope,
illuminated the jasmine,
and set the leadwort aglow.
I stayed cosy inside my messy house.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Stashbusting 101

Rug measures 28"x36"
My first braided rug. I hesitated to share it here because it is so mundane and there are so many things wrong with it. But there were lessons learned, and it is always good to be humbled now and then.

I started off with a big bag of wool fabric reclaimed from various coats and jackets. I had no place to store it and I will be damned if I buy another tote. I had heard that braided rugs use up a lot of fabric so my solution to the storage problem was to use it, not store it. (Hah! Revolutionary, that!) I had a vague idea about how to make a rug, and had some help from Val Galvin's YouTube videos.

I blithely started braiding away, after making some huge balls of 3" wide strips, machine stitched together on the bias, folded and pressed with a steam iron. (I only burned my fingers a few times during the pressing.) After quickly discovering that huge balls are hard to manoeuvre and untangle, I thought I should maybe read up a little bit before proceeding. A book from the library, the Sturges' The Braided Rug made it clear that braiding is no simple thing. Good grief, there are even patterns for braided rugs!

Well, what the hey, I was halfway done and certainly wasn't going to unbraid anything. I joined ends by handstitching, and learned to fold as I went, and to firmly interlace the braids with sturdy waxed linen string. I noticed that thinner fabrics bunched up into unattractive folds instead of the smooth plump braid I was aiming for. I could see why a plan might help manage the unbalanced colour pooling that happened with a hit or miss approach.

But the speed with which a decent sized object emerged was gratifying. And the dogs both seemed very comfortable curled up on it. I tried a tapered end finish - twice - and even though it still wasn't quite right, declared it done. Not perfect by any means, but serviceable.

And no need to find storage space for a big bag of wool. As my friend Heide says, "Managing a stash isn't for sissies!"

Wednesday, October 05, 2016

The Summer That Got Away - Part Two: People I Will Never Forget

Geez, just when I had the best of intentions to post again in a timely manner, a barge crane accidentally sprung the cables that connect Gabriola to the rest of the world and we were without power, phone or internet for several days. The peace and quiet were wonderful. I realized the world goes on without any input from me.

That being said, I will return to posting anyway, fully and shamelessly aware that I am clogging the arteries of the internet with my unnecessary content. For the time being, anyway.

 So, last summer I was employed by a government agency to assist with this thing they do every five years. I signed a piece of paper stating I would not reveal any details of this work, but I did have a few experiences that etched themselves in my brain. (Disclaimer: The following is complete and utter fiction.)

1. A Heart Breaker: The property showed every sign of being unoccupied. An old vehicle sat in the driveway, its deflated tires and heavy coating of dead leaves and pine needles showing that it had not been driven in a year or more. The screen door hung askew on its hinges, the windows were dark. I knocked anyway. A faint voice responded, "Come in."

I opened the door and stepped into a shadowy hallway. My tentative "Hello" was met with an equally quavery "Down the hall." Now, I was there alone. My employer had stressed that we didn't have to do anything that felt unsafe, and this definitely felt strange. But I proceeded down the hall anyway.

The room I entered had the window blinds raised so at least I could see. A single bed almost filled the tiny room, which was lined with shelves of medical supplies. On the bed sat an elderly man. He wasn't wearing any pants, but it was obvious he posed no threat. A catheter was taped to his thin leg, and he could barely sit up. The bed was covered with bags of oatmeal cookies, and a glass of juice sat on a shelf. The overall impression I got was of extreme neglect, pain and loneliness.

"Is anyone looking after you?"
"They've already been here."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"What could you do?"

Well, I supposed I could do what I was there for. I explained my mission and asked if he would mind answering a few questions. I asked them as kindly and gently as I could, and I learned that he was very well educated. He had no family. He had a serious illness. Most of the questions were completely irrelevant but I asked them anyway, figuring the least I could do was give him the opportunity to contribute to a collective project of national importance.

When we were finished I thanked him fervently for his time and asked again if there was anything I could do for him. Again he refused, saying he had what he needed. I left, closing the screen door properly behind me.

I sat in the car for a while after, still wanting to do something to help.We have a social worker on the island, so I called her, asking if she could follow up with this fellow and see if he was falling through the cracks of the system. She said she would, but reminded me that this information was extremely confidential and that I would have to be content with never knowing how things turned out.

2. The Garden: I was assigned an address that I drove past daily, but didn't know who lived there. I assumed the occupant might either be a hermit or otherwise unorthodox, due to the unkempt exterior and piles of junk that never got moved. I was very surprised when an elderly lady with startling blue eyeshadow peered through the blinds at my knock. She opened the door, revealing an interior covered with artificial flowers as bright and beautiful as her floral dressing gown. It was like an art installation, a marvel of home decor. She was lovely and cordial and happy to answer my questions. I couldn't resist saying before I left how much I liked all the flowers, whereupon she insisted on showing  me her real garden in the back yard. It was obviously beautiful once, but now overgrown and untended. "It's hard for me to keep it up," she said, but I could tell she was still proud of what it had once been.

3. The Inventor: The property had an 8 foot high solid fence around it. I went through the small door and entered a yard with several small ramshackle shed-like structures on it. There was a couple of sawhorses front and centre, with fresh sawdust piled below. I called out and looked around, trying to figure out which of the sheds could possibly be a dwelling. There was no answer so I turned to go, preparing to delete the address from my list. I struggled with the latch on the gate and heard a puzzled sounding "Hello?" When I turned around again I saw a man's head sticking up out of what appeared to be some kind of plywood box, shaped like a flotation tank or enclosed tanning bed.

He lifted himself up so he could sit on top of this odd little structure, and was quite agreeable to answering my list of questions. He referred to his property as a farm, although no plants or animals were evident. I could not resist asking him what he was sitting on. "Why, it's a personal escape pod for a boat," he said, as if it were obvious. "Ordinary life boats can get sucked down into the vortex when a ship sinks, so I have created this to solve the problem." He pointed out features such as the small plastic window and sleeping pad inside. "I sleep in here quite often. It's very cosy."