Ramblings | Joy Laking Gallery

January 19, 2012

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 20:52:18 -0500

Today I spent a lovely day with four friends; two old friends and two new friends. One of these friends,, Liz ,has been a friend for thirty seven years. Janice has been a friend for twenty-five years.
Somehow these two also became friends. They had a little craft group with two of their other friends, Susan and Nancy and lucky for me I have been welcomed into this group and now I have two new friends as well.

Today we got together at my house for crafts. I think we did more laughing and eating than anything. I took a photo on the timer of the five of us as old apple dolls and then a photo
of us in our glory! We're going to take another photo in fifteen years and see if we truly look like old apple dolls!
I'm a new felter and I love it. You just poke bits of wool with a felting needle and voila "a creation"
Today as we talked and knitted and felted, I thought how important all of my friendships are. I am so blessed. I still have my oldest friend, Cathie Smith. Cathy and I met when I was three.

January 10, 2012

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 20:52:18 -0500

Brownies

This morning, outside the shower door, I found a brownie badge. Immediately the fifty years disappeared. I was a pixie; “Helping others when in fixies”. All of our songs and promises came flooding back. “We are known as Little People; Aims as high as any Steeple.” “ We are known as the Elves; Helping others not ourselves.” “I promise to do my best, to do my duty to God, my Queen and my country and to help other people every day, especially those at home.”

On Fridays, the year I was eight, I proudly headed off to school wearing my glorious Brownie uniform. My tam was rolled perfectly on my shoulder, my tie had it’s golden brownie pin on it and my belt with it’s shiny brownie buckle had a tiny dangly pencil and a leather pouch containing a dime which was my fairy gold. After school, we, Brownies, would head for the Kindergarten Room. I loved everything about that room even though my Miss Dunbar was no longer there. I loved the six blue wooden milk bottles that fit in a blue wooden milk bottle container, the minature tables and chairs and the rythymn instruments, tamboreens, triangles, bells and sticks. I even loved the short white toilets in their two separate washrooms. Our Kindergarten Room had a Brownie cupboard just for us. In it we stored our giant toad stool and the grass it sat upon as well as the chest for the fairy gold. We’d drag everything out and set it up and then form the lines of our sixes; waiting for our turn to dance and sing around the toad stool. When I was eight, I longed to be as smart, as tall, as good as our sixer who headed the Pixie Six

September 1, 2011

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 20:52:18 -0500

Newfoundland; “The Rock”

Word picture by Joy Snihur Wyatt Laking

Vast rolling hills of gray granite;
Pitted and etched.
A million years of standing
Naked and tall.
Now slightly worn by ferns and flies,
Wind and water.

In some of the hollows,
Puzzle-shaped ponds mirror
The cerulean sky.
Along their edges,
Ragged blankets of olive, ochre and sienna
Keep a tenacious toe hold.
Pitcher plants, orchids, asters
Are laced with vines of
Cranberry, bake apple, marsh berry.
Only the rock that is shear and vertical,
Wind-swept or ocean-washed,
Resists comfort and remains barren.

In the coves and valleys,
Where the rock meets the Atlantic,
Clusters of brightly painted houses
Sit solidly.
They nestle together cheek by jowl.
Triangular windbreaks on doors,
Small salt-sprayed windows,
And ample chimneys
Foretell the weather.

The clotheslines flap with laundry or cod flakes.
Winding paths with rickety handrails,
And curving roads over and around rock,
Connect the houses down to the fish sheds.
The wharfs, cantilevered out over the ocean,
Are balanced precariously on thin posts.
Along side,
Skiffs and fishing boats rock and reflect.

April 9, 2011

Sat, 09 Apr 2011 20:52:18 -0500

I am now on the South Island of New Zealand. It was a beautiful three hour ferry ride over. Everything about New Zealand is glorious. I am astonished at how big and mountainous the country is.

We have driven for three days on winding mountain roads curving up or down with views of inlets and islands or vast canyons and/or humongous stoney river beds with gray green streams bending back and forth as far as the eye can see.
Yesterday we did a hike to the top of a mountain and although I huffed and puffed and was far behind the other three, I thoroughly enjoyed my treck to the top and back down. The trail was in deep shade, and jungle like with emense trees interwoven with vines. Every so often the incredible view of mountains and the valley appeared.
And I have managed to do five or six small paintings all of mountains. As in the Yukon and Alaska last year, I am finding it very hard to capture grandeur in a tiny water colour but I trying and already I have ideas for a big mountain painting with mauvey rolling shapes fading into the distance.

July 19, 2011

Sat, 09 Apr 2011 20:52:18 -0500

This morning, when I awoke at 6:30, the air was still and warm, and
the marsh was shrouded in fog; the sun a low glowing spot that just
dissolved into the gray. The muted trees were glorious in their
peacefulness, just barely there and fading to nothingness. As I
walked through the long grass to the river, the path was strewn with
intricate spider weavings. Like an exhibition at eye level, I
savoured each circular web and enjoyed their subtle differences. At
the river, a Greater Yellow legs preened. Was he enjoying his
marvellous reflection? On the path home from the river to the cabin,
the morning-glories, in all their pale pink splendour were draped on
their glowing yellow/green leaves like garlands decorating the dark
green marsh grass. My heart and soul was perfectly tuned to the
morning.

Suddenly, my dog was missing. I frantically ran and shouted until
fifteen minutes later I found him, just peacefully standing in the
neighbour’s yard, watching me.

June 24, 2011

Sat, 09 Apr 2011 20:52:18 -0500

The room is an eternity of hush.
Time is suspended.
The half-drawn gray blind
Filters out the intensity of life.
In the room, we move and talk quietly,
While you lay peacefully
Attached by hoses to your retinue of machines.
Occasionally in the hall,
Everyday voices laugh and live.
Once when I stood near the elevator,
A man barged through a door swearing.
Usually though, there are
Endless hours of breathing.
All of us breathing;
You included.
The love you have always given,
Swirls and dances gently around us.
We gather strength from our memories
Of who you were,
Who you are,
And who you are becoming,
We breathe with you.
Waiting for you to leave us.

July 10, 2011

Sat, 09 Apr 2011 20:52:18 -0500

Yesterday I was painting in Soleytown. When I started, it was low
tide and no wind so I started a half sheet watercolour of the red mud,
the cliffs and the sky. Around 3 pm the wind came up. Quickly I
filled all my water containers to weigh down all my “Stuff”. Suddenly
my plastic palette rose into the air, spraying green water over my
painting before it continued on over the cliff. First things first.
I wet down the painting and got those green spots off before they
dried. Then I packed up the car since there was no more painting. My
paints were gone. When everything was safely stowed, I looked over the
cliff. There was my palette, only part way down and there was a
sturdy rope tied to the guard rail. I took a deep breath and decided
to go for it. Going down was easy because of gravity. I just held
onto the rope and slid on my bottom. I reached the palette and
grabbed it with my foot. Unfortunately, when holding the palette, I
wasn’t able to climb the cliff with only one hand. I pushed the
palete ahead and with two hands on the rope, I slowly crawled up.
When I reached the top, I surprised a carload of tourists who were
taking pictures of the view. Imagine when they saw this “old woman”
huffing and puffing upward. I was so relieved and embarrassed when I
made it to the top that I merely wished them a nice day and jumped
into my car and drove off!

April 1, 2011

Fri, 01 Apr 2011 20:52:18 -0500

Laurie and I have had a wonderful few days in Wellington. It's a gorgeous city full of winding roads, steep hills and of course the ocean surrounding everything. The houses are perched on the hillsides with little stepped paths down or up to the doors. Only the garages are on the road levels. We have already taken in five art exhibitions. Graham Percy's illustrations and drawings were funny and intriguing. I loved the fat round forms and the great compositions. The shift into his dark period when he knew that he was dying was really heartfelt in his work but he was still clever, humorous and prolific. I often think about what keeps me creating. It is certainly not the money or the quest for everlasting life. Rather for me the creating is essential to who I am and what makes me happy. The photography of Brian Brake at Te Papa was a life survey of his extensive world documentary photos. I was intrigued with the video of how he never put a camera strap around his neck and he just wove through crowds not looking like a photographer. The secret he said was to anticipate an image, because if you wait until after you see it, it is already gone by the time you press the shutter.

I can understand why the world wants to come and see the landscape of
New Zealand. Yolande and Kieryn took Laurie and I on a drive around
the coastline just surrounding Wellington. The evening sky was pinks
and blues, the fading sun bathed the south island that floated on the
horizon and although the ocean appeared serene in the distance, waves
crashed over the angular black rock in the foreground. Glorious.

Yesterday Laurie and walked to down town Wellington. The highlight
was a ramble through the Botanical Gardens. It is a huge garden full
of trees and paths and little vista's of beauty. I was amazed that so
many of the birds and plants are totally unfamiliar. Last evening
Kieryn said how much she loved squirrels. We have had terrrible
problems with squirrels trying to cohabit with us in our house in
Portaupique. I wish I could give her our squirrels!

March 28/29, 2011

Mon, 28 Mar 2011 20:52:18 -0500

March 28 (or 29 since we have crossed the dateline)

On the 26, I was up at 5 and off to the Halifax airport with my friend, Laurie Gunn. Laurie and I did allot of traveling together before I married Jim. Jim is marvelous to travel with as well but this trip he opted out of. Instead he's been visiting his son and grandsons in Texas and today he starts hiking a part of the Appalacian Trail.

Laurie and I arrived in Boston around 9 am and took the tube to the Boston Museum of Fine Art. We had a great day. The five hours that we spent at the gallery were good for my soul. I am always inspired and intimidated by master pieces. I always feel a huge bond with the French Impressionists; partly because I love the strong compositions and their glorious use of colour, as well I feel a kinship with the entire process of finding the inspiration and then the entire process of making it my own.

After several hours of soaking up paintings, Laurie and I saw the photography exhibition and

then saw the ancient art collection. Boston Museum has an astonishing collection of Egyptian mummies and saw wonderful old old pots. It is hard for me to be wowed by old pots since being in Greece at Aquitira but definitely I always feel a real kinship with these early artists whose work lives on.

After a full day in Boston we returned to the airport and caught a flight to LA.

Luckily our very late arrival meant we didn't have to be interested in LA on arrival. It was enough to get a shuttle to our hotel and crawl into bed.

Yesterday we were up and feeling peppy and after a great breakfast we decided to do a full day tour of LA .

March 16, 2011

Wed, 16 Mar 2011 20:52:18 -0500

Last year, my daughter Danica was working with international students.Although I knew we couldn’t have anyone live with us for long periods of time, since it would crimp my painting,Jim and I both are happy to help out and have foreign students or teachers stay with us for short periods of time.We were lucky to meet teachers from China and students from Korea, Japan, Italy and Germany.This morning, when I answered the telephone, a little voice, said “Joy, It’s Soo.”Soo is back in Korea now but she was in Canada for a year and half. When she arrived in Canada, she was just eight.We managed to get to know Soo right after her first school year here, when she was without a home to stay in until summer camp started.Our littleSoo arrived to stay for a week or so.I’m still incredulous that education is so important that families would send their young children away for such a length of time.Soo had to be precocious to survive.We had hosted other much older students who because of shyness had a very hard time adjusting to our strange Canadian culture and language.After a year in our school system, Soo spoke wonderful English, she exuded confidence and she delighted in being with us.She trained our dog and us.When my youngest daughter, Yolande, was little I would lay down beside her every night and make up astory for her.Often I would doze off and she would elbow me to keep on talking.When a story was “magic” she would always ask to have it retold but usually I couldn’t remember anything about it.I started making up and telling new stories to Soo every night.She loved them.This morning when Soo called she said it was bedtime in Korea and she called for me to tell her a story.I was touched.I put down my paint brushes and told her to get comfy and told her the story of “Peawee, the very tiny dog“.

March 12, 2011

Sat, 12 Mar 2011 20:52:18 -0600

Today it feels like spring. It’s been raining all day and the snow is dissolving and disappearing. Tomorrow is day light saving maybe a few weeks earlier than years ago but that still means that winter is licked.

Around our place in rural Nova Scotia, we have a delightful tiny white flower with pale pink stripes that always blooms early May. It’s called a Spring Beauty and I love to find them.

Unfortunately we also have Spring Ugly. Spring Ugly isn’t the fault of the government. It can’t be blamed on a freak of nature nor even really on big corporations. Spring Ugly is caused by everyday rural Nova Scotian’s who don’t seem to have any problem tossing their Tim Horton’s cups, their beer cans or their cigarette packages out of their car windows. Today because the snow is receding, I found Spring Ugly: six Tim Horton’s cups, one beer tin, one cigarette package and one Campbell’s Tomatoe Soup tin all within a hundred meters of my house!

February 27, 2011

Sun, 27 Feb 2011 20:52:18 -0600

“Do you have to order coffee?”

It was in Italy eleven years ago that I first saw the sign for an “Internet Café”. I wondered about checking it out but I didn’t know the protocol; did you have to order coffee? I had internet at home but I’d never considered it to be portable. It was set up on my home computer and that was that.

My friend Laurie was with me for the first week of our Italian adventure and the two of us hopped trains, boats and buses to visit Venice, Florence and Rome. Then Laurie came home to Canada to resume teaching, and the panic hit when I was alone in Rome and I was supposed to have the courage to sit outside in this whirling bussing swarm of people. I buckled down, sucked my breath in, and set off painting. It takes allot of self-confidence to set up and paint in a strange city with an unfamiliar language. The first morning, I headed down to the Campi Di Fiori Market. I loved the colours of the vegetables, the flowers and the market umbrellas and it was fascinating to watch the shoppers and the sellers. After the market was set up, the market women put on their clean aprons and began selling. Clusters of short old women in long black coats would huddle in front of the vegetables and carefully choose a tomatoe, a pepper,

perhaps an aubergine. When the market men weren’t watching me, they were mostly sitting and chatting in lawn chairs around outdoor stoves. Young men and women on bikes would zip up to the flowers stalls and go off with small bouquets for their windowsills or lovers. After the first day, the market became my familiar safe haven for my morning painting. One day, it was raining and I was invited to share the umbrella and the lunch of Prospero, the Jewish junk seller. After that day, I was welcomed with Italian kisses on each cheek by my old gray bearded friend. Each day after the market was over, I again had to call on all the courage I could muster, as I went looking for a spot to do a second painting. I wandered over Ponte Sisto across the Tiber River to Trastevere or up an alley to Piazza Nivona or down a few streets to the Pantheon. Sometimes, I was harassed by begging gypsies. Always it was hard to find a spot where I was safe from the traffic or the crowds of people, who in Italy, seem to love to press against you on all sides. One afternoon, I found my little safe spot on the base of a statue next to a sleeping homeless person.

February 22, 2011

Tue, 22 Feb 2011 20:52:18 -0600

Snow blows sideways across the field,
Forming little crests and waves.
The biting wind sucks my breath away.
My body aches with each hip deep step.
Even the dog finds the going hard.
No dazzling pools of light and
Long blue shadows beckon us
To continue on to the marsh and the river.
The day's colour has been erased,
Leaving raw gray light and flattened shapes.
Quickly I dump the putrid overflowing compost bucket,
And we struggle back to the porch.

I close the door on the bleak coldness.
Wet boots and coat and mitts come off,
And find me still pink and cosy underneath.
Marsh curls up at my feet on the striped Spanish rug,
While I relax with a warm mug in the lazy boy.
The red gourd lamp throws dancing light
across my bumpy vibrant starry night mat.

On the kitchen window sill
A gangly green geranium sways upward
Out of a large round blue ceramic pot.
It’s one large glowing red flower,
Obliterates the winter beyond.