recent sketchbook spreads

I haven't created much art lately, being too busy with my new job. But last weekend I took a much-needed break from working, and spent hours with my sketchbooks, just playing around. All images are collage, with Crayola wax crayons and occasionally pencil, coloured pencil, or china markers.

glenn gould

I was a huge fan of Glenn Gould in my late twenties. I had just started to learn the piano, and went looking for recordings of Bach keyboard music because I enjoyed the "List A" pieces in my conservatory piano books.

I found something called the Goldberg Variations, and played it on the stereo one night when I was alone in a huge, empty house. Part-way through the recording I was frightened by the sounds of a male voice mumbling nearby. I got up and looked out the windows, peering into the blackness unable to see anything, my heart beating rapidly.

Then I realized that the "mumbling" was coming from the stereo speakers. I later read that Gould always sang as he played, and his singing is audible in all his studio recordings.

The Goldberg Variations (especially Gould's 1981 version) became one of my favorite works, and when my sister got married I suggested she use the quodlibet (variation 30) as her wedding march. (Listen to it here - scroll down to track 31)

I did a series of sketches of Gould performing at the piano, using videotapes of his recording sessions and TV shows. Gould was an eccentric musician, constantly swaying, rocking, and conducting himself with closed eyes as he played. There was something restless and driven about him, and I like this particular drawing because it seems to catch him in a freeze-frame.

self portrait

I remember a drawing instructor once asked my class, "Why are there so many self-portraits in art history?" We tried to think up intellectual reasons - something along the lines of "the self-reflexivity of the artistic process since the renaissance," and were brought up short when the teacher pointed out that the artist is often the cheapest and most convenient model for him- or herself.

I went through a phase where I drew my face, hands or feet incessantly, and after a time I could even recreate my face from memory, without consulting the mirror.

This drawing is created with black markers in varying thicknesses, as well as soft (dark) pencil.

old woman

When I studied visual art at the University of Western Ontario in the early 90s, I developed a fascination with images of elderly people, especially old women. For my fourth-year painting class I did a series of eight huge canvasses, each containing eight life-size images of naked, elderly women. I spent a lot of time sketching lined, wrinkled faces and bodies during this period.

green man

Another drawing in my Jungian dream work series, this figure is again created with Crayola washable markers and sprayed with water. The drawing was made on the back of a recycled inkjet print, and the text just happened to bleed through the paper at the figure's abdomen.

dream woman

This image came from a bodywork session I did with Mary Hamilton. I lay on the floor, and in my mind's eye I saw different colours flowing through my body. Mary asked me to make drawings of my experience, and this is one of the first in a series that explored this particular bodywork session.

The drawing (using Crayola washable markers) started as a picture of my head, and the purple near the bottom of the page was an energy I saw moving through my throat. I wasn't happy with the image, so I drew the woman's figure on top of the drawing of the face, then sprayed the entire image with water to blur the ink. The drawing was created on the back of a recycled fax, hence the print visible through the paper.

fire man

Another drawing in the Jungian dream series, this image is of a being with a flame burning inside. Again, I used Crayola washable markers and sprayed the image with water afterwards to create the watercolour effect.

bird man

This drawing was created when I was involved in Jungian psychoanalysis in the winter of 1997/98. I had a dream about waterfowl on a distant planet, and when I did some work with the dream upon awakening, I envisioned a blue liquid seeping through me/the bird.

The drawing is made with Crayola washable markers. If lines are drawn and then sprayed with water, the ink bleeds like watercolour across the page. I had a lot of fun using this technique during this period.

sunbird

I have an uneasy relationship with my faith - Christianity. I live for sacred music, but being an intelligent, educated woman, there are parts of the doctrine that - out of concern for my own sanity - I tend to block out of my mind every Sunday morning as I sit in church.

Still, I look to the faith for spiritual nourishment, and I'm always trying to reconcile myself with the symbol of Christ, and its meaning. My long-time interest in Jungian psychology tells me that every symbol lives in each of us. If I can't wrap my mind around the idea that a literal Christ died to atone for my sins, I can at least try to see the transformative power of the Christ-image in my own life.

These have been difficult weeks for me. Since my boyfriend and I broke up, I wander through my days with a low-grade ache in the centre of my chest. The colour seems washed out of everything. I'm restless, and I don't want to be alone with myself. I can't concentrate on my writing. Nothing seems worthwhile.

(And I just spent an ill-advised afternoon listening to Jann Arden. How much worse could my despair get?)

There is a MacKenzie-sized hole in my life right now, and it's all I can do to keep reminding myself that every end is a beginning, and new life will follow the death and decay of the old. I was sitting on my toilet in the dark just now, blowing my nose after a crying jag, when I had a sudden vision of Mary Magdalene sitting by the tomb, weeping.

I could imagine her pain - feel her despair. She'd already watched her teacher die on the cross; now she had lost his body. I heard her beg the gardener, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away."

And the gardener was Jesus. She didn't even recognize him.

How often do we mourn what is lost, not realizing it has been transformed, and stands right in front of us?

This collage is from 2005. The image came to me spontaneously - a crow flying towards the sun. I love crows - they are amazing, intelligent birds. One of my favorite Lieder is the Schubert song Die Krahe (The Crow), from the song cycle Die Winterreise (Winter's Journey). For many summers I was heartbroken at the disappearance of crows from my hometown of London, Ontario, due to the West Nile virus. (The crow population is now slowing increasing again.)

The man's face was cut from an issue of Runner's World magazine, so I know he is a runner, but have no idea what his name is. I liked the gold colour of his face, and thought he would make a good sun god.