The Distance Between You and Me

I wasn't sure what was missing. Wasn't too sure why I wasn't writing, taking pictures. I chalked it up to being tired, recovering from the semester, getting long over due errands completed. Today I decided to go to the Vancouver Art Gallery instead of walking straight home from down town. It was also instead of going to the gym but we won't discuss that further here. I bought an annual membership when I moved here in the spring and haven't got as much use our of it as I wished. While previous exhibits had been interesting they didn't move me to inspiration. Today what I needed was peace and mystery and that is exactly what I was given.

As I slipped my earphones in and turned up Bon Iver  I wandered through Shore, Forest and Beyond. Art from the West Coast in all its representations. The hall smelled of cedar and each piece was at home against the dark blues and greens of the walls or contrasted against stark white. Walking from mask to mask, painting to painting and lingering over sculptures of whales and totems I was reminded of why I love art. Why I connect to this art in particular and what has been lacking in my life lately. I feel at home among bronze and wood sculptures, feet or inches away from oil and acrylic, surrounded by ink and paper. The works that brought me home have always been the same. My mum took me to a Group of 7 exhibit at the Glenbow when I couldn't have been much older than 10. I fell in love with the clean lines, the bold colours and my startling landscape. The work of Lawren Harris and Emily Carr are particularly important to me and when faced with one of Harris's painting today I was brought nearly to tears. It is the way my mind sees the peaks and lakes around me. Friends of mine had one of their own Emily Carr paintings. It is small, maybe 8x10, subtle in both composition and colour but last Christmas I stood awestruck in front of it for nearly half an hour.

These pieces and the photographs in other parts of the gallery reminded me of why I produce art, even of why I write. They remind me that risk and vulnerability and potentially awkward moments are often necessary for art to be created. At least good art. They also remind me that this is part of who I am. The west coast, the dark wood and tall mountains and deep green grey ocean. They remind me that taking the time to photograph and paint keep my spark. And I need that.

Beyond the beauty of the individual pieces I was also brought into the idea of the whole being greater than just the sum of the parts. Another exhibit is An Autobiography of Our Collection. What was striking to me was what was written on the wall. The words used to describe the exhibit.

" A collection is a group of objects assembled with particular intention. While each object alone has its own history, together the collection suggests narratives far greater than the sum of its parts. Collecting might itself be understood as an activity propelled by the essential human need to tell stories."

I connect with this idea of an essential human need to tell stories. It is what we do in every aspect of our lives and while it can sometimes lead us to get into trouble it is something that resonates with me to my very core. Words are good yes, but visuals, to be able to convey life or love or loss and heartbreak through something that can be understood in any language is truly remarkable.