saying goodbye is never easy...

...and sometimes it's downright painful. I won't lie: this week has been both good and rough, and no matter how well I slept the night before, every night except Saturday night I crashed into bed due to the exhaustion brought on by my grief over Stan's death. Thankfully, there are those things known as email and Facebook--and Mom and I have made good use of both.

Also: every week I try to tell the story of that week as honestly as possible, usually editing only for grammar and clarity. Having said that, this week's post is extremely raw and emotional at times, due to both my commitment to honesty and where I was emotionally when I wrote this post, which I did over the course of four days. You might want to grab some kleenexes before proceeding. You have been warned.

This post is dedicated to the memory of Stan Hart.

Monday: I met with Adrian, and he suggested that I do the project, but not as part of a course. He will meet with me periodically.

I got the reading situation for Carla's classes sorted out. Hello, marathon reading sessions for the rest of the week.

My part of the APC show (Photographs) opened at the Anna Leonowens Gallery and was well-received. It looks awesome.

Tuesday: I had a meeting with Joan after Twentieth-Century Art. Toward the end of the appointment, I told her about Stan's death--and burst into tears. I shared with her some of the things I loved about him--and that I miss. I knew his death had to hit hard at some point. I think it was obvious how much he meant to me.

I spent the rest of the afternoon studying and then made a card for Ruth (Stan's wife). I couldn't write the message for the card without crying--a fact that I put in said message.

Wednesday: I mailed the card and then spent the rest of the day catching up on readings for my courses.

Eventually, I tore myself away from my reading to zip down to the Port Loggia Gallery for the opening of the rest of the APC show. ...and then it was back to reading.

Thursday: Due to staying up a bit too late the night before, I had to fight to stay awake in class that morning (sorry, Jayne).

In between classes I went to St. Mary's Cathedral Basilica (which woke me up--sometimes a good, brisk walk a few hours after the coffee has worked as much magic as it's going to helps--for a few hours, at least). While I'm not Catholic (I'm Eclectic Pagan), I wanted to light a candle for Stan and had felt the urge to do so for a couple of days. I wanted to feel the sense of peace that almost always comes over me when entering a place of worship, regardless of faith. I did some intense googling Wednesday night, and the only church that I found that listed their hours was St. Mary's--and they have a little blurb on the side of one of the pages that says that "visitors are invited to light vigil candles when visiting the church." PERFECT!

After lighting a candle (one of the tea lights--they also had gargantuan votives), I chose a pew at the back (one of the ones with a padded kneeling bench--awesome! I don't think I've ever seen a padded one in a Catholic church before.) and prayed. On my way out, I stopped for a few minutes and watched my candle burn, thinking about Stan and remembering the last time I saw him (this past summer, which was my last time talking with him and the last time I hugged him. Writing that sentence when I started writing this post on Thursday evening triggered a massive, violent sob-attack--there's no other way to describe it. Sometimes the fact that my honorary grandfather, a man I loved dearly, who always had a smile for me and was always a joy to be around, is dead hits me with the force of a semi truck. I miss you, Stan. I miss you. Terribly.) and silently crying. I then got lunch and headed back to class.

Afterward, I continued the readings while listening to the recording of Beethoven's Missa Solemnis that I got for Christmas (this recording). During times like this, there are always at least three things that help me: my faith (whatever it happens to be: I've converted twice already, with an average of ten years between switches), talking about it with friends and music. Specifically music like the Missa Solemnis or the second movement from the Emperor Concerto or the second movement from Beethoven's seventh (notice a theme here? I firmly believe that Beethoven wrote something for every mood, every moment in life, and I often turn to him, in both the good times and the bad.).

If you're curious, here's Stan's obit--with a photo (I completely lost it when I saw the photo). That smile--which I'll never see in real life again. Unfortunately, the site is one of those where you can only read a few articles before it asks you to subscribe. I made a PDF of both his death notice (also posted on that paper's site) and his obit.

Friday: In the wee hours of that morning, I finally put together what I'd been aching for for a couple of days: a playlist of tracks that, when I listen to them, go straight to my soul. In my usual style, I went through iTunes and put everything that sounded like it might be suitable in the playlist. Miraculously, the whole thing fit (though barely) on my 2GB second-generation iPod Nano, along with everything else that I have on there (I had to dump a couple playlists, though). Three hours of peaceful music, some sacred, some secular--everything from the second movement of the Emperor Concerto to Ase's Death to Rachmaninov's Vespers. Done.

That afternoon, I had an appointment with Shawna (the registrar) to tell her what I was up to with regards to the independent study. She asked me how I was, and I told her that there were two parts to the answer: my classes were going well, but a close friend who was like a grandfather to me had died almost a week ago. I couldn't talk about Stan's death without my voice getting shaky. We also sorted a few things out on my audit work sheet.

I spent the rest of the day studying, and when Becky (remember her?) came into the computer lab and asked me how I was, I told her everything--and sobbed in her arms. She's right: I have had a rough year (though I know how to deal with what I'm currently going through, having felt the pain of grief before). One of the security guards who works the 4:00 PM - 12:00 AM shift during the week, Bill, had seen me when I told Jake what was going on, saw that I was really upset and a few minutes before he needed to start making the rounds (one person from that shift of security guards has to go through the entire school in two hours--there are two people and while one sits at the front desk, the other goes through the school) came to see what was up. I told him--and sobbed. He comforted me in his weird, awesome way.

Saturday: I spent the afternoon studying, listening to opera (an archive performance from earlier this season of Eugene Onegin) and, especially at 2:30, thinking of Stan and his wife, Ruth (2:30 was when the funeral was).

That evening, Helen (my old mentor from my last year at NBCCD and a family friend) and I skyped. It made up for the fact that I was unable to go to the funeral (I really wanted to go): we shared stories about Stan and Ruth, I read her the message that I'd written in the sympathy card, I cried... When I'm going through something like this and am able to have a good, long conversation about the person who's died and what I'm going through, I regard it as sacred. And while all the things that I'd done prior to Helen's and my chat helped a little, our chat really helped. We both think of it as our own memorial service.

I am incredibly thankful to everyone who's helped me through this terribly sad time.

That night I finally got caught up on my readings. Whew! Now I'll have more time for other things--including my independent project!

Sunday: When I woke up today, I felt a lot better: I didn't feel so weighted down by grief. I still miss Stan, but it isn't as intense.

I spent the afternoon doing the readings for Twentieth-Century Art and started the readings for this week's Topics in Modern Canadian Art this evening.

hit the ground running

Never a dull moment at art school… Also, this is post #200, in case anyone's curious. And I don't think the fact that this is my final semester has really sunk in yet.

Monday: I was in for a bit of a shock when I found out that my access card no longer worked on the Photo Dept. doors (any of them) due to the fact that I'm not taking any PHOT credits this semester. Needless to say, that completely threw me for a loop, as the Photo Dept. is my home at NSCAD. It completely messed with my way of working.

I have a feeling that I'm going to like Contemporary Indigenous Art, and I'm excited about what I'm going to learn this semester. The course will cover indigenous peoples outside North America as well as First Nations peoples and Native Americans, and cover other topics in addition to art. Because a couple of people said that Carla Taunton (who teaches two of my history courses: Contemporary Indigenous Art and Topics in Modern Canadian Art) knows a lot about indigenous peoples, I wanted to make the most of my time having her as a teacher. Since Idle No More started and I (finally) became interested in First Nations' history and what Natives have had to deal with since white people came to North America, I had been thinking about meeting with Carla to learn even more than what's presented in the course. That may or may not happen, because the course covers a lot. The description in the calendar doesn't do it justice: "This course on contemporary Indigenous arts will introduce students to the diversity of contemporary Aboriginal art practices (including video, photography, performance, painting, installation) contextualized by Indigenous theories of sovereignty, self-determination, and survivance."

I stayed until Photo closed at 10:30 that night. Alex and I left at the same time, and he came up with a few suggestions that would remedy my situation, including Reconfigured Image (done) or an independent project (AHA!!!). I went over my list of possible projects for APC, and picked the one that I felt was the best after the one that I did last semester. By the time I got home, I was 95% sure that I wanted to do it, and not just because it gets me twenty-four-hour access to the Photo Dept.

Tuesday: Right away, I could tell that Survey of Twentieth-Century Art was going to be different from NBCCD's FVA art history survey courses, as almost right away Jayne Wark was talking about Modernism. I'm looking forward to it, though.

That afternoon, I started jumping through the hoops necessary to make the independent project happen, and went to OSAS and made an appointment with Shawna (the registrar). I also emailed Adrian. I called Dal and made an appointment with Joan to continue what we'd started last semester.

Alex told me that evening that everything had been worked out. From an email to Mom:

"My access card will eventually work on the doors in the Photo Dept., as Chris (who's the top tech) and Alex worked things out. However, I still plan to do the independent-study, as I'm all excited about it now, have picked my project and have started jumping through the hoops. I was talking with Alex just a few minutes ago, and he told me that everything had been worked out and he didn't have to kick me out tonight. I told him that I still planned to do the project, and that by the time I [was almost home Monday night], I was 95% sure that I wanted to do it. I decided to sleep on it, and I'm now going for it. I also mentioned that right from the start, my goal has been to make the most of my time at [NSCAD], and this is a way of doing that."

And yes, my letter was published in the Courier (page A5, for anyone who reads that paper). As promised, here it is:

Due to the intensity of the week up to that point, I decided to start writing this post that afternoon and continued writing throughout the week, adding to it every day.

Wednesday: I was finally able to catch my breath (and catch up on my sleep) that day due to not having any classes, and while I had things to do, the list wasn't as long as it had been for the last four days. I ordered the course pack for Contemporary Indigenous Art (which is thick as heck and equally expensive--good thing I don't plan to buy the course pack for Twentieth Century Art, as almost everything is on reserve in the NSCAD library--the exception is an article from an art journal, which is available at the library, just not on the reserve shelf--or the book for Topics in Modern Canadian Art, which will soon be available in the NSCAD library) and edited some photos.

Adrian replied to my email, and unfortunately he can't take on any more independent-study students. He suggested checking at OSAS to see if part-time instructors like Steve Farmer can work with students who are doing independent-study projects. And he's available to meet with me on Monday.

You may have heard of The Dark Side of Oz, which involves syncing The Dark Side of the Moon with The Wizard of Oz. Well, apparently if you sync Amnesiac by Radiohead with the rest of the movie, it works perfectly.

Thursday: During Survey of Twentieth-Century Art, I found out that there were readings for that day's class--and that I should've done them. After class, I clarified that part of the schedule. I then went to OSAS and asked about regular part-time faculty (RPT--NSCAD's system of part-time faculty is kind of complex, as there are three different levels) working with students who are doing independent-study projects. They weren't able to answer my question, and referred me to Joanne Reynolds-Farmer. According to her, RPTs can't, except in the summer.

That afternoon, I had Topics in Modern Canadian Art, which was interesting, as we spent most of the class waiting for course outlines to be printed. Though Carla was able to give us the rundown of what's going to happen.

I picked up the course pack (and forked over an arm and a leg--while I completely understand why Kinko's has to charge copyright fees, as a student those numbers can really take a chunk out of my loan) and marked in the list of readings in the front which readings were for which weeks, just as I'd done in the course pack for Obsolescence last year.

Friday: It's ridiculous how excited I was for the weekend. I don't have class on Fridays this semester, and after the whirlwind first week, I was looking forward to not having class until Monday afternoon.

I still had things to do, though, including checking at Student Services to see if NSCAD had received the second bit of the money that I owed for this semester (on Sunday night, I discovered that the federal loan folks had put more money in my credit union account than I'd expected. While extra money is awesome--even if I have to pay most of it back: some of it is in the form of bursaries--I was concerned that NSCAD hadn't gotten all that I owed them. I checked on Monday, and at the time the school had received half of what I owed for this semester.). They had, and I mentioned that I would possibly be doing an independent-study project. If I'm successful in taking on the extra three credits, I'll be responsible for paying the school. I'm so glad I have a chequing account now and don't have to get a counter cheque every time I need to use that payment method.

I emailed Alvin Comiter and Bob and asked about doing an independent-study project with either of them and emailed Adrian again.

And I wrote my assignments for the semester in my planner. I'd planned to do the readings that I needed to do that day, but decided to do them on Saturday instead.

Saturday: I spent the afternoon in the NSCAD Library, doing the readings for Twentieth-Century Art, and managed to finish the first reading and start the second.

The Met played Die Fledermaus (The Bat). Sadly, I was photocopying the chapters that I had to read and missed the Champagne Song (because NSCAD has the book that's used for Twentieth-Century Art and it's cheaper to do your own photocopying, I opted to borrow the copy that NSCAD has on reserve and use the library's photocopier). I usually write the parts that I find interesting or important in my notebook, but this time they were taking too long and I could only have the reserve copy for three hours. Making my own copies meant that I could take a highlighter pen to the readings.

Because I was in the library, I wasn't able to hum along with the overture, which is one of those pieces that never fails to make me hum along (the Moldau from Ma Vlast is another).

Every time I watch the Wiener Neujahrskonzert, I can't help but notice that all the musicians are men, with the exception of the harpist. And they're all white. Thankfully, my favourite orchestras (the BSO, Met Opera Orchestra and PBSO) are a lot more inclusive (though as of the last PBSO concert that I went to, Americans still outnumber Canucks by about 7:1, and Trond mentioned that the orchestra needs more Canadian members).

I was introduced to that song by the Met Opera Brass and their second album, Waltzes, Songs and Festive Scenes (the Champagne Song is track eight), and it's one of my favourite tracks from that album.

Sunday: I spent a couple hours in the NSCAD library today as well, finishing the readings. The library might end up becoming the spot where I do all my readings, as there's a lot more space to spread out than in the photo dept. Sorry, Photo.

I had a look at the list of important dates, and it looks like Friday was the last day that I could add a class. So I might not be able to do the independent-study project (for credit, anyway--I might just go ahead and do it, as it requires participation from other artists and I'm in the perfect spot). :-(

Earlier this evening I found out that a family friend, my honorary grandfather (and reader of this blog), Stan Hart, died Saturday night. I'll let my Facebook status do the talking. RIP Stan.

life, death and art

The countdown to the final day is in full swing.

Monday: I spent much of the day decompressing from the trip to Elsipogtog. Turns out, Laura and I had gone at the right time, as the protesters had another confrontation with SWN and the RCMP. This one wasn't as major as the one that grabbed headlines in October, thankfully.

I also had another meltdown related to what I've been going through this semester. I could feel it bubbling just under the surface after I read the thing that triggered said meltdown that morning. I waited until late that afternoon before talking with Jake and Alex about it--and crying. And Chris (another tech) now knows some of what I've been going through this semester. This time of year is busy for everyone, techs included, so I'm really thankful that they managed to find time to comfort me.

Tuesday: I had another appointment with Joan--my last for this semester. And I discussed the events of the previous day with her (it was one of those times where, yes, I had an appointment the next day--but I needed to talk with someone right then).

That day Mom told me that she wanted some of my photos from Elsipogtog for the Christmas newsletter. She also wondered why some people are pro-fracking, which I happily researched (see here and here).

Wednesday: Crit Day. I did really well and I'm proud of what I've accomplished this semester. To paraphrase Neil Gaiman: going through a hell that keeps recurring? Make good art. I'm going to deviate from talking about the crit to share this passage from that address with you guys because it's so awesome: "Fourthly, I hope you'll make mistakes. If you're making mistakes, it means you're out there doing something. And the mistakes in themselves can be useful. I once misspelled Caroline, in a letter, transposing the A and the O, and I thought, 'Coraline looks like a real name...'

"And remember that whatever discipline you are in, whether you are a musician or a photographer[!!!], a fine artist or a cartoonist, a writer, a dancer, a designer, whatever you do you have one thing that's unique. You have the ability to make art.

"And for me, and for so many of the people I have known, that's been a lifesaver. The ultimate lifesaver. It gets you through good times and it gets you through the other ones.

"Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do.

"Make good art.

"I'm serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it's all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn't matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.

"Make it on the good days too."



And now, back to the blog post.

While my crit went well, I had to rewrite part of the contextualizing statement. I was okay with that, though I'd planned to be done with the thing: once I'd gotten the final draft down to seven hundred and fifty words and was happy with it, I planned to never touch it again. Turns out, I had to dig it back out after all. I spent the afternoon rewriting the statement during the open studio.

Mom had told me that she and Tom were going to work on the annual Christmas newsletter the next day, so I chose photos from the Elsipogtog trip, edited them and wrote a couple hundred words on the experience. I sent everything that night.

Thursday: I worked on the statement and some other things that needed to get done, including getting some Christmas presents. Early that evening, I found out that Nelson Mandela had died and I emailed Mom with the news. She hadn't yet found out. As I was writing this on Saturday night, I was listening to CBC Music's Essential Classics channel and as I was writing about what happened on Thursday, the folks at CBC had Barber's Adagio on. I wanted to include something in this post to honour Mandela, and the Adagio is perfect. Thanks, CBC!



And this, from another wonderful human:



Friday: I didn't get a whole lot done, which I wasn't thrilled about. Though I managed to finish the contextualizing statement. That evening I went to an end-of-semester/birthday/some-classmates-are-done-this-semester-and-are-moving-away party. I was there during the first half of said party, while it was still fairly small and intimate. We played music on the host's (Greg, one of my classmates) turntable and iPad Mini and iPods from a couple of his friends. This was the first record that he put on. Also, I tried blueberry wine for the first time. I liked it and would happily have it again, but I was expecting more of a blueberry taste.

That day, SWN finally backed down. I wish I could go to Elsipogtog again just to give everyone involved with the protest a high five. However, the fight isn't over: SWN will be back. Some sources are saying in '15, others say they don't know when the company will try again.

Saturday: Saturday was the Met's first radio broadcast of the season: Verdi's Rigoletto, which was wonderful as always. I've missed the Met (and their wonderful orchestra, complete with a horn section that could give the BSO's violin section a run for its money when it comes to knocking peoples' socks off), so it was great to hear them again. Here's Questa o quella from act one (the Met's current production is set in Vegas in 1960):



I spent the day getting a bunch of things done.

Sunday: I worked on several things not related to school, including my packing list and a surprise for the techs, as I want to thank them for supporting me through this semester's bumps and scrapes.

Today marks ten years since my worst violin lesson ever. I hadn't practiced all week, and Lynn knew right away. It took her three tries to get me to tell the truth--the first time I don't think I really gave an answer, the second time I probably said something along the lines of "maybe...?," the third I admitted to what I'd done. I'll never forget her telling me that the lesson was a waste of money (hers don't come cheap, but they're so worth it as she's a really good teacher). And I'll never forget the times that I wanted to find a small corner in her house, curl up into a ball and sob--and the times that I came close to tears on the way home. Simply put, I was miserable. For the last few years, I've been suspicious that that lesson was an early sign of what would culminate in me quitting lessons in April 2004. I can't believe it's been ten years.

The next time I write, I'll be enjoying a much-needed and -deserved break at home. And a week after that is Nutcracker weekend for the BSO. Here's a version of the entire ballet that was performed as a concert (you read that right--no dancers were involved in this performance). My god! We're only two weeks away from Nutcracker weekend!!! **squeals**

what to do when there's nothing to do

I'm home for three weeks! 'Nuff said.

Monday: Because I didn't have any homework that day, I spent it packing, cleaning (desk and fridge), and working on some other stuff.

Tuesday: I went back to the Seaport Farmers' Market, but the place was a ghost town. Note to self: the best market days are on the weekend.

Wednesday: Because I'd finished everything for Book Arts, I was free to do whatever I wanted--so I decorated my final project.

Bob had given us the option of installing our final projects over at the Academy Building that evening if we wanted to. Because my project was so big (the paper is 36" x 42") and therefore difficult to manage, I decided to take advantage of the extra time. I went home after class as, again due to the size, I had nowhere at NSCAD to store my print so I had to pick it up in my room. After more putzing, I grabbed the print and went back to the Granville Campus. I'd posed for my classmate/friend Ken's final project for Intro, as had the rest of the class and Adrian, and Ken had made prints for all of us, so I had to pick mine up before the photo department closed for the break. After I squeezed the box that housed the print into my backpack, I had nothing to do for another half-hour, so I spent it hanging out with the studio techs and any passing students and enjoying some of the goodies that were laid out on a table in the studio.

I then headed over to the Academy Building with my print and hung it with the help of a classmate (pinning a photo that big is nearly impossible if you're doing it solo).

Thursday: Crits. All day. We didn't discuss the technical quality of the prints so much as we discussed the ideas and concepts addressed by the project that we were critiquing. My crit went extremely well.

An installation shot of my project.

After all that, we went out for beer at a pub that's a block from the Academy Building.

Once I got home, I grabbed supper, did some last-minute things for the next day and got to bed as early as I could because I had to be up at 6:00 the next morning (5:00 EST).

Friday: Homecoming Day. I was surprised at how awake I was that morning: I'm usually a zombie before 8:00 AM. I packed the last of my stuff and putzed some more because I was half-an-hour ahead of schedule (how did that happen?). My roommate helped me carry my stuff down to the front door of the residence where I called a cab.

Once at the bus station, I got my luggage tagged and then waited some more--this time for my bus to be called. I then dragged my stuff to the bus, got my two non-carry-on bags stowed, chose a seat and settled in for the ride. I spent most of the journey reading, though I called Mom at Truro, NS with an update about needing to transfer buses (when I'd checked on the Maritime Bus website, they'd said that there wouldn't be any transfers for my route, but the bus driver said that anyone headed past Moncton, NB would have to transfer. This confusion is pretty much expected because the company had only been in operation for two weeks as of Friday).

Mom greeted me with a big hug, and we drove the rest of the way home.

I'd been offline all day, so when I logged into my Facebook account, I was greeted by news of the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting. I couldn't believe it: who would even think of deliberately killing little kids? As I read, I could almost feel my heart break. Sometimes I can barely think about the shooting without sobbing.



Saturday: Mom's birthday. Once I got going that day, I didn't stop. I spent the afternoon cooking for her birthday dinner while humming along to the Met's performance of Aïda.

Sunday: We put the tree up, and I did most of the decorating while listening and singing along to Christmas music.

thank you, Maurice

I grew up watching The Nutcracker. Specifically, the Bolshoi Ballet's production and the Pacific Northwest Ballet's production. And later on, the Balanchine (New York City Ballet) and Royal Ballet productions. The PNB's version was designed by Maurice Sendak.

Sendak died yesterday, after "suffering a stroke on Friday night." He was best known for Where the Wild Things Are, but I associate him more with his production of The Nutcracker, which premiered in December 1983. The Royal Ballet (which I saw for the first time a few years ago) and NYCB productions are the closest to my idea of a "perfect" Nutcracker, but early on I was heavily inspired by the PNB production. Particularly, the choreography in the Childrens' Galop and at the end of the Waltz of the Snowflakes. But also the costumes in the party scene, and it was then that I fell in love with empire waists (okay, the A&E/BBC Pride and Prejudice also had something to do with that). I also loved (and wanted) the costume that Clara wears post-transformation during the Journey to the Land of Snow--I still do, in fact.



It also scared me: at the end of the battle scene, a large tail suddenly appears on the right-hand side (I'm guessing it's the Rat King's). That thing scared the crap out of me every time when I was little (though it wasn't as bad as Von Rothbart in the Fonteyn/Nureyev version of Swan Lake, which I also grew up on). But that was one of the things that made Sendak Sendak: he knew that childhood isn't all rosy and pastel colours--there's some darkness mixed in, too. A lot of what makes us who we are as adults--good or bad--occurs in childhood, and he knew that. That's why he didn't shy away from creating things like Where the Wild Things Are, though other adults, wanting to preserve their childrens' innocence, disagreed.

Sendak's Nutcracker was intended to be truer to Hoffman's original story than a lot of productions out there. In the Hoffman tale, there's a story-within-a-story called The Hard Nut that Herr Drosselmeyer tells Clara when she's stuck in bed for several days due to the injuries she receives from the rats. It's about how the Nutcracker became the Nutcracker, and when Tchaikovsky wrote the ballet, he had to leave it out (probably because it would've made the ballet too complicated). However, Sendak added a piece just before Clara's dance with the Nutcracker. It tells the story-with-a-story, and is set to music from one of Mozart's operas (Mozart also appears as a bust on top of the Stahlbaums' toy cabinet). I didn't understand what that dance was about, or why it was added, until years later when I read an English translation of the Hoffman story, as Sendak talked about the story-within-a-story and his views on (to him) the oversimplification of the ballet in the introduction.

Thank you, Maurice, for making my own childhood that much more memorable, and for providing some of the inspiration for my dream Nutcracker.

my letter to Jack Layton

I finally feel ready to publish it. Enjoy.

--------

 

August 27, 2011

Jack:

As I promised in the wee hours of the 26th, I would write you. So here I am. I may repeat what I said, but writing will give me a way to expand on it.

I still can't believe you're gone. And I cannot begin to describe my sadness: I'm crying as I write this.

I was looking forward to you keeping Harper in check. I was looking forward to you challenging him. The filibuster this past spring was nothing short of awesome, and I was looking forward to more of that, to more defence of the 'little people'. But although Nycole [Turmel--interim leader of the NDP] and the rest of the NDP will get to continue that work, you will not. And that’s what makes me cry the hardest: thinking about things that I'd been looking forward to, things that Nycole will get to do, but you will not.

I remember watching pre-election news with my parents before I could vote. My parents are both Liberals, and although I agreed with the LPC, I also found myself agreeing with the NDP. But although I've always agreed with both parties, until a year ago I tended to vote Conservative in provincial elections and Liberal in federal elections (I'm proud to say that I have a clean record, having never voted for Harper, who came to power two years before I turned eighteen). It was only in the 2010 provincial election that I began to vote differently, and I voted for a third party: the NDP. Between the '08 and '10 elections, my political views had begun to shift towards the left, and by the time the rumours about a possible election in 2011 had begun to circle, I knew that I was no longer a Liberal; that that party no longer represented who I was as a young woman, that I no longer identified with their positions. As of this year, it was NDP or bust.

And what an election it was. The election was supposed to be just another trip to the polls--but we voters never accepted that message. I remember when the NDP's poll numbers started to skyrocket; when the possibility of either a Conservative government with an NDP Opposition, or an NDP government with a Conservative Opposition began to look like more than a fantasy. When it began to look like a possibility. And oh, when it became reality! The NDP becoming the Official Opposition was just about the only thing that gave me hope on election night (Harper's win made me cry with anger). Having spent a significant chunk of the election reading shitharperdid.com, I vowed to not let him get away with his plans to turn Canada--a country that I love more than anyone can imagine--into something completely unrecognizable.

I still feel that way today. I will oppose any law that I see as a threat to the freedom that we Canadians enjoy. With a Harper majority, no one can afford to be uninformed or apathetic.

I miss you, Jack. Last night, I started to do my usual dancing, but after a while I couldn't do it anymore: I was crying too hard, and, for the last half-hour before I called it quits, did the dishes, and started to get ready for bed, I was just too overwhelmingly sad. I miss you--I could keep saying that over and over.

Your funeral this afternoon was one of the most beautiful that I've ever heard (I listened to it on CBC Radio One)--the only other funeral that can compare is my granny's, in early-March '06. During hers, I found myself smiling several times, and during yours it was the same thing. I cried the hardest I have all week (even harder than in the last two days). In fact, I think I cried as much as I have since the twenty-second, and my eyes stung for a couple hours afterward from the tears. But I also applauded with the audience in the hall, sang along to Hallelujah (I usually sing along to O Canada, but this time all I could do was sob so hard that I could barely stand), and laughed. Sometimes I laughed and cried at the same time. It really was a celebration--one that I will not forget anytime soon, and one for which I am grateful. I loved the diversity of the ceremony: the different music genres, cultures, languages, memories, sexual orientations, religions... And Rev. Hawkes' reference to your last letter (sob).

Thank you for all that you did and accomplished during your life. Thank you, thank you, thank you a thousand times over. Like many people, young and old, I will proudly pick up the torch that was once yours, and carry it. Although I am an artist, and not a politician (though I'm far more political now after Election '11, which I owe mostly to you and the NDP, and for which I thank you), I will proudly continue to fight for the underdog. I accept your call to be "loving, hopeful and optimistic" (or try to, anyway--a Harper government doesn't make that task easy). And I fully intend on changing the world (whether local, national or international)--through my art, and through my actions.

Goddess bless, and go in peace.

Team Layton for life,
Annapurna

one of a kind

Canada lost a great politician Monday morning. Jack Layton was one of the few politicians that I admired (well, there was Obama, but he has yet to make good on some of the major things that he promised, such as closing Guantanamo, and increasing taxes on the wealthy while decreasing taxes on the not-so-wealthy--in fact, he extended the Bush tax cuts this year. Ahem.). Jack was one of those politicians who actually helped to make Canada--and the world--a better place. He was an environmentalist (the environment section of the NDP's '11 platform was a lot more action-oriented than the environment section of the Liberal Party's platform, which was one of the reasons why I voted for the NDP, rather than the Grits, this year). He was in favour of proportional representation (instead of the current first-past-the-post voting system). He was the kind of guy who liked to roll up his sleeves and get things done. And, like me, once he set his mind to something, the guy never backed down (and these are just four reasons why he was awesome).

Jack was a breath of fresh air in Canada's federal politics. While he was actually working to make things better, the other parties (Conservatives, Liberals, and Bloc Québecois) were still bickering over whether that thing needed to be done, and if so, how to do it. I remember last year when the NDP passed Bill C-311, a.k.a. the Climate Change Accountability Act, which I supported (and I've been getting emails from the NDP ever since). But although it passed in the House of Commons, it was defeated in the Senate, which was, and still is, a serious bummer. However, it was reintroduced in the House this past June, so there might be hope. Keep your fingers crossed!

I'm the kind of person who likes to check the news and Facebook first thing in the morning, so when I logged onto FB and read my news feed, I saw a whole bunch of people and organizations, starting with one of my former residence-mates, Karlie, saying that Jack was... DEAD?! WHAT?! Oh. My. God. NO! I was in shock. I'm still in shock: sometimes I think, "oh, my God, Jack's dead," and I don't want to believe it. I cry every time I think about that fact (including now).

By the way, I didn't know until yesterday (Tuesday) that not only do I share a birthday with Nelson Mandela, but I also share(d) a birthday with Jack. July 18 is a pretty awesome date. I only wish I'd known sooner...

Later that day, Jack's final letter to Canadians, which was dated August 20th, '11, was released. Although I link to it on rabble.ca here, I read it on the CBC's website. The letter is beautifully written, and since it's release people have been quoting it on Facebook--in status updates and on profile pics. As I wrote when I posted it to Facebook, I'd "been crying off and on for the last few hours, but I completely lost it when I read the ninth paragraph of Jack's letter ("To young Canadians")." It took me a long time to get through that paragraph. Here it is:

"All my life I have worked to make things better. Hope and optimism have defined my political career, and I continue to be hopeful and optimistic about Canada. Young people have been a great source of inspiration for me. I have met and talked with so many of you about your dreams, your frustrations, and your ideas for change. More and more, you are engaging in politics because you want to change things for the better. Many of you have placed your trust in our party. As my time in political life draws to a close I want to share with you my belief in your power to change this country and this world. There are great challenges before you, from the overwhelming nature of climate change to the unfairness of an economy that excludes so many from our collective wealth, and the changes necessary to build a more inclusive and generous Canada. I believe in you. Your energy, your vision, your passion for justice are exactly what this country needs today. You need to be at the heart of our economy, our political life, and our plans for the present and the future."

Thank you, Jack--for inspiring me, for getting me excited about voting and politics this year (and, gee, the Americans thought they had all the fun back in '08)--to steal a phrase from the Obama '08 campaign, I was "fired up and ready to go", for proving that a third party that had never done better than that could become the Official Opposition, for never backing down, for caring about the environment--and for simply being awesome. I was proud to vote NDP this year. May you rest in peace--and please say hi to Pierre Trudeau for me if you ever meet up with him in Paradise.

The condolence page on the NDP website

sad news

A quick entry before I go to bed.

I just found out that Natasha Richardson has died (I had to do that one last check on the news). I'm crying as I write this--I can't imagine what her family and Liam are going through right now. God bless and be with them all. May God surround them all with It's Light, comfort, compassion, love, and understanding. :'-(

March 19: PS TIME has a photo gallery of her life. The obit that they wrote last night (see link above) is absolutely beautiful and extremely well written.

Also March 19: PPS Here's an article from TIME.com explaining what caused her death.

I'm watching a couple of scenes from The Parent Trap and I'm laughing and crying at the same time--this was the only movie that I saw her in, but talk about good acting. The scene where she's drunk and meets Nick (Dennis Quaid) again is absolutely hilarious--even at a time like this. I'm trying not to laugh but that's next to impossible. I wouldn't be surprised if she would've wanted me to laugh.

March 19 (yet again): PPPS Yet more bombardment (that's one of the ways in which I deal during something like this): here's the New York Times' obit, which gives a run-down of her life.