MULTIVERSE

Recently, following a night of intense dreams involving persons long deceased and actions unexplainable, I was set to musing about the possibility of a parallel universe(s).

Have you ever travelled in your dreams to a place that you’ve been before, and been greeted as a long lost friend? Have you ever visited a place were once you lived, and imagine times spent, and wondered if time had continued in your absence? Have you ever turned left, instead of right, and pondered your future had you continued on? Have you ever travelled a stretch of highway and passed a vehicle identical to yours travelling in the opposite direction, and wondered about its occupants? When we die does another version of us occupying space in another universe, carry on?

I wandered down the street one day,

and looked down the hill,

at a place that I’d been before.

I imagined time spent in this place,

and events that happened, and 

wondered,

if time stood still, when

I moved on, or

if life carried on.

Do we exist in many places

like a film with its many frames,

moments of time captured,

while the movie carried on.

If I exist in many places

will my others, 

carry on, 

when I have reached my end, or

will my others fade,

like me. 

With no one to wonder,

no one to care,

no doubt they will,

like me,

simply,

fade away.

All of this brings me to the question of what happens to an artist’s work once he, or she fades away. Some would say what does it matter to the artist once he, or she, have faded away. But, as I age, I am concerned. Years of effort recognized, yet not recognized, by those in the know presents a problem for those that remain. I’ve hundreds of sketches, drawings, and paintings. Do I shred my struggle to be recognized, and go peacefully knowing that I tried, or do I simply let things happen as they may believing that this collection may one day find a home? Dilemma. Of course, if their exists a multiverse, and I exist in multiple dimensions, then my exit in this moment in time should present no problem…should it?

Recent sketches to add to my growing concern:-

Winter Birches   Watercolour

Tea Lake, Algonquin Park     Watercolour

Tea Lake Pen & Ink Sketch

KING OF THE CASTLE

King Of The Castle

A long time ago, when a child, I played a game called “King Of The Castle”. The idea was to fight your way to the top of a snow pile, or a mound of earth, the reward for which was your being able to crown yourself the king of the castle. I suppose that you might say that it was a way for children to be recognized by their peers, a game that we would unconsciously play for the rest of our lives. We struggled daily to be noticed, for those around us to recognize us, and include us in the challenges of everyday life. Then, we grow older. We’re shoved aside in the rush for others to claim the title of king of the castle. We’re forgotten. It’s probably one of the fears of aging,  being forgotten, treated as being invisible………

Invisible

The battery powered clock,

the one that you bought for your aunt 

when she went into the nursing home, 

tells you that it’s March the 5th, 2018.

It’s still twilight at 7:00 am,

or so the clock says. 

It’s difficult to know exactly, as you suspect that the battery is wearing out, 

not having been changed since your aunt died several years ago. 

You brought it  home to remind you

of who she was.

You stumble to the kitchen to boil the water for your first cup of coffee. 

It’s cold in the kitchen. 

Looking out of the kitchen window, the one over the sink, 

you notice that the thermometer on the railing of the rear deck reads minus 22 Celsius.

So much for global warming, you say out loud, 

but there’s no one to answer. 

You try to remember when winters were either judged to be too cold, or too warm,

with no thought to the weather signalling the end for life on earth as we know it. 

Was it five years, ten years, or fifty years ago?

You can’t remember. 

Having grown old, and no longer visible, 

each day feels like the rest. 

You do remember when you first realized that you were growing old, and becoming less important; 

as if your life had actually been important. 

It was a year ago, or so it seems.

Not important. 

You do remember that you immediately sat down at the kitchen table,

and wrote a poem about aging and becoming invisible, 

and that when you read it at the writing club, 

the oldest person in the circle, an old woman, disagreed with you,

arguing that when you become old you don’t become invisible; 

at least that’s the way she felt,

pointing out that she was 85 years old, 

and that she should know. 

You said nothing.

She had her opinion, and you had yours,

and neither was all that important. 

Outside it’s getting lighter.

A school bus rumbles by.

Time slogs on.

I’m Feeling Old

I walk down the street,

slowly.

I’m feeling

so     

      old.

I'm invisible you see,

I’m seventy-seven years old,

and told,

that I have little to offer.

Society has seen fit to stifle my being,

for being

so    

        old.

I’m seventy-seven years old, 

I’m part of the past.

I’ve seen miracles happen,

that have lengthen my stay,

but shortened your future

in so many ways.

I’m sevety-seven years old,

I have no future,

or so I am told, 

knowing,

only the past.

Tread softly young persons,

though the future seems bright,

the past catches up,

in the dawn’s early light.

EAS

Northern Ontario Landscape  Watercolour

Orphan Lake- Superior Provincial Park    Pencil Sketch

SNOWFLAKES FALLING

It's early November, the 9th to be exact. I'm sitting in my studio looking out on the world. Snowflakes are falling. I catch myself humming, "Oh Happy Days", sarcastically of course, not as it was meant, as what I'm looking out on is the beginning of winter, six months of cold miserable weather before the crocus and daffodils bloom. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wv5n_eCGkvM

Now, I can be forgiven for this bit of blasphemy as I've suffered 70 plus years of the white stuff. Endless shovelling. Of course, some of those years, those of my youth, weren't all about hating snow, and a seemingly everlasting winter. There were times when I enjoyed playing in the snow, but then I grew up, got old. For many of the elderly winter in Canada can be downright miserable, and involve long periods of isolation. Getting out and about runs the danger of slipping and falling, resulting in fractures from which, often, there's no coming back. So, more often than not many of the elderly sit quietly and wonder...................

The Winter Of My Life.

One snowy morning 

late in the winter of my life

while watching snowflakes falling

I found myself musing.

Will I see the willows bloom,

will I see the geese fly home,

Will I hear the robin sing,

or will I,

before the warmth of spring, 

go home?

Will my parents,

sister,

my family one and all,

be there to greet me,

or will my soul,

my very being 

fade?

Will I be but a memory,

fleeting at best,

before

eternal rest?

All questions unanswered,

as I watch 

the snowflakes falling

on our garden wall.

EAS

If there's something positive to say about winter I have to say that it allows one time to think one's youth and of time spent........

 It’s the first of January 2016. It’s growing dusk. It’s snowing and its cold.

Across the street the neighbours 10 year old is slapping pucks into an empty net. 

It reminds me of when I was young, so many years ago. I’m skating on the rink that Mr. Brooks      made at Sixth Street Public School, my school, it’s dark, it’s snowing lightly, and it’s really cold. I don’t notice the cold and the darkness because I’m living a dream. I’m the Rocket, Rocket Richard. I’m wearing the Montreal Canadian hockey sweater and I’m skating before a cheering crowd. Stick handling the puck down the ice I slap a blazing shot into the boards. Then, in the distance I hear my mother call for me to get home for supper! But it’s not my mother, it’s my wife of 50 years, and then I’m back in my study writing, and the neighbour’s boy has gone in the house, and the dreams of two boys will have to wait until tomorrow.

And so, it begins......... 

WINTER

Cold, 

gale force

winds from off the Bay

toss

white capped waves,

onto wind swept shores.

In the forest leaves flutter,

and blow away.

Flurries drift

from a stormy sky,

and cling to wind-shaped pines.

Birds hide in sheltered places.

Ice forms on standing water.

A setting sun breaks through the clouds,

and sinks below a grey horizon.

Darkness descends.

All grows silent.

Winter is on the way.

EAS

First Painting - Birch Stump with Snow     Watercolour

Downy Woodpecker   Watercolour Painting

Red-breasted Nuthatch with Snow covered White Pine   Watercolour

  

A MEMORY SPENT

Stormy Day - Lake Superior Provincial. Park      Graphite Drawing

NOVEMBER 3, 2018

Early this morning, 

early that is for me,

I went outside and stood,

enjoying the freshness of a November morning. 

The air was cold, and was tinged 

with the smell of wood smoke. 

Signs that warned that winter would soon,

too soon for me, 

make its unwanted appearance. 

My mind wandered for the moment,

back to a similar morning years ago, 

spent sketching at Old Woman Bay,

up Lake Superior way.

It was cold that morning as well. In fact 

it had snowed, 

not much,

just a few flurries. The wind 

coming off of the lake

was bitter cold. Still, I

 had no choice,

I had come to sketch, and

sketch I must. So,

I pulled out my sketchbook, and

sitting at the side of Old Woman River, 

with the waves roaring onto Superior’s shore,

I made a sketch. 

Sketch made,

fingers frozen,

I stumbled to my feet,

brushed the sand from my jeans, and

sought shelter. 

A memory well spent,

I went inside, found my sketchbook,

and once again

found my way home.  

Old Woman River         Pen & Ink Field Sketch

Old Woman River - Lake Superior Provincial. Park      Pen & Ink Drawing

SEA OF GREEN

The Climb

The climb was long,

I’m growing old,

my legs are weary.

I rest high up, 

and lookout over

an endless sea of green,

trees joined together in a silence 

overwhelming.

I wonder their experience,

sensed with eyes unseeing.

Prisoners of their world,

what do they think,

what do they say?

I’ve been here before,

but not in a dream,

and had thoughts much the same.

I remember that I sat on a rock,

and sketched out a scene.

I remember the silence,

the quiet,

the peace of it all.

A breeze stirs the leaves.

The wind strengthens,

and the sky turns shades of grey.

A storm is on the way.

Raven calls,

and is answered.

The silence broken,

I stumble down the rocky trail,

a prisoner of my dream,

into the sea of green.

EAS 2018

"More than half the world’s animals are gone, and humans are to blame."

Eastern Chipmunk                      Watercolour Painting

"More than half the world’s animals are gone, and humans are to blame."

A report on the state of the world's wildlife was issued by the World Wildlife Fund. 

https://www.cbc.ca/news/technology/living-plant-wwf-2018-1.4882819

Thus read the headline of my morning news delivered to my digital mailbox by the CBC. A similar headline was found in the BBC news.

News? Not for me. I've been out there for a couple of decades, quite possibly more, talking to the wind it seems, pointing out that the dominos were/are falling, but few seem to have taken heed.


It must be frustrating for the World Wildlife Fund after sounding the alarm for going on 50 years, to realize that the majority have not gotten the message, and have continued the destruction, albeit unintentional, of habitat leading to wildlife destruction. I use the word unintentional referring to the general population, as I believe that industry leaders in many parts of the world really don't give a fig about the destruction of our natural world, and are only concerned about the almighty dollar.


It's true that we are saving a patchwork of green-space, but these are mostly parks for people, a few acres to relieve the monotony of concrete and asphalt that are mostly ignored by younger persons, much more interested in pursuing excitement through digital experiences.  These places are not constructed, nor saved for wildlife, other than species that have adapted to a human experience, species that are often viewed as a nuisance, such as raccoons, coyotes, rats, starlings, etc.
Some would say that the green spaces are good for birds, but you have to ask yourself just how many nesting birds can a few acres support? The answer, of course, is not too many, and then by concentrating nesting birds in a small area predation is increased. It's a lose, lose, situation for bird species.

As an avid birdwatcher I've noticed species decline as habitat is terraformed to suit humanity. I've seen Barn Swallows, for that matter Swallows in general, almost disappear. Waterfowl that in the springtime once visited local marshes in the thousands reduced to a trickle. Insects are threatened, something that wouldn't concern the majority of the population, but the thing of it is that if there are no insects then bird populations suffer; no insects fewer bird species. As a matter of fact, in our neck of the woods the absence of insects was made obvious by the complete lack of squashed insects on the windshield of our vehicles this past summer. 

Will we wake up in time to realize that, as the cartoon character Pogo once pointed out, "We have met the enemy, and he is us."? I think not. Most people, the bulk of the world's population, are more concerned about simply surviving. Whether you live in a have, or have not, country everyone is still concerned about putting food on the table, and keeping a roof over one's head. Saving wildlife is low on most everyone's list, and if you live on the fringes of the city of Toronto in Canada you only have to look at the population growth in the last decade, and urban sprawl spreading in all directions like a cancer to appreciate what I'm saying.

Can we turn things around? Frankly, I don't believe so. The problem is enormous compounded by the fact that trying to get the diverse cultures of our world to agree to a course of action is not at all likely. As I see it animal species will continue to go extinct, and in time all that will remain will be remnant wildlife populations kept in zoos. Of course, there's always the possibility that Nature will take a hand in things, and we, as a species, will disappear first............

Barn Swallows         Graphite Drawing with Watercolour Background

AUTUMN

Autumn Birch Trees                               Watercolour Painting

Cool nights,

warm days,

the hummingbirds have flown away.

The ants in our gardens,

have had their nuptial flights,

one day at dusk 

in the failing light.

Bumble bees and wasps stupefied,

by the cool of night, 

with the morning sun 

regain their flight,

and wander through our gardens, 

unawares,

that winter’s breath is on the air. Soon, 

the Bumble bees will go away, 

their queens to await another day.

The apples on our tree turn red,

its leaves,

It begins to shed.

Flowers have withered, and gone to seed.

Once green trees turn different shades.

Daylight begins to fade.

Frost,

I fear,

is on the way. 

(Autumn) Tree Study            Watercolour Field Sketch

October

There’s a stillness in the forest these days.

The leaves on the trees,

once green,

have turned yellow and red,

and the ground is littered with those that have fallen.

Reminds me of aging,

and patiently waiting,

For the cold wind that’s coming.

Fallen Leaves                Coloured Etching

Indian Summer

Morning awakens with a gentle breeze,

Frost lays heavy on fallen leaves.

First light filters through naked trees,

And back lights milkweed gone to seed.

Sunrise and the frost takes flight,

Soon forgotten in the warmth of light.

A moth flutters on a gentle breeze,

One last flight before winter’s freeze.

The afternoon is warm and lazy,

Clouds appear,

 The sky grows hazy.

Evening descends with winds that scare,

Winter’s breath is on the air.

I woke up this morning to a quiet hush, the kind of sound, or lack thereof, that signals snow. Rain has its own sounds of course, wind blowing in the trees, rain in the roof’s gutters, and the patter of rain drops on window panes.  A sunny morning with the heavy breathing of the world around us cannot be mistaken. But, the quiet of falling snow forcing the world to pause, and take a deep breath, is impossible to mistake. Rain can be dealt with, but snow causes the world to take a step back to enjoy the beauty but, at the same time, causes the world to pause and to ponder…..actions to take. Our first snow is but a couple of centimetres, and looking at the weather forecast won’t stay around for long, but it does make one wonder, and to reflect upon winters past.

MEMORIES MADE LONG AGO

There was a time when come September we’d head up north, up Lake Superior Provincial Park way, where I’d make sketches, and we’d explore the sandy shores of mighty Lake Superior. These past couple of years due to inclement weather, and more so due to health issues we’ve simply never made it up that way.  My substitute has been to visit my sketches, and to relive memories. The other day I came across a pencil sketch of a favourite outlook over Orphan Lake. I recall that I had hoped to hike the entire trail around the lake, but by the time that we had discovered Orphan Lake I was already experiencing mobility issues brought on by the onset of older age. .....

Incidentally, I must tell you, older age/old age is nothing to look forward to, and for those of you who might be reading this who are young and mobile, don’t put off until retirement, to enjoy the moment, hike around the lake at every opportunity that you get. Growing older is, well, no fun at all. Anyway, sorry to interrupt. Back to my story…..

We considered hiking around the lake and started off down the trail, but after a few arduous sections it was decided that it would be fool hardy to continue on, and we returned to the outlook. We had an enjoyable picnic lunch, and I sat and made a couple of sketches and took a few photos so that I might make a drawing, or painting back home in my studio.

In visiting my sketches and doing a bit of a search on my computer I came to realize that I had made not just a couple of sketches, but more than a few, on my way to making a small painting. No matter of course. I enjoyed making the sketches and doodle, but more importantly, I enjoyed the memory of our hike to the outlook, and our sitting quietly enjoying the silence broken only by the hush of the wind in the trees. It’s as I’ve often stated, sketching is all about creating memories to be enjoyed long after the event has occurred. A few lines, a small watercolour sketch, nothing momentous, and we’ve captured a memory to last a lifetime.

Here's some of my sketches and drawings of Orphan Lake, Lake Superior Provincial Park:-

Thumbnail Studies  Orphan lake

Orphan Lake - Pencil Sketch 

Pen & InK Drawing    Orphan Lake

Orphan Lake - Graphite Drawing

Orphan Lake - Graphite Drawing

Orphan Lake - Thumbnail Studies

Orphan Lake    Graphite Drawing

Orphan Lake _ Lake Superior Prov. Pk.     Graphite Sketch

Orphan lake - Graphite Sketch

Orphan Lake - Photo with pencil study

Thumbnail Studies    Orphan Lake

Orphan Lake - Lake Superior Provincial Park     Watercolour Painting