Plant Faces
Monday, October 12, 2026
 | | Aconitum carmichaellii 'Arendsii' & Helianthus annuus - 12 October 2026 |
The plants in my garden have human faces. In some
cases I have met the hybridizers, people who may have given me them or in many
more cases they remind me of my Rosemary who planted them and loved them. My
eldest daughter who lives in Lillooet, BC has an almost acre garden. When we
moved from our large Kerrisdale corner garden to our present Kitsilano home,
Rosemary and I took quite a few of our plants that could survive the Zone 3
(like my hostas) to Ale’s garden. It has become a yearly custom that Ale brings me her
lovely sunflowers in late spring. This year she only brought me one plant in a
pot. I left it in my deck so that I could admire its blooms.
The other plant in the scan here was a fave of
Rosemary’s. She planted a whole row of them in my largish deck bed. She
particularly loved them because Rosemary considered blue to be her favourite
colour. Perhaps because Rosemary was restrained in her emotions blue was her colour.
My now gone Wolfram George Schmid, who wrote the bible
on hostas, often told me that yellow next to blue made each colour more intense.
Thus this scans reminds me of the man who learned Japanese so he could go to
Japan to study hostas in the wild.
Two plants, are many people in my memory.
Perfection Will Have to Wait
Sunday, October 11, 2026
 | | Ian Davidson |
Because I am
a Platonist, a fan and believer of Plato’s philosophy, I am frequently thinking
about perfection and how in our human world what we see is only a shadow of the
real essence that was in Plato’s perfect world of ideas.
When I look
at some of my family portraits, I think that they are perfect in that I was
able to show (hate the word capture) something of my subject’s inner soul.
Because I am
a portrait photographer who was at it since 1959 until now (and I am keeping
on) I believe I may have and inside knowledge of what makes a perfect portrait.
I noticed
this portrait of architect Ian Davidson, now dead, posing with his Yves Klein
Blue sculpture. I looked at it for a while and I believe everything in it is
perfect in the sense that you cannot take anything out without diminishing (is
it possible to diminish perfection?) its perfection.
I was
feeling a real high. “Alex you were really good!” Then I was hit by some problems. The image you see here is from
a past blog, this one, so its size is not all that good. I went into my files
and I could not find Davidson, Ian. Finally I went to my “As” and his pictures
were in a section called Architects.
I was happy
until I looked into the folder and found I took 40 6x7 cm Ektachromes with
different variations of this one. There was a second one that was almost exact except
for the little triangle of light on one side of his wrist.
My guess is
that Vancouver Magazine art director Rick Staehling looked at all 40 pictures
and picked the one would have picked too.
Because this
city’s art galleries, including the VAG ignore my existence I will just sigh
and imagine this image enlarged huge on a wall. I might just happen when I meet
up with my forthcoming oblivion.
Perfection
has to wait.
I Was a Killing Machine
I may have
been 8 in Buenos Aires. I made a Honda (a slingshot) by cutting the inner tube
of a bicycle. I used it on a bird that was in one our garden’s plum trees. I
killed it and I was instantly sorry.
Many years
later in our Kerrisdale garden around 1990 we had squirrels that were eating
our bulbs. I went to Three Vets and bought an air gun replica of Clint Eastwood’s
Smith & Wesson Model 29 double-action revolver chambered in .44 Magnum. One
day as I opened the kitchen door I saw a squirrel. I shot it. It leaped into the
air and went down. When I neared it, the squirrel was agonizing. I felt sorry.
A few days later someone came into our house and stole my CDs, the sound system
and the gun. In 1957 I was 15 and living in Nueva Rosita, Coahuila, Mexico. I had a friend who had a rifle and one day invited me to hunt beavers in a river. We shot over 50 of them. Only a few months later did I become horrified over my action,
For years
until about three years ago I would put slug bait as slugs are a hosta’s biggest
enemy. I don’t do that anymore.
My
grandmother often told me the story of two aging hunters. One of them tells
that other, “Suppose you are charged by a
tiger?” He responds, “I would shoot
him between the eyes with my .30-06 Springfield rifle.” ‘This is countered
by, “What if your rifle misfires?” The
answer is, “I would wait for him to get
close and I would shoot him with my pistol.” This goes on until the hunter
climbs a tree and is pursued by the tiger. He finally said, “Do you want the tiger to eat me? Let him eat
me.”
When I leave
my deck door open sometimes flies or bees get in. They somehow go up the stairs
and they are in my room. I desperately try to capture them with a glass and
take them outside. I don’t always succeed. That happened last night with this
little bee. I was heartbroken when I found him dead in my bathroom floor.
It would
seem I have some Buddhists tendencies.
Otoño y Una canadiense
Saturday, October 10, 2026
 | | Top - Rosa 'Susan Williams-Ellis' and Rosa 'Darcey Bussell' 9 October 2026 |
I have no
idea how the expression “putting the
garden to bed” that is about getting it ready for upcoming winter.This year I
will do little which is my usual case. Hostas in flower beds get mulched for
spring by the yellowing leaves of fall.
This year my
roses, especially Rosa ‘A Shropshire Lad” seem to be ignoring the season.
Yesterday I scanned these two roses with an acer (maple) leaf I found outside the
house of my Welsh neighbours the Galsworthys (I had to look the plural form).
It would
seem that fall is a time when many of us reflect. I reflect. I wonder if I will
live to see another fall.
In the many
years Rosemary and I lived in Mexico City (8) and 9 without her we never
experienced falling leaves as in Mexico the seasons are a dry one and a rainy
one. Falling leaves in Vancouver give me nostalgia for Buenos Aires falls.
Fall is when
I put all my long-sleeved flannel shirts in the wash. I often tell my friends
that Julio Cortázar’s protagonist (readers say he was that) in Hopscotch
(Rayuela) is having a cold winter in Paris so he buys a flannel lumberjack
shirt that Cortázar calls – una canadiense.
In Spanish nationalities are never capitalized.
Whenever I
see a red rose in my garden I think of a line from my favourite Jorge Luís
Borges poem La lluvia (in Spanish the first word in a title is capitalized then
no more.
La lluvia – Jorge Luís Borges
Bruscamente la tarde se ha
aclarado
Porque ya cae la lluvia
minuciosa.
Cae o cayó. La lluvia es una
cosa
Que sin duda sucede en el
pasado.
Quien la oye caer ha recobrado
El tiempo en que la suerte
venturosa
Le reveló una flor llamada
rosa
Y el curioso color del
colorado.
Esta lluvia que ciega los
cristales
Alegrará en perdidos arrabales
Las negras uvas de una parra
en cierto
Patio que ya no existe. La
mojada
Tarde me trae la voz, la voz
deseada,
De mi padre que vuelve y que
no ha muerto.
The line - Le reveló una flor llamada rosas y el curioso
color del colorad – Translates to - A flower
was revealed named a rose and the curious color that red is – does not have the
lovely alliteration it has in Spanish.
The poem is an extremely sad one of going back to his
childhood home and somehow hearing the voice of his dead father.
These fall days fill my memory and I see the faces of all my
friends and family that are no longer with me. I grieve and only know that my oblivion
will take care of that.
I find myself saying out loud – rosa – Rosamaría – Rosemary. As in Borges’ patio I, too can hear the voice of my loved one.
Not Out of Town
Friday, October 09, 2026
 | | Hydrangea quercifolia 'Snowflake' & Rosa 'A Shropshire Lad' 9 October 2026 |
 | | Rosa sericea subsp. omeiensis f. pteracantha - 9 October 2026 |
Autumn –
Emily Dickinson
The morns
are meeker than they were,
The nuts are
getting brown;
The berry's
cheek is plumper,
The rose is
out of town.
The maple
wears a gayer scarf,
The field a
scarlet gown.
Lest I
should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a
trinket on.
Garden plants
have a habit in my garden to surprise me. I had the same pleasant experience in
finding stuff about my Rosemary long after we had been married. Nine years ago
we went to New York City to see a Michelangelo exhibit at the Met. We arrived
at opening time at 10. We left at closing time as Rosemary wanted to see the
David Hockney exhibit, one by Renoir and when I asked her if she was interested
in mediaeval armour she went crazy using her iPhone on horse armour. How was I
to know that she was interested in art? Perhaps because she allowed me to spend
money on buying cameras and framing my photographs for shows I should have
suspected.
There are
two scans here that reaveal how plants always seem to have one over me.
The
hydrangea (lovely in Spanish – hortensia) has nice fall colour. That is to be
expected. But my A Shropshire Lad rose does not seem to understand that winter
is almost upon us. Can pink be an autumn colour?
More
surprisingly is this little white rose that has a habit of being the first in
my garden on May 1. It is now in bloom?
Emily
Dickinson is nicely out of town on this one!
Muy Agradecido - Muy Agradecido - Muy Agradecido
Thursday, October 08, 2026
Vancouver 7 October 2026  | | Vancouver 8 October 2026 |
While in
Mexico City until 1962 my mother and I used to watch a fave TV program called
El Estudio de Pedro Vargas. He was singer with a unique voice. As the program
(sponsored by Raleigh Cigarettes and Batey Rhum) was about to finish Vargas
would give his trademark goodbye – muy agradecido, muy agradecido, muy
agradecido. It translates as – very grateful, very grateful, very grateful. Pedro Vargas - Mujer by Agustín Lara
Because
yesterday and today October 8 have been sunny I went on my hour-long bike ride
and took my usual photograph at the foot of Musqueam View Street and Point Grey
Road. Both days showed lots of fog. With my Fuji X-E3 I took a wide (the camera
takes and less wide one if I opt for it) panoramic. Biking home I thought of
Pedro Vargas and associated at my daily thanks in thought (and sometimes I
utter it ) to my Rosemary who took us away from Mexico City in 1975 and I soon
was a good photographer making good money.
Our
daughters received a good education and learned French and my youngest daughter
Hilary had two daughters (22 and 29) who are lights in my life if and when I
see them!
Because of
her intelligent handling of our funds I do not have to worry about finances. I
live in a comfortable home in Kitsilano with a little garden that we both
started. When in it I remember her and I am thankful to her. Three times?
Malcolm Parry a Vancouver Institution
Wednesday, October 07, 2026
 | | Malcolm Parry with a Bentley in front of our Kerrisdale home on Athlone |
Yesterday
was Malcolm Parry’s 90th birthday. I found out because my friend Marv Newland
had a long phone conversation with him.
This man in
conjunction with art directors Rick Staehling (now dead) and Chris Dahl ran Vancouver Magazine which not only was
this city’s best magazine but also one of the best in Canada.
Parry had an
office with an open door. He saw most of the people that went in without
appointment and many left with writing, illustration or photographic
assignments.
Parry knew
the power of gossip so he moved to the Vancouver Sun and became one. His
photographs were excellent.
I believe
that Parry could do anything he wanted well and jokingly I might opine that he
probably was never able to write poetry.
I believe
that now at my age of 84 I may be the most prolific photographer (and a pretty
good one) in Canada thanks to this pushy mentorship and that of his art directors.
Those of us
who knew and know him (mostly now dead) understand the value he contributed to
this city not only as the editor of Vancouver
Magazine but also of Western Living.
He used to tell me that Western Living was a magazine that featured empty bathrooms.
As soon as he became its editor he hired Peter Trower our logging
poet.
During the
Falkland’s war he told me I had to write about my experience as a conscript in
the Argentine Navy. It became a cover story (he took my portrait for it) and
that began my writing career.
I will
finish in this way. “Mac my friend Felipe
Ferrer Junco is the chief of the Mexican Federal Police in Acapulco.” His
response, “Go”.
Her Absent Presence
Monday, October 05, 2026
 | | Verbena bonariensis - 7 October 2026 |
I am not sure it is a seasonal problem. In this last
month I have not written quite a few blogs and I tell myself that I will write
them on the next day.
Perhaps my situation is one of finding it ever more
difficult to live in my isolation where I miss the presence of my Rosemary who
was always there for 52 years. I cannot tell people of this problem, and
sometimes I think my daughters do not understand. The reaction to my telling of
my melancholy is what I call a thought stopper. I wrote about that here. A Thought Stopper
I feel guilty about having my blog holes so I am
trying to fill in the gaps. One easy way is to scan a plant from the garden.
Invariably, since our garden was joint one, it is easy to write something as I
will connect it with Rosemary.
Today (I will not reveal the date so I can plunk this
blog in the space of the missing ones) I cut this plant which is originally
from Argentina. It is hardy in Vancouver and Rosemary first made me aware of
it. It seeds itself and comes back every year. I somehow think that part of
Rosemary is present in these as she first put them into the ground of my back
lane garden.
Because I was never too swift it took me years to
finally figure out (this happened when I took Argentine nostalgia photographs
with Juan Manuel Sánchez at the end of the 90s) that to have a nostalgia for a
place you had to be somewhere else.
Now I have suddenly come to understand that this
verbena is a double nostalgia. It is my nostalgia for my country and my
nostalgia for the absent presence of my Rosemary.
The closest I could ever get to that feeling when she
was alive, would happen when she would visit her mother in Ottawa or our eldest
daughter in Lillooet. In one occasion I was very depressed as it was my
birthday and Rosemary was visiting Alexandra in Lillooet. The doorbell rang and
there was my friend Leslie Dala. It was August 31, 2020. He told me he wanted
me to take him to my piano room. He then played all of Bach’s Goldberg
Variations.
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