Two Dancers in Red
Saturday, November 18, 2017
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| Emily Molnar & Margie Gillis |
For the last few years I have been working on a little
personal project in which I photograph people I know (of varied professions)
wearing my mother’s red Mexican rebozo that was given to her in 1954. There
have been a few stragglers that have not answered my requests that they write
an essay on their feelings on wearing the rebozo. This is my only condition for
putting the photograph on a blog.
These are the red shawl project blogs.
There have been quite a few people who have never written
that essay and at this point I have simply gone to other projects. Here you
have a portrait of two dancers, Emily Molnar and Margie Gillis which I must
have taken some four years ago. Today I figured out and ancillary way of using
the image in a blog.
In the
NY Times I read
this fascinating review of a gallery
show in Mexico City’s Palacio de las Bellas Artes on the colour red. The review
mentions a lovely book on the colour red by Amy Butler Greenfield that I happen
to have. I wrote about it
here.
With two different musicians (one a gambist the other a
baroque bassist) staying as guests and also a French ballerina I have been busy
cooking, etc and I have been not writing my blogs. This one simply follows this
one in which I wrote about a woman in blue.
The Woman in Blue
Friday, November 17, 2017
Sometimes when I take a photograph I have the idea of
something that came before me in my mind. Sometimes the similarity of my
photographs to earlier works (Picasso’s) is simply a coincidence. Such was almost
the case in this photograph of M which I took in Buenos Aires this
past April in Nora Patrich’s studio in Bella Vista. That is her work behind
her. When M showed up for our photo session and took out the lovely blue
silk robe it was Patrich who suggested we pose her by her painting of the woman
in blue.
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| Dora Maar 'Femme Assise, Robe Bleu' 1939 by Picasso. |
A Rose in Decline & Memories Past
Thursday, November 16, 2017
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| Rosa 'Abraham Darby' November 16 2017 |
The Last Rose of Summer
The Last Rose of Summer Revisited
When I scanned Rosa ‘Abraham
Darby’ again today (the fourth time) as the rose deteriorates somehow I
remembered my granddaughter Rebecca now 20 and visiting us for a few days and
architect Arthur Erickson.
Perhaps the compressed-in-time (a few days) scans of my last summer rose reminds me of past events that I can remember so well but that my
Rebecca cannot. So I reminded her of these special memories of mine that I shared
with her. I told her that one day she will want to repeat them to others.
Rebecca may have been around 8 when we were invited to a
garden party at Arthur Erickson’s house. When we entered the house
for the buffet Rebecca sat in a wing chair in the living room. At the time
Erickson had a minder called Cheryl Cooper who immediately told me, “Rebecca
cannot sit in that chair that is Arthur’s exclusively.” Erickson overheard and
interjected, “The little girl can sit there if she wants.” I took the
opportunity to introduce Rebecca to Erickson. “Rebecca this is Arthur.” Rebecca
replied, “That is not Arthur as he does not have a lot of hair.” I immediately guessed
that Rebecca thought that this was supposed to be King Arthur. Erickson (who
luckily could not hear all that well, asked me, “What did she say?” I answered,
“That she likes you.”
Another time, perhaps a year or two later, I was having a
hamburger at a picnic outside of the Museum of Anthropology with a
distinguished looking older man. Rebecca came up to us and seeing the man said,
“You look familiar. Who are you?” The distinguished man answered, “I built this place. I
am Arthur Erickson.”
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| Arthur Erickson |
The Barber Shaved
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
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| Portrait by Ilse Hable Taylor |
Ilse Hable - Artist
Who shaves
the barber? In my case I sort of like having my photograph taken as I let go
completely and just sit and wait for instructions from the photographer.
This lovely
painting by my friend Austrian-born Ilse Hable is different. A year ago she and
her husband (my eldest daughter’s Godfather) Andrew Taylor arrived in Victoria
in a cruise ship. They had come from their home in Guadalajara, Mexico.
We met them
at the dock and took them to Butchart Gardens a place I had avoided for years.
Hable insisted we go and in the end she was right. We all enjoyed ourselves and
the garden was spectacular.
Taylor
snapped pictures and I was not aware he had taken pictures of me. Or perhaps it
was Hable who took the shots.
Recently she sent me an email with the surprise
that she had painted my portrait.
Rosemary
and I cannot wait to visit them in Guadalajara, after all I now have a very
good excuse.
