As we emerge from a collective hangover, I wonder how many people Stateside are feeling "I'm never going to vote badly (or not vote) again". Still, it remains surprising to see how much support the President-elect has. It is a gong show. And there's no end in sight. Clearly this won't be business as usual, and no one really has any idea of what will happen.
The political scientist in me is curious. What will the US look like after four years? What will the world look like? Maybe this is the US' undoing. China must be pretty happy. Maybe he surprises us all: wins the war on terror, cleans up the inner cities, fixes immigration. (I caught you laughing, didn't I?)
The human being in me is disappointed. Disappointed in the hateful and vicious rhetoric that has emerged, not only in the US but here in Canada as well. This isn't what my parents signed up for when they chose to live here. Work hard, pay your taxes, be nice. In return, you'll be able to educate your children, have access to good healthcare and live peacefully.
It's really a simple equation.
Sunday 20 November 2016
Sunday 13 November 2016
The healing balm of art and driving on the 401
I spent much of Friday and today driving on the 401. Normally the Ottawa-Toronto drive on Canada's biggest highway is a mind-numbing experience, but on this weekend, after the shock and awe of the past week, I found it comforting and restoring.
On both days, I tuned in to CBC radio as I careened down the highway. On Friday the airwaves were full of melancholy. It was Remembrance Day, and the morning after the world had learned of Leonard Cohen's passing. The haunting tones of The Last Post, and the reminiscences of Cohen's poetry and love songs buoyed me and gave me all the permission I needed to tear up and give in to the sense of loss I was already feeling.
During various outings yesterday and today, I had the pleasure of visiting an art gallery in Hamilton and my friend's gift shop in Port Credit. Both places were finely appointed, with keen attention to colour, light and detail.
And then on the return today, again listening to CBC radio programming, I was introduced to a painting I had never heard of -- The Sun, by Edvard Munch, better known for The Scream -- and also to Zadie Smith, a writer I have never read but who sounded like a kindred spirit as she spoke of playing with fiction and of the power of joy.
These episodes reminded me of the necessity to the human spirit of creativity and imagination -- whether through music, the written or spoken word, or fine arts -- to soothe, to inspire and heal, to bridge cultural and political divides, to explain (or at least bear witness to) the inexplicable.
There is a spot along the 401, just outside Napanee, where someone has built an Inukshuk, a compelling example of how art and communication can be as simple as piling a few stones to take the form of a person, one who stands with arms outstretched, not mocking or harming, but guiding, witnessing and welcoming.
This coming week, as you pore over competing narratives, hilarious memes, contradictory analysis and maddening explanations, take some time to read or write a poem, to listen to a piece of uplifting music, to paint or to view a piece of artwork. Do something creative and constructive with your hands, with your mind. Allow your ears and eyes to feast on something beautiful, made through human or divine creation.
Escape.
This weeping and anxious world will still be here when you get back. But you might feel ever so much stronger to handle it.
On both days, I tuned in to CBC radio as I careened down the highway. On Friday the airwaves were full of melancholy. It was Remembrance Day, and the morning after the world had learned of Leonard Cohen's passing. The haunting tones of The Last Post, and the reminiscences of Cohen's poetry and love songs buoyed me and gave me all the permission I needed to tear up and give in to the sense of loss I was already feeling.
During various outings yesterday and today, I had the pleasure of visiting an art gallery in Hamilton and my friend's gift shop in Port Credit. Both places were finely appointed, with keen attention to colour, light and detail.
And then on the return today, again listening to CBC radio programming, I was introduced to a painting I had never heard of -- The Sun, by Edvard Munch, better known for The Scream -- and also to Zadie Smith, a writer I have never read but who sounded like a kindred spirit as she spoke of playing with fiction and of the power of joy.
These episodes reminded me of the necessity to the human spirit of creativity and imagination -- whether through music, the written or spoken word, or fine arts -- to soothe, to inspire and heal, to bridge cultural and political divides, to explain (or at least bear witness to) the inexplicable.
There is a spot along the 401, just outside Napanee, where someone has built an Inukshuk, a compelling example of how art and communication can be as simple as piling a few stones to take the form of a person, one who stands with arms outstretched, not mocking or harming, but guiding, witnessing and welcoming.
This coming week, as you pore over competing narratives, hilarious memes, contradictory analysis and maddening explanations, take some time to read or write a poem, to listen to a piece of uplifting music, to paint or to view a piece of artwork. Do something creative and constructive with your hands, with your mind. Allow your ears and eyes to feast on something beautiful, made through human or divine creation.
Escape.
This weeping and anxious world will still be here when you get back. But you might feel ever so much stronger to handle it.
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