alex the girl

Last month we took the long way home, meandering along back roads instead of the highway. Although we had made this trip over a hundred times, slowing down and taking the time to look allowed for a little adventure and a whole bunch of discoveries such as a charming cafe that served far too big sandwiches, parks in full bloom and a tiny little flower and garden shop that would become my favourite.

The shop was so small but I lost myself in its outdoor space, spending what seemed like hours petting the resident cat, smelling the lavender and oogling over beautiful glass balls. But what really did it for me a little table sunning itself as though it couldn�t take it any more sun.

When we saw it, we knew we wanted it even though it wasn't like any furniture we owned. We didn�t stop to think if it would go with our simplistic French style because we were smitten with the way the twigs twisted. There was something about its simpleness, it's organic roots and the knowing that somewhere, someone made this. With the readymade lifestyle that seemed ours as of late, this little table felt needed.

It didn't come home with us that day however; we decided to wait to pick it up on our way home from celebrating our 5-year anniversary at Harrison Hot Springs. This way, it would be a gift to each other and would go along with the 5th year gift of wood. There would be meaning to the gift, a simple something that wouldn't overwhelm the five years but compliment them (after all, we did elope for $50. Fancy diamonds wouldn�t seem appropriate somehow).

Upon returning to the garden store, I once again lost my way in the little yard and petted the cat but I couldn�t find the table. We searched for it until decided that perhaps we didn�t need it (would we take it to Europe when we move?). But then it called out, hiding under plants and trees, tucked away quietly waiting for us. Patient little table, that.

We put it in the car (alongside an irresistible little green glass vase, which for $5, holds my roses beautifully) and went to a wonderful little cafe for dinner where we mused over our years together, the little holiday we had, our new home and the thought of a table that will grow with us for years (it really does grow!).

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July 23, 2004

Live like you mean it.

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July 15, 2004

Generally not one for museums or dishing about art work (Ah, yes, I see the history of humanities suffering in that yellow blob) I was unexplainably eager to see the van Gogh exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum.

Although I own volumes of his letters and writings, his artwork was a mystery to me. All I knew was he was it when it came to great artists. His works was posters for crying out loud! When people thought of important works of art his name would always come up. His work is so far up the scale that mere mortals were never supposed to do what he did. He's an icon, a legend, a master.

Because of this, I had always had the notion he was born this way. He came out of the womb with a brush and went to work. His style was always there or so I believed.

The exhibit showed some of his famous paintings and portraits but what they also showed were his drawings. This is where I spent most of my time because this is where I received a lesson.

Van Gogh had tried several (unsuccessful) careers before he decided to pursue art at 27. And when he first began he made simple sketches of life around him. In the drawings on display one could see some of his mistakes, hard lines, and sometimes shabby movements. What struck me most about these images was how simple they were, drawn by a man who was trying to learn.

When he first began to paint he mimicked other artists and their way of doing things; he didn't have a style, direction or vision. His way of painting - the greatness - would happen later on, after years of practice and confidence. It also wouldn't be recognised until after his death for during the rest of his life, he was just a man who tried to paint.

Sometimes, we remove the humanity from great people; putting them on pedestals so high they become separated from us. We think we can never obtain their greatness because we aren't where they are. What we should think is we aren't where they are yet. For we all have to start somewhere to become something.