I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Category: Uncategorised
Each street has a function, a name, and familiarity
to someone. Not merely a destination, but a place on which lives
are lived. More than lines on a map indicating territory, a street
defines a place. Vehicles drive and humans wander, tripping through
what others leave behind. Cigarette butts, empty bottles, and dog shit
reminders that we are not alone on this path. The human race,
not without a whisper or trace of humanity.
Traffic patterns become the regularity marking our time,
coming and going on the same street, the same route, the pedestrian
nature of what we do, and how we live. We travel with frequency
along indistinguishable streets to get done what we need to, and enjoy it
as we can. Little happens at night, silence stretching to fill the space as
taxicabs and cowards leave little light behind. You can’t imagine streets
not being there, yet man and beast travelled before they existed.
Fate or destiny, missed turns along the way. Calm or cold,
you decide if it is late, or early, when you arrive. Even rush hour moves
forward. Lanes merge and we struggle with speed and direction.
Congestion on major arteries, blood pressure measured with the click of
the turn signal. We come to dislike traffic and our place in it. There is
no point between A and B, frustrations articulated by the contrast. We each
have an address and every street takes somebody home.
Without direction from the
soon-setting Sun, drawn not by the pull
of the Moon, it flows past murky shadows
shifting into place, and passes by the sweep of trees.
The river remains constant.
Showing itself, ripples and bubbles, only
when convenient. Beneath the frozen surface,
a flurry of activity within each body of water
it passes through.
Neither transient or untenable
it knows not whether it will end up in the sea,
or be channelled through tributaries
to a gentle stream, sparkling lake, or
come to rest in a stagnant swamp, eventually
seeping into the aquifer, or evaporating
and ending up as a puddle in a far-away city.
The cycle begins again.
Wanderlust.
The river does not know the power it contains,
yet continues to move.
There is no silence.
The stillness is never complete as we,
minute by day, year over year, seek purpose.
And balance. Under this Solstice,
the Sun shedding it’s grace for such little time,
traversing through to darker hours, as we are.
Or as we can,
in this semi-frozen state, craving comfort
which comes from removing ourselves
from the elements.
Man-made darkness, the shelter
in which we hide, or rest, or plot how
we will better face the day, and the year ahead.
Each of us is searching, or knowing, or
finding our ocean.
Neither temporary
or transient. A natural rhythm, the planets revolving
as they should, each cycle, each pattern,
each evolution.
©2016 j.g. lewis
Posted on December 14, 2016 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
A few weeks back the headline news in this country was all about a painting that sold at auction for a breathtaking $ 11.2 million dollars.
Now it’s pretty easy to say the sale of Mountain Forms by Lawren Harris – member of The Group of Seven – was the greatest testimonial to the man’s talent.
There are also those who speculate that this major feat (more than doubling the amount paid for the last record-breaking Canadian painting) will throw the international spotlight onto our vibrant cultural scene.
But, fact is, the majority of us don’t view art as this sort of commodity. Most, or many, of us do not purchase art as a financial investment, but rather as something that will brighten up the living room decor, add colour to our lives, and make beauty readily available. Even those with deeper pockets, and who chose art as an investment, generally, purchase a painting first for its visual nature.
Before looking at a price tag, a painting must appeal to the senses (first of all the eyes) and then to the emotions. Art must capture our imagination in some way, like hoar frost or a vast starry night. Colours, composition, subject and style, yes, it is all important, but the pure gut instinct of whether we like it or not is more based on a feeling than anything else.
The amount we spend on art isn’t even directly related to how much we love it. I have many pieces collected through the years, of many different values, but my true favourite was painted by a five-year-old, and it is priceless.
Art is subjective and, in so many ways, that is also its beauty. One piece will not appeal to two people in exactly the same way. Art allows us to think, whether abstract or impressionist, and it takes us to places outside of our everyday three-dimensional lives.
The moment a value is attached to art, the moment it is commoditized, perceptions are altered. No longer do we ask ourselves whether we like it or not, we begin to wonder instead if it really is worth the asking price.
In no way am I saying that art does not have a financial value. In fact, money is crucial to supporting the arts and the artists, but there cannot be an expectation that a painting will steadily increase in value, or will fluctuate like stocks and bonds. We cannot expect that Canadian art, as a brand, should now ride this exciting wave of commercial viability.
The art scene here will continue to prosper and grow, as art does, reflecting the personality and the climate in which it is created. There will still be legions of painters who eke out a living or a sideline business selling canvases for $300 – $900 (or much, much less) from the walls of the local coffee shop. This is work that is original, and viable, and available.
And yes, there are some (but far, far fewer) artists capturing tens of thousands of dollars for their images and imagination at privately-owned fine art galleries.
But, all of a sudden, multi-million dollar masterpieces will not be any more common now than they were last year or five years before that.
The only expectation we should have of art is that it affects us, in some way. It’s only then that we know its worth. We should not buy a painting only because we think it might make us money, we should simply purchase the art because it makes us happy.
