What shows
how little
we know?
What can be is
oft far less than
what we expect.
What is now
has never been
what it was.
07/25/2024 j.g.l.
value beyond
Simplicity.
Is there emotion in austerity?
Humanity?
What do you see when attempting
to define your limited visibility?
Minimalism, abstract impressionism
or incorporeal thought.
Less is more, but is it enough?
Texture, tone, and value beyond
your current scene. If you take it to an
extreme, you will question
what it means.
What is really there?
What line do you cross?
Can simplicity be complicated, or
should it even be attempted?
07/23/2024 j.g.l.
Mondays are just young Fridays
Things will not go as planned. Intentions will be disrupted, even overlooked, in the aftermath of an unexpected reality.
Where you are headed will not be the place you end up, undoubtedly or undeniably. No matter how hard you attempt to make each gesture, brushstroke, promise, prayer, or pastime as perfect as you believe it can be, many times you will not arrive at a perceived destination. All too often your endeavors never hit the mark; at times your work may be better than expected (celebrate those moments), but everything (even your judgement) is subjective.
You are not limited to, or by, the colours in your paintbox or progression of your process.
Imagination is as limited or expansive as you want it to be. Give it time to blossom; in certain instances, you may even have to reel it in. This is all about possibilities, no matter which media, method, or style you are beholden to.
You owe your art (or life) nothing but your presence; the value comes from the practice, as rudimentary or spontaneous as it is or will become.
07/22/2024 j.g.l.
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.
Mondays are just young Fridays
Posted on November 15, 2021 by j.g.lewis
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I went to a choir concert last Friday night, a rather emotional performance of a 20-voice a capella ensemble at a church across the city. The experience has been with me the entire weekend.
I wanted — no; I felt I deserved — an evening out.
We’ve all been living through several waves of this pandemic for 20 months (it feels longer) and things have loosened up enough that I was craving some sort of return to normality.
But I wasn’t ready to return to a jazz bar I frequented pre-COVID, nor a large concert, but the opportunity to hear a chorus of real live voices within a large church sounded comfortable.
It was.
The performance of That Choir at the St. Anne’s Anglican Church was profound.
The performance met all COVID-19 safety requirements: proof of double vaccination, essential masks, and decreased seating.
Even though both the crowd and the choir were physically distanced, it felt so close.
The sounds of the human voice is remarkable, especially a collective this precise and polished. That Choir filled the large church setting and some of the emptiness that had been building up inside of me.
I believe we all felt it. The choir director was even tearful at the end of the first selection. This was the first time the choir had performed in front of a live audience since this whole pandemic business set in.
We were sharing space.
We have all been cooped up for so long. Through this pandemic we have been living in isolation of sorts. This contact with other people, as things begin to open up, felt natural; and it hasn’t felt like that in a while.
You could sense the choir director’s happiness; you could hear true joy in the voices of singers, and you could hear the delighted response in each round of applause from the appreciative crowd, especially the standing ovation at the completion of the concert.
It felt good, it felt right; it felt humane.
We attend arts events not only for entertainment, but also for community.
We are human. We belong together.
Thank you to each member of That Choir for providing a truly human experience.
Grateful.
11/15/2021 j.g.l.
