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
Subjective or suggestive, visually,
physically, experimentally accounting for
a specific period of time.
Inevitably art confronts the realities faced
to the point where we are allowed a view
beyond what is presented to why it is so.
More complicated than mathematics, as
simple as politics, lines converging into
our present from past
misunderstandings. Can you not see
or hear the tonal range, words dripping
from a page? Open your mind.
A camera recording what is not always there
but should be. Possibility or probability,
classic or contemporary.
This is art. Representational mystery,
soothing reckless souls, enraptured and
necessary to deal with the pain of life itself.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
Posted on November 22, 2023 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
As Black Friday approaches, our thoughts turn to consumerism and, perhaps, lining up at the malls to get the best deals and lowest prices on items we desire.
Or not.
We are entering the season of giving, the time of year where gifts for friends and family become top of mind, where even an unplanned walk down an unfamiliar street leads into some retail establishment or another.
It is also, traditionally, the time of year when appeals from charities find their way into your mailbox or inbox.
The signs are everywhere.
I walked through Toronto’s Dundas Square the other day, actually on my way to pick up a small gift for my daughter, when I noticed the electronic advertising looming large over the streets.
20% of your neighbours are facing hunger
The billboard, over the next few minutes, flashed statistics and facts about the current state of food insecurity in my city.
Hunger and homelessness; the necessities of life are lacking.
The signs are everywhere. Panhandlers here and there along the sidewalks, shelters filled to capacity, news reports on just how bad life is for many right now in this fractured world and uncertain economy, with the ebb and flow of our currencies, continual price increases and bankruptcies.
Everything indicates everybody will be spending less on gift-giving this holiday season.
We all feel it personally. How can we not?
The appeals from charities have not let up over the past year. It is no longer a “seasonal thing”.
Hunger is an issue everywhere, all the time.
You see and hear it on the global news.
Locally, we feel it even more.
The food drives for the unfortunate are unforgiving, and necessary.
This electronic billboard, smack dab in the middle of similar signs promoting the latest fashions and must-have devices, drives the point home.
I know the intent of the advertising is not to guilt you into giving, but I can’t help but feeling remorse, or shame. Or helpless
Recent reports indicate there have been 2.53 million food bank visits in Toronto this year alone, a 51 per cent increase year-over-year and the highest annual surge ever reported.
Locally, 30% of food bank clients are children and youth under the age of 18.
It’s more than sad; it is disgusting.
I feel it.
I have a warm home and bed to sleep in each night. I know where my next meal is coming from; have an adequately stocked pantry, and leftovers for when I don’t even have to think about cooking.
I also know many people in this city, and elsewhere, struggle to put food on the table, and pay rent, and, and. . . etc…, etc … .
I am fortunate. It is only fair, and only just, that I share some of what I have. In the true spirit of the season, I intend to give more this season, to increase what I have donated to a few select charities over the year.
I must; I am able to do so.
If you are able to give, do so.
Please. We need to care more for each other.
This time of year, especially in a year like this, charity (and need) is so close to home.
This day, unlike others before (except yesterday), showed much
less promise than possibility. I succumbed to my inner rhythm,
inconsistent and less palpable than days previous, doing slightly
more than nothing of consequence. Productivity can be such an
immeasurable notion, and one I do not feel today (slightly less
than yesterday). After the fact, I find it far less distressing than
depressive. I can only concern myself with what will become of
this restless, repressive malady, neither curious nor causative. I
fumbled my way through today, and likely will tomorrow. My
ever-present tension: present tense. The past comes rushing back.
Deadlines mean so little when you’re not paying attention to time.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
