The Gleanings Project: Places of the Heart

“Stanley Park from Ambleside” Phone Photo, DS

Ellard, Colin. Places of the Heart: The Psychogeography of Everyday Life. New York, NY:  Bellevue Library Press, 2015.

477 words

“Regardless of what can be known about the thinking that lay behind the careful construction of Goebekli Tepe, six thousand years before the invention of the written word, one thing is clear –– what happened there may represent the very beginning of what has now become a defining characteristic, perhaps the defining characteristic of humanity: we build to change perceptions, and to influence thoughts and feelings; by these means, we attempt to organize human activity, exert power, and in many cases, to make money. We see examples of this everywhere, scattered through the length and breadth of human history.” (Ellard, 15)

“Breathtaking natural phenomena like an inky starlit sky or the depths of the Grand Canyon, or a human-built artifact like a cathedral ceiling, can exert measurable influence on our feelings about ourselves, how we treat others, and even our perceptions of the passage of time.” 

“When we visit a shopping mall or a department store . . . we find ourselves entering almost a hypnotic state with lowered defenses, diminished reserve, and a heightened inclination to spend money on something we don’t need. . .  by careful design.” 

“A walk through a busy, urban street market teeming with colorful wares, the delicious aroma of food, and a hubbub of human activity . . . can cause our moods to soar.” (16)

“The areas of our brain that process feelings are widely distributed . . . It is difficult to overestimate the importance of such findings for our overall understanding of how the brain produces adaptive behavior . . . “ (19)

“Walls reinforce or perhaps even create social conventions and cultural norms. The invention of dedicated sleeping spaces in homes changed our views about sexuality. The design of traditional Muslim homes and even of streetscapes reified beliefs about gender and generational divisions.” (25)

“Despite our modern state of detachment from the conditions that originally shaped us, most of us still crave contact with nature . . . We are innately attracted to elements of places that for our forebears might have made the difference between life and death . . . When we visit new cities, we naturally gravitate toward whatever verdant squares and gardens may be on offer. “ (30)

“Our preferences for the appearance and arrangement of trees takes us one step beyond simple spatial consideration and into the realm of color, texture, and form.” (36)

“One can see the hallmarks of these preferences in almost every aspect of our behavior, from where we choose to walk and sit, what we like to look at, and how we try to arrange our lives, alternating as much as possible between powerful forces of technologies that shape our attention and the restorative effects of natural settings . . . More than any other single factor, our cravings for nature underlie the psycho-geographic structure of our lives.” (51)

Even visiting gardens virtually can have powerful effects. Here is one where I recently explored the blue poppies online at Reford Gardens in Quebec:

Historic Gardens

Blue Poppies

. . . 

Meandering Through the Writings of Others as a Practice of Lament: Hebrew Scriptures Psalm 110-150

“Behind the Ferry Building Gallery” DS

Nuggets from the story are chosen for the reader, things that a banal and some that are significant. We enter the story to see which characters and ideas we can connect with. Where do they lament; where do they rejoice? How do they learn and what?

Hebrew Scriptures: Psalms 110-150

Your strength shall be renewed

Day by day like

The morning dew

He does not fear bad news

How can a young man stay

Pure

By reading your word

And following its rules

His loved ones are very

Precious to him and

He does not lightly

Let them die

Don’t let me

Make a mess of things

Your words are a flashlight

To light the path

Ahead of me

Deliver me O Lord

From liars

Children are a gift

From God, his reward

To defend him

Weeping we sat

By the rivers of

Babylon

Lyres willow trees

How can we sing

Show me where to walk

Fortress tower deliverer

He counts the stars

And calls them by name

Trumpet lute harp

Tambourines stringed instruments

Cymbals voices.

Meandering Through the Writings of Others as a Lament Practice: Hebrew Scriptures, I Kings to II Chronicles

“Bridge from the Gallery” DS

As I write today and play with words, I notice that there is a strand of three to my writing: Scriptures, the tales of others in novels, and a touch of my own story. This is abundant life. Here are my explorations:

Hebrew Scriptures: I Kings to II Chronicles

Latticework

Pillars

Four hundred pomegranates

Ten movable stands

Ten vats

Pots, shovels, basins

Made of burnished bronze

Honest confession

She decided to test him with some

Hard questions

Which way did he go?

There will always be plenty of flour and oil

Left in your containers

Young prophets of

Bethel Seminary

What wish shall I grant you

Before I am taken away?

Feed one hundred men with

Only this?

You aren’t to blame,

He told them.

As soon as the body touched

Elisha’s bones

The dead man revived and

Jumped to his feet

You created the heavens

And the earth

A remnant of my people shall become

Strong in Jerusalem

Only the poorest and

Least skilled people were left

In the land

When they wandered from

Country to country

Commandments so you may

Continue to live in this

Good land forever

Who will give himself and

All he has to the Lord

Then they feasted and drank

Before the Lord with

Great joy

A veil of blue and crimson 

Fine-spun linen

Decorated with angels

100 pomegranates attached

To the chains

A bronze altar

Thirty feet long

Thirty feet wide

And fifteen feet high

A huge round tank 

Fifteen feet across

Ten vats for water

Ten gold lampstands

The band and chorus

United as one

The glory of the Lord

Coming as a bright cloud

Filled the Temple

So the priests could not

Continue their work

Humble and pray

Heal their land

Good work will be rewarded

We don’t know what to do

But we are looking to you

Stand quietly and see incredible

Rescue from God

Everyone must pay

For his own sins

Manasseh consulted mediums

And fortune tellers

A did every so rot evil

Warnings from God

Were ignored

Then at last he came to himself

And asked God

For help

I have heard you

And will not send evil

On this city

Build me a Temple

In Jerusalem.

Shellseekers series Meandering My Way through the Writings of Others: a Practice of Lament (Scripture, Joshua to 2 Samuel)

“Bridge from the Gallery” DS

I will honour the prayer requests of my younger self, recorded in the margins of these books, as well as honouring God in the decommissioning of this Bible. Although my life is not all privilege, the seven Bibles of different versions on my shelf are part of my treasures of white privilege. The wealth is not in the books on the shelf but in the reality of the living God behind the words.

I will grieve the loss of parts of my pre-Covid self and contemplate which parts of my history I will strengthen and take with me for the future. Before I begin, I know that some prayers have been answered, at times dramatically, but some remain in question but not unheard.

Like the Bible, I wonder if I am being de-commissioned from the regular art + faith workshops that stopped in the second year of the pandemic. Surely, I am not being deconsecrated from my call too. Only God knows the new forms the plans will take for our futures.

In the meantime, I am resting as I read random novels. Some I have retrieved from the discarded bin at the library. Some books I have bought new. Recycled or newly minted, the material of the book does not affect our enjoyment of the story being told. What will be discarded and what will be recycled from life before Covid, it will be interesting to see. I see already that new stories are birthed as love lost; love gained, as we step forward.

Grace leads onward in the exploration below:

Hebrew Scriptures: Joshua to 2 Samuel

God is with you

Scarlet cord

You have never been

Where you are going

Now

So guide you

Twelve stones and

A river

The land given

Tabernacle

No one could stand

Against them

Stone as witness

The one who was responsible 

For bringing the people

Back to God

Deborah

A prophetess

Write down names

Worship

The Spirit

How can you love me if

You don’t confide in me

She said

I want to go with

You wherever you go

May he restore your youth

And take care of you in 

Old age

Hannah’s prayer

The barren woman

Now has seven children

You will feel and act

Like a different person

God looks at the heart

Olive oil and power

Robe sword bow and belt

Prophesy

Covenant

Kindness

Nothing stolen

Branches of juniper trees

Dancing

Lyres harps tambourines

Castanets cymbals

Fool joy

Rock song refuge call

My cry reached his ears.

I Learned How to Swear in Art School

“Lemon Grove, Sorrento Italy” Photographer Unknown

There is a concerning trend toward the ubiquitous use of the F word by Christians who want to shock, to show they are progressives and not traditionalists. An argument could be made for the idea that the people most demeaned by swearing words are women. Actually though, my argument is based on self-talk, on our inner landscape, our personal environmental space of thinking in ordinary life when no one is around to listen or to impress, or to depress.

Like others, I am sure, the words I speak during the day, come back to me at times during the night. We work out our issues in our sleep. In a way, we are what we think.

If I fill my daytime conversation, (compelled by my daytime media consumption), with the F word, the S word, and every other negative use of the alphabet, these words populate and pollute my mind and propagate and echo themselves.

I was raised not to swear. It was considered the lowest form of communication. I never had to have my mouth washed out with soap but found words on the tip of the tongue.

When I left my parents’ home, I tried out swearing. The freedom felt good but was short lived. It seemed too decadent to me, too risqué, too aberrant. So I stopped just in time to become a mother and a good example.

Years later in art school I learned to swear. It was cathartic. It released me from the swearing of another. I had been wounded by someone’s focused swearing toward me. I carried on but was devastated. This came out non-verbally in my art making. One day at Emily Carr U. in a critique class, I was tasked with explaining my work. Others swore for me. Then they, around the circle of desks, encouraged me to do my own swearing. Against my better judgement, I took their dare. 

I said the same words that had been weaponized against me. It felt good and even right, but to continue to use those words as a daily practice would have degraded my conversation. As a visual learner whose imagination can be overactive, the F word and the S word, for example, always bring visuals with them.

In another way, I ask myself, what is swearing, really? Perhaps it is an expression of  disappointment with life, of hatred for others, or for the unimportance of special acts and the cynicism toward daily living. Cousins of swearing, after all, seem to be what used to be called dirty stories, crude jokes, loose talk? Can these be good for my mental health? If I demean others, demean life itself and demean the holy acts of life, is that life-giving? What are the holy moments of life, but childbirth, the deathbed, the sex act, prayer, caregiving, true conversation?

So I know how to swear, and at times it expresses the pain and ugliness of living. Can I prove my humility by using low words? In these days of the pandemic and other world crises, swearing is not enough. It is never enough. If I begin swearing as a practice, I would never stop, I think. There is so much to swear about, so much pain and injustice and uncertainty. Will I go there? As a colourist on canvas, will I verbalize in colourful language, or colour toward a horizon outside the lines?

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II

“Pink Pilgrimage Blanket II” Acrylic and Cotton Crochet, Knit, Thread, Beads, 5′ x 3′, DS

Like the deaths of each of our leaders, Queen Elizabeth II’s is cause for contemplation of life and legacy. More than trauma, the Queen’s death is poignant and culture-changing. Her life was well-lived. She was well-loved. Even her death was only a few hours after a time of handing over power from one PM to another, foreshadowing her own segment of the relay race of regal service passed to her son Charles.

When I lived in Scotland from ages five years to ten years old, one day our class in our navy uniforms, went out onto the roadside to wave our tiny flags to the Queen as she passed by waving from her car. She gave our world a feeling of rightness, of being cared for, like a second mother. In her death, as I watch all of the events and tributes in the media, my mind wanders to the death of Princess Diana, Pres. John Kennedy, and of my own dear mother. Prayers rise from emotions for us all. God keep our world. You hold us. You held the Queen. Help us to also be faithful to your calling.

Some of us know our legacy. Some of us will only find out the value and extent of our influence, when we shall see face to face. Our world divides again into those who desire to work for the common good and those who react only into escapism.

I have to say, that it seemed like it would be a blessing to the Scottish people that the Queen died in their land.

A Pandemic Dialogue

“Patio” Phone Photo DS

When did conversations about family, about shopping, about travel become intellectual dialogue? In the pandemic, visits from friends have taken on a new urgency, a new poignancy. I am not usually one who debates political issues, although religious issues have come up for discussion in (extra)ordinary conversations of the past.

We talk about food and compliment each other spontaneously, inquire about shopping habits for taste and beauty, and express ourselves in smiles. Travels, having become more infrequent in the pandemic are shown more interest than before. Personality and health issues are quickly revealed here. Writer Parker Palmer says that the soul is shy. Are we more willing to risk being known in periods of uncertainty, when sadness becomes okay and masks fall away?

Days having been weeded of the usual social obligations, are luxuriated with time. “I did not wear my watch. Can you tell me the time? I do not want to outstay my welcome.” I go inside from our outdoor visit and look at the stove clock. The time has become Kairos over Chronos and two hours now have been filled with words from the soul. Did we eat lunch at this table? Like food our words have sustained us. Like manna they have nourished our wellbeing.

We talked philosophy, and religion, and the meaning of life. The banality of the past has disappeared. Our own commentary has enlivened us and the other. We validate, encourage, correct, regret, give, receive, debate and hope together. Such is the value of friendship.

The Anti-Walk

“Working at Dundarave” DS

I just got back from attempting to go for a walk, made it up the stairs holding on, traversed the top of the driveway, then could find no footing that was not precarious. A woman and her dog came by. I introduced myself, she was Barb from Keith Road. She had just fallen, her leg hurt and her hip and she was embarrassed. Maybe wait for the sun to melt this more, she said. I went back slowly and descended the black-ice steps. The sun shone on my face as I contemplated using the treadmill for another day. I stood on the patio breathing in the unusual above-zero air and went in to make coffee.

Red Star Prayers

“Red Stars” Phone Photos DS

On a walk this week, I finally stopped to take a photo of a bare tree decorated with huge red Christmas stars. I had admired them since the tree was decorated. As happens, our daily experiences are mashups of life, faith and culture. 

I came across the biblical Elizabeth and Zechariah in my morning prayer and reading practice. They had prayed for a child for their entire marriage. Now they were old. They lived a good, satisfying, and holy life but had given up on their prayer for a child long ago. Book of Luke

Then I read a commentary:

“And when they least expect it, God shows up. The angel Gabriel is sent with the good news. God had heard their prayers. God had heard their prayers all along. And God was answering. Not only would they have a child, their child would be the forerunner of the Messiah!”  Soo-Inn Tan, Director of Graceworks, Singapore

Over Tim Hortons coffee in a lime green mug and raising my eyes from the book, I look over at the colourful hanging Christmas cards in the window. I contemplate my own long time prayers. 

These prayers seem old, unanswerable, too big and all-encompassing. But are they? In boldness I blurt out my main want: deliver! So is that not what Jesus, Immanuel, God with us, came for? Do we not celebrate again his coming this year even in a pandemic? Perhaps it is this very time of the deferred hope of the pandemic ending making the heart sick, that God will choose to answer our big, all-encompassing prayers. What is faith anyway if it is not a belief in a God who loves us and will not give us a stone when we ask for what we need?

As life came from God, life can be given back to God for not only safe-keeping but for flourishing; the languishing plant is returned to the gardener for care. I pray for this, a Red Star gift from the Giver of all life, a Christmas miracle in the family. What do we have to lose by looking with hope?

Heavenly Experience

In my visit  a while ago, to an Eastern Orthodox church in Vancouver, it was indeed a heavenly experience to sit with a cupola of saints as a cloud of witnesses above, larger than life colourful paintings all around the domed room and a large circular 18 carat gold, gently lit, chandelier hanging low over us as we worshipped. 

I felt at home as a Christian artist, yet uncomfortable too. Later it dawned on me that I was the only woman present wearing pants and not a dress. I recognized this tradition from my grandmother’s church.

“Pink Pampas Grass” Photo by DS