Angularities of Light & Shadow

5 March 2026 – Isn’t “angularities” a wonderful word? All knobbly, just like the shapes it describes.

Vocabulary is not in mind, as I set out, though light certainly is. We had a prediction of rain; we received sunshine, and I revised plans accordingly — a long, happy walk to the noon-hour Dance Centre performance, not a quick dash to a rain-splattered bus.

My route will take me down to False Creek, then west along its north shore to Richards or Granville before angling north into town.

Light! After days of drizzle. Blazing sky above the new-build just off Main at East 5th.

Then my eye tumbles down the building, to land on those shadows streaking across the pavement.

I’m set. I have my imprint. Never mind blazing sky: I want the angularities of light and shadow, as they dance with every building they meet.

Into the N/S alley between Main & Quebec streets, and it’s dance-time.

Standing at the intersection of this alley with the E/W alley between 5th & 4th avenues, I am as goggle-eyed…

as this vintage mural on the wall beside me.

Horizontal shadows running along that flowered wall to the north…

vertical light bursting through shadows, right at the corner…

shadowed walls both sides of the E/W alley, but look how those flowers pop with colour, even so…

long rays of light across the shadowed intersection with East 4th…

and a whole sequence of shadows to pull me on north, from the puddle just to my right, down the muted wall to the blocky rectangle at the intersection, and on across the street into that well of darkness beyond.

Bubbling pools among the condo towers, N/W of East 1st and Quebec…

where light & dark translate to marine tones of green & blue.

An old friend, at Science World: the Tower of Bauble. But this time I notice the shadows more than the mechanisms…

the way a shadow-shaft enters from below and emerges on the right in an arc of colours.

Shadows, I now realize, can be a lot more interesting than the objects that create them. Boring-old, routine-old, perfectly ordinary fencing along the edge of Creekside Park…

is a lot more intriguing when thrown as Mondrian-esque patterns on grass & concrete.

Similarly, shadows of flags at the Plaza of Nations ferry dock…

are much more enjoyable than the shamefully faded real flags above our heads.

I may be besotted with angularities, but I’m willing to make exceptions.

For example, for this curve encircling a False Creek viewing bench in Coopers’ Park.

Back to the angular:

the entrance to an underground garage at the foot of Drake Street.

Then, waiting for the construction worker’s nod at Drake & Richards, heavily cordoned for the delicate crane operation taking place between existing towers, I take a picture that has no relationship at all to light & shadow. (Though it has angularities a-plenty.)

It’s just very much of the moment, and I am suitably awe-struck at the sight of that worker in the top-level cage being positioned by the crane.

Camera tucked away after that: time to step smartly and get myself to Dance Centre.

Where, to my complete surprise, light, shadow and angularities all reappear.

The stage setting is entirely in the play of light and shadow, and the Ne.Sans Opera & Dance performers are accompanied by, first, the music of Philip Glass and, second, the Cello Suites of J.S. Bach.

Glass, Bach and contemporary dance! I think they fit perfectly, each with each other, and I then try to puzzle out why. Perhaps because the word “angularity” is already in my head, I add an adjective, and I am satisfied. “Flowing angularity.” That’s it. The angularity of the exquisite precision of every note, both composers; the angularity of the exquisite precision of every gesture, all three dancers — but also the flow of the music, the flow of the dance.

Then I think about my walk, about its angularities, and I add “flowing” to that experience as well.

The flow of light particles; the flow of the wind; the flow of time; the flow of shadows moving with time to new angles and positions; the flow of my time, my steps, my thoughts; the flow from that walk to this post.

Each instant its own angle, dancing in a constant flow.

On The Bounce

24 February 2026 – Rays of sunshine flashing all over the place, and colours bouncing around with them.

Well, no, not literally. But it looks, it feels, like that.

I stand at the intersection of E. Broadway & Main, deliberately missing two green lights, transfixed by the transformation of the Yarn Bomber’s “Be Kind” slogan and companion heart.

After years of exposure, the colours have faded and the wool is bedraggled. Construction screening now hides all that, and today’s sunshine throws us the words and image in dramatic, high-contrast relief.

Moments later I turn into the alley that will lead me to the Salvation Army drop-off centre, my eye primed for the bounce of light, colour and shadow.

Barely into the alley, and a perfectly ordinary wooden staircase delivers all that.

A few more steps, and look: green/yellow wooden pole, blue/pink/black garbage bins beyond, and down there in the distance, the turquoise blunt end of a Sally Ann truck. (I just have to stand in this ramshackle alley and look around. Colour smacks me in the eye.)

Even this tattered fabric car-shelter is on the bounce. Metallic silver, varying shades of blue in the window panel, and a vivid yellow RESERVED on the pavement for extra impact.

How fitting that right at the Scotia St. end of the alley, just where I turn into the Sally Ann compound, I find the splashiest colour bounce of all: this 2020 VMF mural, Vancouver: a People-Powered Future. (I later learn the artist, Oakland Galbraith, is only 12 years old at the time, which makes it even more wonderful.)

Next day, more sunshine, more bounce — starting with my own slight geographic bounce, down to the Devonian Harbour Park on Burrard Inlet at the edge of Stanley Park.

I happen to think the park’s signature sculpture installation is OK-fine, but not outstanding. Today, in all this blazing sunshine, it is outstanding. Today, there is nothing solo about Solo (Natalie McHaffie, 1986); it offers a whole conversation among its elements.

Neon-bright turquoise cedar panels play against stainless steel framework that seems to ripple in the light…

and, together, they throw sharp black outlines against the green grass.

Later, at the eastern end of my walk, I eye the bright edge to each peak on the Canada Place fabric roof…

and realize the sun can throw sharp white outlines just as easily as black.

Clever old sun.

Line & Light… & Magic

8 February 2026 – I thought line & light were already magic. Then came the surprise.

The first “line” is, literally, a line-up.

I’m walking north on Quebec, and I see what is surely the year’s first sidewalk line-up for a cone from Earnest Ice Cream.

I almost join the line; don’t; almost turn back to join the line when I see this fellow ahead of me enjoying his cone so very much.

But I don’t. I walk on down to False Creek.

Where quite different lines greet me — racing shell pods just this side of the Olympic Dock, their vertical above/below lines bisected by the horizontal line of the water. And, bouncing all around, scattershot rays of sunlight.

Anchoring the east end of False Creek, more lines — all those triangles that slot together to make Science World’s big round geodesic dome. Plus sunlight, playing favourites with a few of the facets.

My eye is in for the rectilinear. Then I get distracted by this evergreen.

Nature doesn’t do rectilinear! But, lines are lines. Just… different lines. And still the bounce of light, above, behind, and filtering through.

Back to the rectilinear…

and back to nature.

The silhouette of the crow, the curve of the branches; everything drenched in light.

I turn south along the little creek that flows through Hinge Park. There has been some reed-clearing here, I think, creating a more defined line through the water. I learn on the railing, watch ducks paddle their rounded lines through all those verticals, real and reflected.

And then… and then I realize I’ve just cocked my head, probably pulled a quizzical face.

What is that sound? Faint tappings, rhythmic, and, even fainter, the crooning of an almost subliminal voice.

I follow my ears on down the creek-side path. Then I see it. A bit farther south, spanning the creek. The industrial pipe cum “railway engine” cum pedestrian bridge…

cum percussive instrument.

Thanks to the three people sitting on top.

I am enchanted. Look! A boy at one end, a couple of 20-somethings at the other; all three tapping sticks against the metal, woven into each other and into the recorded soprano vocal line that inspires them.

The young men remain seated. The boy moves around, explores other surfaces.

He braces against the “smoke stack”…

and then, sure-footed, turns to make it his own next musical instrument.

I lean there until the music ends. The boy disappears down thriough one off the cut-outs, obedient to his mother’s call. The young men notice me, and wave. I applaud, then tap my heart. They tap their hearts, and throw their arms wide in my direction. I throw my arms wide, right back at them. We beam at each other.

Magic.

And then…

31 January 2026 – And then…

the rain came back.

Colour

28 January 2026 – Or, maybe: “Colour.” Or, for the old-school among us: Colour [sic].

Meaning, I have found myself playing with the concept of colour these last few days. It is all thanks to a comment by J. Walters on my previous post — her pleasure in the “gorgeous colours” in Vancouver, viewed from her farther-east landscape of “variegated white.”

(By the way, if you don’t already know her Canadian Art Junkie blog, give it a visit.)

So I walk around, and I amuse myself by seeing colour differently. Seeing it in relation to other attributes.

Colour: Brilliant

What’s more brilliant than reflected colour, bouncing off the plate glass of a downtown tower, under a blazing sky?

Colour: Muted

A murmur of colours, quietly living and breathing within the textures of their host, a tree trunk.

Colour: Juxtaposed

I’d not have bothered with either, on its own. Dead leaves. Pretty but unexceptional tiny blossoms. Yawn. The appeal is the contrasts of their juxtaposition. Deep rust vs sunshine yellow; battered vs fresh; last-season vs right-now.

Colour: Unexpected

One of the Monty Python skits had a character intone: “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.” Well, nobody expects a Very Colourful Dog on a tree trunk, either.

Colour: Obsessed

Namely, the colours I discover while indulging my obsessions. Two examples.

1 – My obsession with neighbourhood street-side “fairy trees,” decorated by civic-minded residents, sometimes with a swing for extra delight. Plus, in this specific example, our “Unexpected Dog.”

2 – My obsession with winter moss. In this case, right at the base of my “Colour: Muted” example above.

It’s all colour, if you want it to be. Hurray for colour.

New Moss, New Builds, New Snow & a Very Calm Cat

10 January 2026 – I have an errand, down by Pacific Central Station, and the skies are not heaving anything at anybody. I am happy indeed as I walk north on Scotia Street.

Even happier when, near East 2nd, I get to moon over yet another growth of fresh winter moss on a curb-side tree.

Oh, I know. This is a perfectly ordinary photo of a perfectly ordinary patch of moss, and either you share my obsession and moon along with me, or you shake your head and move on.

As I also do.

Errand accomplished, weather still surprisingly agreeable, I keep walking north. Cutting through False Creek Flats, I see that this stretch of battered old warehouses is, apparently, finally being demolished.

All the signs suggest this conclusion: windows boarded up, dumpsters out front, bright blue mesh fencing. Down there at the far end, the kind of new-build we can likely expect — structures to welcome more “knowledge industry” activities.

Across Terminal Ave., heading indeed toward the terminal (Pacific Central Station), I look up while waiting for a light to change. It gives me time to admire the vee of SkyTrain tracks overhead.

I also have time to look left, skimming my gaze along the front façade of Pac Central to rest on the cranes beyond…

which mark a New Build worthy of those capital letters: the new St.Paul’s Hospital complex.

Lights change. I cross, I walk, and I pivot around this elegant lamp post shadow at the far train station corner…

to see…

the bulk of the new hospital, now showing us its full dimensions and scale.

One peek at an explanatory billboard, visible through a gap in the fencing…

and I right-turn to follow a pathway to Gate 4, which runs along the far side of the complex.

East side of the building to my left, Trillium Park to my right, and straight ahead — over there in North Van, the far side of Burrard Inlet — snow on the mountain peaks. Plus, you bet, warmly dressed skiers.

Down here at sea level, the Trillium Park soccer players are lightly dressed…

and even I have bare hands and an open jacket.

One last glance at the hospital complex through playground equipment in spiffed-up Trillium Park…

one last salute to all that high-altitude sparkling snow…

and I carry on north & west into Strathcona, heading for Main Street the other side of Chinatown.

My zigzag takes me between two very modest apartment complexes. I’m thinking they’re a bit on the grim side, then slap myself for snobbery. Whatever their aesthetics, they are clean & tidy & details like paint and windows look well-maintained.

But that’s not why I’m showing you this photo. After you pass (or don’t pass) your own judgment on the aesthetics, please note the black blob on the ledge between the centre balcony and the open window.

See it?

It is not a blob.

It is a cat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight — or so I thought — of a cat tumbling out that open window, surely to his death. He does not die. He lands on the ledge. I stand there, waiting for him to start wailing for help. He does not wail. He settles down, toes curled over the front of the ledge, and does what he clearly does on a regular basis. He fills his lungs with fresh outdoors air, and watches the world go by.

I salute him with great respect. He ignores me.

I walk on.

Forward! In Reverse

1 January 2026 – Well, it is forward, isn’t it, when the reverse of your usual choice offers a new way to look at things. It’s hardly a major life breakthrough, but it does qualify as a pleasing little experiment, and worthy of the first day of a new year.

My “little experiment” is to walk the Burrard Inlet Seawall east-to-west between Waterfront Station and Stanley Park, instead of west-to-east. I know: small stuff indeed. But the fog is burning off, and it isn’t raining, and the temperature is comfortably above zero. Good reasons to drop off a bus at Waterfront Station, and get myself down to the water by Canada Place.

Tourists and locals stroll; the sights present themselves for admiration:

the fabric roof “sails” of Canada Place, the rental bicycles, a SeaBus completing its run from North Vancouver, a laden freighter and, of course, the orange cranes that tend to the freighters.

After that, my eye seems to focus more on slivers of scenes, not the whole panorama.

The tip of The Drop, the 2008 sculpture in Bon Voyage Plaza by the German four-artist collective Inges Idee that honours our temperate rainforest status with one elegant raindrop…

Doug Taylor’s kinetic weathervane Wind Wheel Mobile just west of the Convention Centre, which, from this angle, resembles a bobbing duck more than a weathervane…

Seawall bike lanes bordering the west side of Harbour Green Park, under a russet canopy of (I think!) winter beech leaves…

and the merest ghost of the sun, glimmering through the fog between buildings at the top of a Coal Harbour Park staircase.

I spend a moment with Santa’s floating gift “To YOU” in the Coal Harbour marinas.

Really a lavish Christmas present? Or, wait a minute, a clever-boots For Sale sign? The suspiciously generic label bears the M&P Yacht Centre logo, after all.

Far (west) end of the marinas, and I pause again, this time for something I feel no need to interpret.

A red cube sticker + a vee of water. I just like it.

Then the brass curve of the Coal Harbour Fellowship Bell (commemorating the companies and people of the “self-contained industrial marine community” that, 1891-1979, populated this area)…

and then more red, and another curve. This time red bobbing in the water, not fixed above it, and in a sinuous horizontal arc, not vertical.

A bit more hoofing along, and, finally, I am here.

I am exactly where the map says I am: on the Seawall at the east end of Devonian Harbour Park, in turn a gateway to Stanley Park, and also the end of my route from Waterfront Station, down there in blue/white signage at the bottom of the map.

Time for me to follow the snake fence through the park…

pause to take group pictures for some happy tourists, then….

cross this little bridge, and angle up along the creek to those cranes and new-builds on West Georgia.

Where I hop on a trusty #19, and ride my way home.

(Happy New Year, everyone! I so appreciate your interest and generous good humour.)

Light Travel and Time Travel (and the Flick of a Cat Tail)

29 December 2025 – It starts with a cat, not that the feline has any connection with our reasons for being on East 6th and poised to head north on Quebec.

But who could resist? I promise myself I’ll pursue that code once I’m home.

Meanwhile, on we go. On down Quebec St. to the water. We are en route the Village dock, about to make a two-ferry trip all the way west to the Maritime Museum dock.

Our goal isn’t even the Maritime Museum. Ferries are just the most delightful way to get ourselves to the Museum of Vancouver, out there in Vanier Park, for their twin exhibitions about chairs: Deep-Seated Histories (old chairs in their collection) and Future Makers (new chairs by Kwantlen Polytech students).

Light travel — reflections across the water — captures us before we even leave our home dock. Copper light, rippling its way south across the water.

Light travel + time travel: Jerry Pethick’s Time Top sculpture sends its own ripples southward as we pass the Cambie Bridge.

From one ferry to another at Granville Market, and soon we dock at the Maritime Museum — a free outdoor exhibit of vintage wooden vessels. And, not incidentally, home to the non-profit Oarlock & Sail Wooden Boat Club, housed in the floating Wooden Boat Shop.

More light travel, shimmering among the aged vessels (many wrapped against winter, but alas therefore incognito as well).

From light travel, back to time travel.

Barni-cycle!

It didn’t collect all those barnacles in just a day or two.

I add an extra layer of time travel + distance travel.

I bounce myself back years and back east to the Art Gallery of Ontario’s display of Simon Starling’s Infestation Piece (Musselled Moore). It shows what happens when first you make a faithful copy of Henry Moore’s Warrior With Shield, then you place it in Lake Ontario as an offering to zebra mussels for a few years, and finally haul it up again for display.

I shake that image out of my head, rejoin present time & place, and follow my friend to the MOV, where we meet another friend and all three of us go look at chairs.

They are twinned exhibits. First, as seen above, Deep-Seated Histories of vintage chairs with local connections. But even here I’m back to light travel. No longer light crossing water to create reflections; instead, light crossing air to create shadows.

(Above) Edward’s Razor Repair Shop Metal Chair, 1930; and (below) Peter’s ice Cream Parlour Stool, c. 1930.

Later, in the Future Makers exhibit, more light travel, more shadows.

This time, beneath the Kuma Chair, in homage to Japanese architect Kengo Kuma and the outside lobby of his Alberni building here in Vancouver. The chair, its signage tells us, explores negative space. I see shadows.

And then more walk-abouts, and then lunch at the splendid Melo Pâtisserie, and then home.

Where I look up the code for that cat show. And discover it took place on 25 August 2025.

More time travel!

North Shore (To & From)

13 December 2025 – Poised for a trip on SeaBus, I am…

across Burrard Inlet from Vancouver’s Waterfront Station to Lonsdale Quay in North Vancouver.

The draw is the engrossing show currently on view (to 1 February) at the Polygon Gallery — American photographer Lee Miller, whose body of work encompassed both high society and high fashion…

and the stark realities…

she documented as a wartime photographer.

As usual, the ferry ride to the North Shore is an uneventful 15 minutes or so.

Also as usual, we are met by a welcoming committee of cormorants at the Lonsdale dock.

The man standing next to me is waxing lyrical about their inherent grace, their ease with being exactly what they are (unlike fretful striving humans). I am less lyrical. Every time I see these birds, I hear again the cry of my outraged friend, that day in the Bruce Peninsula, who thought we were looking at loons, and discovered they were only — and I quote — “F**king cormorants!” FC’s they became, and FC’s they remain.

I leave that nice man being lyrical, and carry on, looping my way toward the Polygon via the Lonsdale Quay waterfront, with its long views back south.

Another black bird, this time a solitary crow, soars over helipad and private pier.

His backdrop is one stretch of the south shore of this busy port: a line-up of monster freighter cranes, like so many orange giraffes, with a monster freighter (COSCO Shipping, says its lettering) before their high-stretched necks and downtown buildings at their backs.

From one solitary crow, to a veritable panorama of Eternal Love.

Lock upon lock upon lock. (Upon lock.)

Different foreground, same Port of Vancouver background. L to R: the cranes; the COSCO freighter plus another, equally massive but unidentified; the white fabric “sails” that comprise the roof of Canada Place; a SeaBus placidly bustling back to the south shore. Behind all that, the city skyline. (North Shore shows us mountains; South Shore shows us towers.)

Return trip, those towers grow larger in the ferry windows…

and, approaching the terminal, we glide past a heavily laden freighter…

being nuzzled by an attentive crane.

But were you greeted by a welcoming committee of FC’s? you want to know.

I have to confess: I did not notice.

“Merde! il pleut”

4 December 2025 – Years ago, standing in line on a soggy day, I read this lament on the umbrella in front of me.

Today, staring out my traffic-stalled bus window on an equally soggy day…

the words return to mind.

  • WALKING… & SEEING

    "Traveller, there is no path. Paths are made by walking" -- Antonio Machado (1875-1939)

    "The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes" -- Marcel Proust (1871-1922)

    "A city is a language, a repository of possibilities, and walking is the act of speaking that language, of selecting from those possibilities" -- Rebecca Solnit, "Wanderlust: A History of Walking"

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