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.

‘Scapes

1 March 2026 — Sub-categories of landscape. Skyscape and streetscape and alleyscape and (why not) trailscape. Plus a final skyscape flourish, courtesy of a friend and moon-focused, to round it off.

A completely arbitrary grouping! Just how I happened to cluster what I’ve noticed, over the past few days.

This brooding late-afternoon sky, (precisely 5:24:43 PST, said my camera), with reflected last slivers of sunlight in a few windows and early neon glowing on the streets.

The next morning, walking to Gallery Jones on East 1st Ave, I’m hit first by a smellscape of warm cinnamon bun…

and then, peering through the open door, see the cause of the aroma: stacks of newly-baked buns in this wholesale bakery, with a worker wiping his cheek as he advances on yet another tray.

From streetscape to alleyscape, somewhere to explore until the gallery opens its doors. Never mind, who needs curated art on walls when the alley offers a Blue Period worthy of Picasso?

All the textures, all the varieties of blue in that wall of corrugated metal. Whether long shot, as above, or up close to the window (which in turn frames reflected skyscape).

The same blue on the adjacent wall, providing a sleek, smooth No Parking backdrop…

for bicycle parts that are definitely & definitively parked.

Another cultural excursion the following day — this one for Maximilien Brisson’s glorious creation, Scorrete lagrime mie, at St. Anselm’s Church on the UBC grounds.

The church sits right next to various trails into Pacific Spirit Regional Park and, post-concert, I am pulled onto the Salish Trail…

by this sentinel tree, this doorman tree, imposing in his winter greatcoat of emerald velvet.

The trailscape unfolds around me.

Next up, an arched branch…

proving that left-over tassels of autumn red are just as striking as winter moss green.

To my left, farther away, another arched branch…

proving that (nyah nyah) you can have just as much impact, stark naked.

Round another bend in the trail, where first a ragged spire of ancient tree trunk…

and then a fresh-cut end of tree trunk…

prove that, in the bravura sweepstakes, red cedar always wins.

Back home, delighted with memories of both the concert and the trail, I open a text from a friend for yet another delight. It’s a skyscape photo to round off my collection…

her (7:55:07 PST) moon tribute to, as she points out, “the 12th day of the lunar new year.”

Thank you, ST.

Up Close & Misleading

26 February 2026 – From far off, even from medium far-off, the stainless steel in Natalie McHaffie’s sculpture Solo appears to be exactly what it is:

solid bars of stainless steel.

When I move in close, my cheap-end-of-the-range (and very old) iPhone cannot cope.

It reads that solid steel as a lustrous fabric rippling in the breeze.

Entirely misleading.

Also magical.

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.

Waiting

21 February 2026 – Still, poised, suspended on its plumb line.

Waiting.

Waiting for spring.

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.

Winter Walk

24 January 2026 – Let us first define our terms.

Winter, not as most of the country is currently experiencing it, but winter as we experience it here at sea level on the Canadian west coast. More precisely, because the quip fits: winter as we experience it here on the wet coast.

While much of the rest of Canada contends with brutal temperatures and heavy snowfall…

our shops run out of umbrellas.

I see this sign in the VanDusen Botanical Garden gift shop, where I loiter awaiting my partner for our planned winter walk in the Garden.

Sun overhead, and hoar frost sparkles on the grass.

Tree trunks and branches flourish their winter coats of moss.

Sometimes in great goofy patches…

sometimes as a shimmering outline, viewed from the shadow side of a tree trunk facing the sun…

and sometimes draped along the branches of sibling Japanese maples, touching fingers above Heron Lake, itself adorned with a rare skin of ice.

That ice, however, is only in the upper reaches of the lake.

Farther along…

the fountain guarantees open water — to the delight of paddling ducks.

We first walk a path known officially as the Winter Walk, because of its plantings, and as we go we tick the list of its star attractions: witch hazel, heavenly bamboo, Japanese laurel, and wintersweet.

Then we veer off, take other pathways across the Garden, and notice their mid-winter palette as well.

A fiery Red osier dogwood, for example, there in the middle distance, with bright Japanese skimmia right here at our finger tips.

Grasses in the perennial beds are neatly bundled up…

dancing their feathery tips over plant stalks in the flower beds. These plants are pruned for winter and currently anonymous, but their time will come.

Tree trunks!

We are drop-jawed at the jewel tones of this Snow Goose flowering cherry…

and then find ourselves equally impressed by the austere tones of this Sichuan birch.

(Enlivened, I feel compelled to add, by a kick of moss in its upper branches.)

Then we’re off, out past the Garden’s rammed earth sirewall, handsome in any season…

and on down Oak Street for a while, prolonging the walk.

That Cat

21 January 2026 – The cat came back.

We must be more fun than a ball of wool.

(Literary allusions note: from Sandburg’s 1918 fog poem yesterday to a folk-song today that is pure cat not fog — 1890s American blues-folk origins, Harry S. Miller; 1979 Canadian folkie hit with revised lyrics, Fred Penner; 1988 Oscar-nominated 7-min. animation, the NFB. Click here for 7 minutes of delightful silliness. A break from grim real-world silliness.)

  • 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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