Time With Grit & Grime

15 September 2018 – Grab it all, drink it all in, right? Revel in eco-sculptures one day, but go prowl alleys & street corners the next …

And so here I am, back in Mount Pleasant neighbourhood, back on Main Street. Where I discover another click-clack-fall-is-back:

This street piano is still on the street, but locked up tight. (Only later, looking at my photos, do I see that piano keys are painted on the padlock.)

A silenced piano, but fair enough. There are not many people still patio-lingering to enjoy it, even had it been open for use.

I’ve been pretty sketchy about discovering this year’s Mural Festival contributions to the neighbourhood, so I double back onto Watson — looks like an alley, but it’s a legit street with its very own name — to go see what might be there.

If there is a new mural nearby, I don’t see it. I’m struck instead by this hopeful message — I interpret it as hopeful — on a dumpster.

Bit farther north, and I get to pay tribute to one of my all-time favourite Mural Festival offerings, this one a veteran from 2016.

Oh, I love this wolf. (And the companion wolf, out of frame.) It’s more than aesthetic appreciation, I realize: I stumbled on the 2016 crop of murals by accident, while visiting that year, not even knowing that a Mural Festival took place. So there’s a whole serendipity-lucky-charm current of warmth I feel, every time I see him again.

More wandering, and eventually I’m on E. Broadway (aka 9th Ave.), just west of Main. I side-slip into the alley & bend myself back-back-back, peering up-up-up, to pay proper attention to this glorious fire escape, with its entirely improbable cross-stitch of artwork, top to bottom.

All that, and one of those big boxy Vancouver hydro poles to complete the image.

I straighten up, and discover a Millennial right next to me, busy taking the same shot. “I saw you & wondered what you were looking at,” she confesses once she too is again vertical. “It’s cool.”

Farther west on Broadway, and a tattered poster I don’t understand, but the devil-baby graphics suck me in. Then I decide I like the larger composition even better: Manhattan Project + devil-baby + “Faro” +  the battered, barricaded windows + assorted scribbles.

The city — any city — just keeps throwing up these random art installations, the elements assembled by chance and disparate hands & intentions. Some cohere, some don’t. (Oooo, aren’t I playing the Deep Thinker! I’ll stop now.)

I don’t have any of these Deep thoughts at the time. I am immediately distracted by a bright red poster next to the devil-baby ensemble, and move in to read the fine print.

Later I find Expressions of Belonging online, and discover these events are being organized by a local Master’s student, not as part of her studies, just as a way to encourage human connections within the urban web. Coming up 23 September, so you still have time to mark your calendar if you’re local– but note the venue has moved to the Kitsilano Community Centre.

One last citizen of the urban web who demands our attention — a creature of many roles but, at this exact moment, playing parking vigilante.

There is always a crow.

 

Across the Salish Sea

21 August 2018 – I wouldn’t say this sign could only be found on an island, but it does have island DNA woven through its message — a cry of welcome, an invitation to adventure, and a reminder to behave yourself.

Read the fine print: I’m on Salt Spring Island, one of the Southern Gulf Islands scattered so generously across the waters of the Strait of Georgia between Vancouver Island and the B.C. mainland coast.

The waters may be a constant; their name is another matter. In 1791 Spanish explorers named the expanse for Nuestra Señora del Rosario la Marinera; in 1792 British explorer George Vancouver promptly renamed it in honour of King George III. And so it is still officially named.

On its own, that is.

But it is now also collectively identified with Puget Sound and Juan de Fuca Strait as a larger maritime entity, which is officially recognized — by both Canada and the United States — as the Salish Sea.

photo credit: straight.com

Long before those 18th-c. explorers came around, long before Spain or Britain even had empires, the Coast Salish peoples populated this area and sailed these waters.

When BC Ferries ordered three new ships (to replace two aging ones named Queen of This-and-That), all three had Salish embedded in their names. And so I arrive at SSI’s Long Harbour terminal aboard the Salish Raven.

She may have been built in Gdansk, Poland, but her imagery is the work of the young Coast Salish artist Thomas Cannell.

One more bit of name-game: Ganges, the main community and the one where I’m staying, is a nod to the Royal Naval battleship HMS Ganges, which conducted land surveys in the area on and off in the mid-19th century.

All good to know, but I’m thinking about nature, not linguistic politics, as I accept that “Everybody Welcome!” invitation. I start down the stairs, paying due attention to slippery/uneven surfaces as I go. Which they are. And who cares.

The view into Ganges Harbour, as I come ’round a staircase angle … well, it’s just what a Vancouver tourist hopes to see.

(Except for that milky sky. It’s the wildfire haze that still blankets the province, & will for a while yet.)

Back up the steps, on down Lower Ganges Rd.

Show me your village! I want shops & cafés, galleries & produce outlets, all the wonders of this amazing island of micro-business and nature. A total of some 11,000 residents and, boy, do they ever punch above their weight.

A quick reconnoitre into  artcraft, a showcase for Southern Gulf Islands artists & craftspeople, run by the Arts Council. I almost stop for an early latte at the outdoor café right beside it, but instead only slow down long enough to admire its painted piano and vow to return later on.

I ration crafts-shop visits once I hit town; one could overdose. I wander along the Harbour edge of Centennial Park, no such thing as overdosing on nature. More boats, more haze, and — thanks to the arbutus trees — lots of blaze as well.

I am always mesmerized by the arbutus…

‘Round the next bend, and look, another painted piano.

Bunnies, this time.

I come closer, the lid is up — showing its polite request to keep it closed, to protect the keyboard from rain.

I close it.

More bunnies. Cute as can be. (My old Toronto self thinks for a moment of street artist Poser-bunnies. Whole different genre…)

The grass in the park, like grass everywhere here, is parched to pale yellow. Doesn’t matter. I know how quickly it rebounds. So I don’t fuss about that for even a moment, I focus entirely on the fibre art hanging from the tree branches.

Later, next to Transitions thrift shop — run to support Island Women Against Violence — another decorated tree: the Gratitude Tree.

You’re invited to write your own message of gratitude on one of the leaves. Lots of messages, from a single word (e.g. “Hope”) to long descriptions of specific events.

And this one …

My sentiments exactly.

I visit Transitions, buy a couple of paperbacks, and set off for that café next to artcraft. Where, at a companion food truck, I buy a compose-your-own salad to go with my latte, and settle down to enjoy both …

with the painted piano and a leaping recycled-steel & cedar orca (Breachin Orca IV, Carl Sean McMahon) to keep me company.

 

 

 

  • 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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