My cell structures drawings began while in residence on Toronto Island.  I had been living in the village Elora where the familiar sight lines included a dense cedar forest along the gorge and seasonal colour gradations of greens, corn stalks and white washed, snow covered fields.

On the island, I was struck by the great expanse of the lake and the patterns in the sand.

My art practice drew directly from these elements and I adapted the traditional Japanese “suminagashi” technique where a drawing is created by working with sumi ink floating on water.

Sumi ink is made of wood ash and soot mixed with a vegetable binder. I liked the idea of working with the combined elements of water and fire, through its ash residue.

The process, while simple, is delicate and extremely sensitive to the conditions, temperature, state of mind and hand of the maker.   I begin with a a shallow vessel filled with clean, room temperature water, add a dab of ink which floats on the surface and repeatedly part the ink circle with a twig or the back of a brush carrying the residue of oil from the skin.

I feel myself grow quiet with each subtle gesture.  I see cell structures growing before me. They remind me of repeated patterns seen in life, from water bubbles to salt stains on the pavement to microscopic images of body tissue.  I am reminded that water is a connective and fundamental source in all of life.

Once the floating drawing is complete, I lay a sheet of kozo paper on top to soak up the ink patterns, then let the paper dry.  I then cut selective holes with an exacto blade to create a play of shadow and light, volume and transparency.

It was a beautiful 23 degrees on March 22 for the opening of “morphogenesis” at Gaspard.

Thick mud sucked our wellies in the open field, coloured leaves still clung in sparse patches to the trees and droves of people gathered in the woods with 100 chefs cooking the local bounty over fire pits for foodstock-stop the mega quarry on October 16, 2011.

The day, while damp and grey, attracted 28 000 individuals in solidarity.

I was incredibly moved to be part of this day.

In my practice as an artist I often find myself working alone.

I walk in woods, parks and city streets, collecting cues from my environment, then I sit quietly over my work in my home studio which expands and contracts through my kitchen, living room and terrace  depending on the season and project.

Here my friend and colleague, Alex Leikermoser of yogagurl invited me to collaborate on an installation in the woods for foodstock.

The porcelain cast leaves that I had made while living in Elora, from leaves collected in the gorge and my garden were strung on jute and hung from the branches.

I found meaning in relationship between the leaves of one forest, the Elora gorge, that I cherished and knew so well with my feet, hands and eyes to this forest surrounding the farmland in Melancthon Township with its own memory and history.

Alex had collected a variety leaves from High Park in Toronto, another cherished natural space that are lungs in our city, on which we invited foodstock visitors to write down a word, wish or thought.

The expressions including; family, forgiveness, friendship, joy, joie, love, water, nature, mothers, peaceful, people power, lucky, sensuous, sun, sustain, strong, stewardship, save our farmland, blisss, with all that lives let us equally share, where good things grow don’t let them go, and I love Canada, shone as sunny yellow statements of connection.

I was moved as individuals, friends and families took a moment to share their intention and their stories about the land, their hopes and their lives.

Before this day, I had no sense of what would unfold in the woods.

I had my own ideas about how to “set up” and create an experience of art, but here I realized that “I” was one organism in an evolving ecosystem collectively responding to the conditions.

It was a powerful experience for me to see how inclusivity invites growth.

After sitting among the trees, Toronto poet, Reuben Berger, shared these words with me.

This one….
We all have a role
to play
like the trees
and the sun
and the waves

A tree never tries
to be like the waves
and the waves never try

to be like the sun
why do people
try so hard
to be what they are not?

If you’re a tree
create shade
if you’re the sun
create warmth
be yourself
everyone is waiting

Towards the end of the day Alex and I huddled around the fire pit of Vertical’s chef Giacomo Pasquini, where we were welcomed, warmed and included to enjoy grilled polenta and cabbage.

In closing, crowds by the main stage absorbed the voice of Sarah Harmer and the inspiring initiative of Michael Stadtlander…

As Alex and I drove away the sun broke through the sky, and, unbelievably like a grand testimonial to the joy in collaboration that day, a rainbow arched across the landscape.

For more information about stopping the mega quarry and foodstock, visit:

http://nomegaquarry.ca/events/foodstock/

http://www.facebook.com/foodstockmusicfestivalpa

While visiting my parents on one of those precious, warm days last fall, I headed to the garden to pick some kale for a salad.  The older leaves had several large insect eaten holes.  It occurred to me in that moment that my fascination with skeletal structures in my art practice began in my back yard, growing up as a child and teenager.  I recalled a series of photos I took when I was around 18 that isolated these leafy, undulating forms and was reminded that everything is ultimately connected.

It was during this time that I was in the midst of installing my morphogenesis series at The Ritz Carleton Spa Sanctuary. The paper cut leaf forms were strewn over the floor in preparation for the final layout.

Revisiting a forgotten theme, this series took its inspiration from the lacy leaves eaten by Japanese beetles I saw during my artist residence at the Blue Mountain Centre in the Adirondacks.  I was struck by the juxtaposition between their fragile beauty and the threat they represented to the area’s eco system.  The works, painted with red milk paint became hand cut paper forms scaled to the body where I hoped to evoke a relationship between the inner body, its organs and blood stream and the natural world around, with its own circulatory system of leaves turning golden and red.  Kozo paper, while it appears to be delicate, has strong fibres. I thought about our own fragility, emotionally, mentally and physically and also of the powerful and resilient life force within us.

Sitting on a bench in the garden, with the golden sun passing through my favourite apple tree, I ate my raw kale salad.  I felt like I was eating my art.

The kale survived the early frost and picked fresh from the earth, its vital energy moved into my blood stream.

The salad has variations depending on what’s available in your fridge.  To prepare it, pull the soft leaves from the stem then rip them into bits, add lemon juice, salt, pepper and olive oil. My mom didn’t have parmigiana or walnuts on this day so I used grated jarlsberg and toasted pecans which gave a nice depth of flavour.

My installation at The Ritz Spa in Toronto continues until February 28.

I was familiar with the act of saying grace through our family’s custom of holidays like Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas and the times when we were able to gather together as a whole, but it has been through the deepening of my yoga practice that sitting with a moment of gratitude felt like a meaningful expression for the meal before me, for the night of sleep before me or the beginning of the day.

Years ago, I attended a gathering with Tibetan monks who were visiting Guelph, Ontario.  Someone asked, “What is the antidote for loneliness?”.  One of the monks shared the view that we are never alone as we have the company of all the hands, all the people and all the beings who have contributed to growing and preparing the fibres of the clothing we wear, all the hands, all the people and all the beings who have put their energy into cultivating, harvesting and preparing the food we eat, all the hands, all the people and all the beings who have created shelter for us.

I think about this when I sit down to enjoy a meal.  Recently I made a pot of sorrel soup.

The smell of onions, garlic, potatoes and dill filled my Toronto kitchen with the smell of memories, Poland and my grandmother.  I had harvested the sorrel and dill, from the Stop, an urban greenhouse and garden program that connects community with the food cycle.  The garlic and carrots came from my aunts garden.  The barley, onions and potatoes came from my local grocery store and while I don’t know who the grower’s were, their contributions too were companions in my soup pot.

When we eat a meal, we collect the vital energy from the sun and nutrients from the earth.  We bring into our being the efforts of so many hands.

I sit for a moment to consider what I am bringing into my being.

As I assimilate the meal that has brought so much life effort into one bowl, I hope that the life energy of all the hands, all the people and all the beings will be expressed back through me in my contribution to life.

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