Every year, I love Autumn a bit more; the brightest yellow leaves against a bruised sky, the smell of wood and leather wafting through the air. It’s an invigorating season. Fires get lit, blankets come out of storage, and soups bubble in cast iron pots. I’ve never thought of November as a beautiful month, but there’s something quite lovely about that wash of lilac, cinder and inky blue that we come to know so well at this time of year. The last leaves, red and heroic, hold on to bare branches and hydrangeas wither to a pale shade of tobacco. I wonder whether my down-to-the-very-last drop love of Fall has something to do with a new appreciation for Winter? After all, when we stop dreading what’s coming, we can enjoy what is here.
French multidisciplinary artist, Virginie Hucher begins every painting outdoors. “I need to see nature and a corner of the sky.” Trees, forests, meadows, nature is Hucher’s muse. “My whole life has been based on the balance between nature and the city.” Movement is central to Hucher’s artistic process. The former dancer uses her whole body and a stick to carve large symbols into sand, snow and soil which eventually wash away and later find permanence on a canvas. “My mother introduced me to dancing when I was only two-years-old. My father taught me French boxing so I’ve been practicing the two disciplines for years. I literally grew up around notions of softness and strength.” The theme of opposites plays out in every painting, with two forms or colours conversing with another. Hucher’s work is bold and lyrical. Have a look around; these images of her sketching into a sandy beaches and snow in France are quite beautiful.
Summers in Bermuda always included a boat ride with Lise and her family in and around the waters of Harrington Sound. We often came home with sand dollars, and I once remember diving for a sea cucumber. Lise is originally from Montreal, but she’s lived in Bermuda for most of her adult life. She taught my brother and I to swim, and has an optimism and zest for life that has always inspired me. Lise makes the most delicious brownies, at least she did when we came to visit. Her brownies were soft and gooey and stuffed full of raisins and walnuts. Most kids balk at dried fruit and nuts but my brother and I loved both. Years later, I asked Lise for her brownie recipe and she said that they came out of a box. No wonder, we loved them so much. Along with her tuna salad and jug loads of ice tea, there were few lunches more memorable.
We walked along the unused tracks of the Don Valley about a dozen times. We walked along Woodbine beach, the Humber River and the Mimico waterfront. We walked among the relics at Guild Park and among the mansions of Rosedale. We walked through dozens of the city’s parks, beaches and ravines. We walked when the sun shone, and we walked when the rain came down. The children often tracked their steps –– three thousand, four thousand, five thousand –- and if the shops were open, we’d stop for an ice cream. We’d talk, we’d sing, we’d imagine which house we’d want to live in. And sometimes, we’d walk in silence; good silence, awkward silence, the silence you can cut with a knife. Our walks were how we connected with a city in lockdown and how we stayed close to nature, to ourselves and to each other. These days, we walk much less frequently. The children are reluctant; they’d rather play with their friends. Occasionally though, I’ll think about our walks, how quiet the city was, and how much of it we discovered.
There are few garments cooler than the white shirt. Even the most avant garde riff on this wardrobe staple has a feeling of establishment to it which makes it the easiest thing to wear to pretty much any event. I have about seven white shirts, each one with its own unique personality. I’ve accumulated them over two decades and they’re my go-to when I want to dress up but I don’t want to dress up. My favourite white shirt is billowy enough to hide two people under, with interesting pleats, and a quirky Peter Pan collar to boot. It’s gone to the cinema, to the beach and to a dozen parties.
“Joyful, idealized, fantastical and aspirational,” are all words that photographer, Erik Madigan Heck uses to describe art that he’s drawn to, art that inspires his own work. “It’s a world that I want to live in.” His large scale, painterly portraits are just that; magical, bewitching, like characters from a fairytale. “Portraiture is more about the artist than the sitter,” says Madigan Heck who’s photographed dozens of Hollywood greats from Natalie Portman and Saoirse Ronan, to Tilda Swinton, Julianne Moore and Adele. “When I approach portraiture, I normally think of it more as just creating a work of art, something that I want to create around this person as oppose to a portrait of a person,” he says. “And so for me it becomes more about the use of colour, the person in a space, but it’s not necessarily a portrait of them… it almost becomes a portrait of myself.” The light and drama of old masters such as Caravaggio, Goya and Botticelli are strong sources of influence, as are the painterly colours of Vuillard and Bernard. His mother, also a painter, was an enormous influence; she took him to galleries on weekends and bought him his first camera. “She wanted me to engage with the world.” It’s Madigan Heck’s intense use of colour that distinguishes his work, and that renders his sitters regal, mystical and otherworldly. “My work is primarily about colour. The colour sometimes is the subject.”
The thing about gold shoes is that they feel like jewellery for your feet. I have a pair of Louboutins with vertiginously high heels that look like they were carved from 22 carat gold. They are such a fierce colour, especially against the flash of red soles. I have another pair, Prada gladiators, that are closer to an 18 carat. They’re more subtle, but no less fabulous to wear. Lastly, I have a classic Monolo pump in a gold so mellow that it could have been plucked from a sunset. All these shoes live in their boxes, relics from another life. Once in a while, I’ll peek inside their boxes and admire them the way I would a ring, or a bracelet, or any other jewel. It would be hard to sell them, or give them away. Here’s hoping my girls have small feet.
My neighbour’s Impatiens are almost all gone, and the petals on the last of his summer roses are sighing out their last breaths. In our garden, the geraniums we planted this summer are a flash of azure in a heap of rusty leaves. It will be some time before we see flowers again. I sometimes imagine what it would be like to live in a climate where flowers grow all year around. I came across the magical flower garden of florist, Petrina Burrill in the heart of suburban Melbourne, and I was enchanted. Delphiniums! Ranunculus! Roses! It’s so colourful and abundant, and I love all the mismatched pots crammed full of wild blooms. These will be lovely images to return to in the heart of February when we’re aching to see a crocus or two. And this garden chat with Petrina is delightful.