“I’m not strange, weird, off, nor crazy, my reality is just different from yours.” ― Lewis Carroll.

I don’t often walk through Mount Pleasant cemetery, once every few years, but whenever I do, I’m reminded what a beautiful pocket of the city it is. Today was particularly lovely, with leaves all shades of dried fruit, and an early morning light that made everything feel so hopeful and alive. I’m always curious to see how a family chooses to immortalize a loved one, and most specifically, the words they select to do so. How to distill a life into a poem, quotation or phrase. You can tell the Jewish graves by the stones placed upon them. I happened upon one today with more than thirty stones of different shapes, sizes and colours. As much as I adore flowers, roses wither and dry up, stones are permanent. If there wasn’t such a chill in the air, I might have spent more time reading through the many, many inscriptions. There’s always next time.

There was a white t-shirt with delicate red flowers that Iole wore so much that it practically disintegrated. It was one of those insignificant items of clothing that imprints itself in your memory in the most significant way. My daughter, age 7, galloping down Robert Street on a broom. My daughter, age 8, lifting her little sister on to a swing. Or eating an ice lolly. Or tying her brother’s shoe laces. Or falling off her bike and grazing her knee. In my memory, Iole is always wearing that t-shirt. Even when she wasn’t. “Do you remember that Ralph Lauren t-shirt that Nonna gave you, the one you wore eight million times?” A vague recollection washes over her mascara smudged eyes. “How can you not remember it? It was your favourite.” I searched through my phone — hundreds and hundreds of photographs –– and there it was, 2016/17, the white t-shirt with delicate red flowers. There were other t-shirts. And dresses. And rompers. But that’s the one that stands out. That’s the one that reminds me of Iole in that window of time. A window so fleeting, so challenging, so beautifully and wonderfully intense that my memory could only hold on to so much. A t-shirt. And the girl who wore it.

“The key to success is to start before you are ready.” Marie Forleo.

I was thinking today about all the tiny vessels I used to make in my early days of working with clay. Sometimes, I’d spend the entire three hour class on one tiny pinch pot. At the time, my children were very young, and I had a newborn in the mix, so the scale now makes more sense. Maybe it was all I could manage. Maybe I needed the intense focus that zooming in on something so small provides. Most of the pinch pots ended up in a bin, but the respite they gave me through what was a demanding time made each and every one worth the hours I spent on them. I owe much of my focus, steady hand and attention to detail to those teenie, tiny bowls. They were probably much lovelier than I realized at the time. The beauties below are by ceramic artist, Alana Wilson.

It’s always interesting to see how an artist manifests from one medium to another. There’s a thread that runs through the work and each new medium gives way to fresh possibilities and perspectives. I find it reassuring to see a cohesive style, and to draw connections. Humans always like to see the thread. But I am also inspired when an artist’s range is such that they can keep surprising us. I’ve seen Mirena Kim’s ceramics over the years, but I never knew that she also painted and made large scale sculptures. The work is all so different that one might imagine it’s three artists at work. And maybe it is. Maybe, like Matryoshka dolls, we are all artists within an artist within an artist searching for ways to express what lives inside. It comes out in the way arrange flowers in a jar, do our makeup, or set food on a plate. It comes out in the way we tie a scarf, part our hair, or doodle on a pad of paper. It’s in everything we do. Each little thing offering a fresh possibility and perspective on the whole.

Trish Anderson’s textiles look like every colour imaginable is dripping down the wall. “Sometimes I have a hard time not using all the colours” says the Savannah-based fibre artist. Her hand-tufted rugs –– they belong on a wall –– are unabashedly exuberant. Imagine Delaunay and Pollock with a tufting gun. Oh, and bring Sheila Hicks into the studio. Anderson’s work is eye popping. Have a look.