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january 14, 2001.
Another day, another road trip to Halifax. I have an art appreciation assignment due two Tuesdays from now, and my only local option was an exhibit of photographs documenting road signs that lead to information centres. While I'll admit that there's something compelling about question marks posted alongside roads, it's more of a 3 a.m. drunk idea than something to write 3 pages about. We were supposed to go to the gallery yesterday, but my hibernation schedule being what it is, I slept from 11 p.m. to 11 a.m. on Saturday. By the time we got our sunglasses on & drove on down the road to the big city the sun was setting, and there just wasn't enough time to be an arty esthete and a mall rat. Commerce being what it is, we chose to rat around on the one day of the weekend that the mall is open. Thus, today we galleried.
For some reason, I expected a setup much like the AGO: a small collection of wonderful old European works that gets better as we move towards the present day, with Canadiana as a refreshing side dish. The Nova Scotia Art Gallery is a young one, and it mostly exhibits local folk art. It wasn't quite what I had in mind.
But that was all to the good. I've never appreciated folk art before, and since most other galleries aren't interested in collecting Nova Scotia folk art, this gallery's collection is pretty amazing. I couldn't get over the obvious joy in the creation. The Maud Lewis exhibit actually contains the tiny one-room cottage she lived in with her husband, both to show us her working environment and to illustrate how basic art was to her life: every surface in the house was covered in a profusion of flowers, butterflies, swirls and birds, from the iron cook stove to the windows themselves. The cottage looked, in fact, like a number of folk art canvasses had battered themselves to death on every surface trying to escape. Despite the cramped clutter and shabby inefficiency of design, it was one of the most beautiful & happy homes I've ever seen.
I had intended to write my paper as soon as we got home, but I seem to have run out of Sunday. As soon as we got in the door, we ran out to do laundry before it got really late, then ran in to start making fish & chips. This was our try at another Sunday dinner from scratch, and it turned out rather well. The chips and cauliflower were amazing, but I think that there were too many large flakes in the batter. That's the best part of recipes for me: trying them out, them figuring out what I can change to make the result more suited to my palate. There's something about having a successful meal that fills me with confidence and peace - like I'm finally getting the hang of this adult thing. Perish the thought.
Then, of course, we went into Sunday night teevee cartoon coma. I'm a bit unpredictable generally, but you can always find me on the couch for Sunday night Simpsons. It's just one of those university things that I have yet to grow out of. So that pretty much took care of the night; by the time Simpsons ended, we were feeling logy enough to call a halt to the day & snuggle down for another long Canadian night. Which is where you find me now. Goodnight.
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blind created with a font from lindkvist. night night.