tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67051034487793384822024-03-13T15:54:20.927-07:00Free Thinker - Random MusingsBrian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-64440987535857344882018-11-05T19:56:00.000-08:002018-11-06T14:18:19.464-08:00Time for a walk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aAA-zvIAptQ/W-EPU3bSvZI/AAAAAAAAB4c/RqL6ZyZS-tknhPde7mdIjELuX_-yawM9wCLcBGAs/s1600/Camino_de_Santiago-1024x768.jpg" imageanchor="1" marked="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aAA-zvIAptQ/W-EPU3bSvZI/AAAAAAAAB4c/RqL6ZyZS-tknhPde7mdIjELuX_-yawM9wCLcBGAs/s400/Camino_de_Santiago-1024x768.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_680451871"></span><span id="goog_680451872"></span><br />
I've decided to go for a walk; not just any walk, but a pilgrimage/walk across Northern Spain. It's just under 800 kilometers/500 miles. <br />
<br />
Why? I crave a new adventure, a spiritual meditation. Maybe I'm after a soul cleansing, or perhaps I just want to truly live. I am about to reach the grand, old age of 70. It's time to walk my adventure while I still can, while the spirit moves me.<br />
<br />
Through out my life I have always been an adventurer, a trekker, a traveler. But, if ever asked about walking 800 kilometers, I would have said, "You've gotta be kidding." And yet, I love walking, especially in nature and in new places.<br />
<br />
Last July I switched on my computer to YouTube and up came a video showing a couple walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela across Spain. Each day they they would walk another 20 plus kilometers, and eventually it took them 29 days to reach their destination of Santiago. It was a challenge. But for me, it looked do-able. I know I can walk 20 kilometers. I just need to practice so I can tackle 20 or 25 kilometers per day for over a month. With a backpack.<br />
<br />
I then watched more videos of Camino trekkers and was overwhelmed to see people of all ages. Young people, many retirees, some in their 60s and 70s. I watched and shared the joy of people in their 80s, and one lady in her 90s doing this walk. If they can do it, so can I. And, as I have the time, I will spread my walk over 45 days.<br />
<br />
"The Way" started hundreds of years ago as a pilgrimage to pay homage and pray to the relics of Saint James (friend, cousin or brother of Jesus) who is reputed to be buried within the Cathedral at Santiago. After Jerusalem and Rome, Santiago is regarded as the third most holy, Catholic, place on earth.<br />
<br />
Many still walk the Camino as a religious pilgrimage, but others journey for various reasons. Some, to clear their head from a tragedy in their lives, some for the sport, some as a challenge from every day life.<br />
<br />
Am I a Pilgrim? Well, not in the religious sense, but perhaps spiritually. <br />
I'm not looking for anything except to feel like I am truly living my life and enjoying the moments. Walking the Camino is like the journey of life itself and each person treks it on their own terms and in their own way. I am no different.<br />
<br />
I am also a major history buff. The landscape of Northern Spain is filled, and in places littered, with old buildings and ruins; churches, monasteries, castles, farms, homes and villages. The Camino is a walk through the history, of not just a country, a people, and a religion, but Spain set out to conquer the world with it's culture and language. The history of Spain is the history of the western world. <br />
<br />
In the Spring I plan to fly to Bayonne in Southern France and take the train to Saint Jean Pied-du-Port, a small, French town nestled in the Pyrenees Mountains. From there, I will set off on my curious and difficult walk taking the "French Route" over the mountains and across Northern Spain to Santiago de Compostela.<br />
<br />
Until then I am packing and training, and impatiently waiting the next five months in anticipation of a wonderful adventure of meaning, learning, joy, discomfort, blisters, exhilaration, humanity, sleepless nights, sore legs, self reliance, purpose and life. <br />
<br />
Now, how do I cull my backpack down to 20 lbs?<br />
<br />
Buen Camino<br />
<br />
PS. I will be walking this on my own, with the support of my lovely wife who will meet me in Santiago. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nM5LSKv3IWA/W-EQoCA55jI/AAAAAAAAB4o/bVtUkaborHkwOItraOgKDkmiWJCMUZR9ACLcBGAs/s1600/204868_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" marked="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="1100" height="205" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nM5LSKv3IWA/W-EQoCA55jI/AAAAAAAAB4o/bVtUkaborHkwOItraOgKDkmiWJCMUZR9ACLcBGAs/s400/204868_orig.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
QUOTES:<br />
"We are pilgrims on the earth and strangers; we have come from afar and we are going far."<br />
- Vincent van Gogh. 1853 - 1890<br />
<br />
"Few people know how to take a walk. The qualifications are endurance, plain clothes, old shoes, an eye for nature, good humor, vast curiosity, good speech, good silence and nothing too much...."<br />
- Ralph Waldo Emerson, Country Life, 1858<br />
<br />
"Your soul knows the geography of your destiny and the map of your future. Trust this side of yourself. It will take you where you need to go but it will also teach you a kindness of rhythm in your journey"<br />
― John O'Donohue, Anam Cara Book of Celtic Wisdom<br />
<br />
<br />
Here is a prayer from Sir Frances Drake.<br />
It tells us about our complacency <br />
and apathy for the world around us:<br />
<br />
<br />
"Disturb us, Lord, when<br />
We are too pleased with ourselves,<br />
When our dreams have come true<br />
Because we dreamed too little,<br />
When we arrived safely<br />
Because we sailed too close to the shore.<br />
<br />
Disturb us, Lord, when<br />
With the abundance of things we possess<br />
We have lost our thirst<br />
For the waters of life;<br />
Having fallen in love with life,<br />
We have ceased to dream of eternity<br />
And in our efforts to build a new earth,<br />
We have allowed our vision<br />
Of the new Heaven to dim.<br />
<br />
Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,<br />
To venture on wilder seas<br />
Where storms will show Your mastery;<br />
Where losing sight of land,<br />
We shall find the stars.<br />
<br />
We ask you to push back<br />
The horizons of our hopes;<br />
And to push back the future<br />
In strength, courage, hope, and love."<br />
<br />
- Sir Frances Drake 1540-1596<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
LINKS:<br />
Buen Camino! Full Documentary<br />
<a deverywhere="1" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0W1_eVtsJgk&t=840s" marked="1" t="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0W1_eVtsJgk&t=840s">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0W1_eVtsJgk&t=840s</a><br />
<br />
The Way - Movie Trailer (2011) HD<br />
<a deverywhere="1" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5VZKWcgw6c" marked="1" t="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5VZKWcgw6c">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5VZKWcgw6c</a><br />
<br />
✈ Camino de Santiago 2017 | Frances Route<br />
<a deverywhere="1" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWLEaNYG-xw" marked="1" t="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWLEaNYG-xw">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWLEaNYG-xw</a><br />
<br />
A Camino de Santiago Story: To The End of the World<br />
<a deverywhere="1" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvElrX--hN4&t=163s" marked="1" t="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvElrX--hN4&t=163s">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvElrX--hN4&t=163s</a><br />
<br />
The Camino, an interview with guidebook author John Brierley- Part 1<br />
<a deverywhere="1" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2rMFxreoOMI&t=441s" marked="1" t="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2rMFxreoOMI&t=441s">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2rMFxreoOMI&t=441s</a><br />
<br />
Introducing the Camino - author John Brierley - Part 2 - The History of the Camino<br />
<a deverywhere="1" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owGaBJqSieQ&t=145s" marked="1" t="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owGaBJqSieQ&t=145s">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owGaBJqSieQ&t=145s</a><br />
<br />
Introducing the Camino - author John Brierley - Part 3 - The Camino Pilgrim<br />
<a deverywhere="1" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hrC7Hcb2C0" marked="1" t="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hrC7Hcb2C0">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hrC7Hcb2C0</a>Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-46770262077542664012017-09-09T12:56:00.002-07:002017-09-24T13:18:18.983-07:00Cowichan Wood <style>
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</style> <span lang="EN-CA">Breath deeply. </span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Ahh … the smell of Autumn is in the air.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">It’s only a couple of weeks away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">A couple of months ago I ordered a chord of
firewood. It came from a family of loggers who harvest wood on their woodlot. They
also have a contract to scavenge logging sites for fallen logs that don’t make
the grade for building houses. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">A chord should last the winter in our small
cottage. We have electric baseboard heaters, but a wood fire is so much cheaper
and better. We plan to turn off the heaters and use our wood fire totally this
winter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">The wood was delivered on a July day; early
for winter, but to season wood properly it needs to sit a few months drying in
a woodpile. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon delivery, I had to walk
the cut wood, piece by piece, up our slope to the open woodshed. There, I
stacked it.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-609ZnhgZ1xM/WcgScrTUpWI/AAAAAAAAB3M/V3Kz_EjfBw83_xAB7hP0sw99NdDIVKlLwCLcBGAs/s1600/wood-stack-firewood-1024x683.jpg" imageanchor="1" marked="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-609ZnhgZ1xM/WcgScrTUpWI/AAAAAAAAB3M/V3Kz_EjfBw83_xAB7hP0sw99NdDIVKlLwCLcBGAs/s320/wood-stack-firewood-1024x683.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">There’s a special way to stack a chord of
firewood. A chord is 4 feet x 4 feet x 8 feet;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">it should be stacked in rows with a space
between so the wood can dry successfully. Dry, seasoned, firewood is key to a
good fire.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">I’ve been reading a wonderful book about
harvesting, drying and stacking firewood. “Norwegian Wood” was a best seller a
couple of years ago, and it poetically explains the art of managing wood,
almost as a vocation or a meditation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">A best seller about wood? There are lots of
households around the world that heat with wood, and today with electricity
rates being so expensive, some people are looking for alternative ways to heat.
A good book about wood is timely. For centuries man’s main source of heat and
cooked food has been the wood stove or fireplace. Electricity is recent, so is
natural gas. Harvesting, stacking, drying and burning wood is more natural for
which we, in today’s world, give credit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">“Norwegian Wood” is written by a Norwegian
woodsman/author who aptly marketed his book with the name of one of the Beatles’
songs. Why not? He couldn’t have done it legitimately as a Swede, a Dane or a Canadian.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">The book is an excellent source of vital
information about firewood, including; the wood (species of trees), tools (axes,
saws, chainsaws etc.), stacking, drying, wood stoves, fireplaces, warmth, cozyness,
including a few, interesting characters. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Most of our new shipment of wood is Coastal
Douglas Fir, a Western, North America species that used to be plentiful on
Vancouver Island. Old growth has now been logged to almost extinction. Perhaps
I should feel sad about them logging such a resource. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I’m sure it will keep us warm next
winter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Now, my sharp axe comes into play as I chop
kindling and hack the wood down to a good size for our fireplace. There are great meditative qualities of staring
at a fire in a fireplace with your feet up, relaxing.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r5TgbGMR7ls/WcgSm2JC_jI/AAAAAAAAB3Q/zG69wo9N-p0Fypp20zXiTDlfppv_13seQCLcBGAs/s1600/fireplace.png" imageanchor="1" marked="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="400" height="236" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r5TgbGMR7ls/WcgSm2JC_jI/AAAAAAAAB3Q/zG69wo9N-p0Fypp20zXiTDlfppv_13seQCLcBGAs/s320/fireplace.png" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">QUOTES:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 11.0pt;">“There is no place more
delightful than one's own fireplace.” - Marcus T. Cicero</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><br />
</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Though you live near a forest, do
not waste firewood.” - Chinese Proverb</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Chop your own firewood
and it will warm you twice.” - African Proverb</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Before enlightenment;
chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment; chop wood, carry water.” Zen
Proverb</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Old wood best to burn,
old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read.” - Francis
Bacon</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA">Resources:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Norwegian-Wood-Chopping-Stacking-Scandinavian/dp/1419717987/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1501606831&sr=8-2&keywords=norwegian+wood" marked="1">https://www.amazon.ca/Norwegian-Wood-Chopping-Stacking-Scandinavian/dp/1419717987/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1501606831&sr=8-2&keywords=norwegian+wood</a></span></div>
Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-51482964044895435662017-06-17T16:48:00.003-07:002017-06-17T16:48:51.747-07:00Chuck Berry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xh-JA-rIcUs/WUW_z3be_1I/AAAAAAAAB24/aFHKXCUHHAEQ1bRyhQGq_2MCmbZ7RIA-gCLcBGAs/s1600/800px-Chuck_Berry_circa_1958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1022" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xh-JA-rIcUs/WUW_z3be_1I/AAAAAAAAB24/aFHKXCUHHAEQ1bRyhQGq_2MCmbZ7RIA-gCLcBGAs/s320/800px-Chuck_Berry_circa_1958.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
<br />
Chuck Berry died earlier this year. He was 90.<br /><br />He was known as the King of Rock and Roll and he inspired so many singers, bands and recording artists of his day. And today, many artists recognize him as an inspirational legend. He had the insight to mix rhythm and blues with a harder rock beat, thus inventing rock and roll.<br /><br />I first heard of Chuck Berry when the Beatles recorded a couple of his songs; “Roll Over Beethoven” and “Rock and Roll Music.” Then came his tour of England. This was in 1964 and I was 15. None of my friends knew about him, but I wanted to see this revered living legend. So I took myself to the theatre.<br /><br />Chuck was the headliner, with the warm-up act being the Animals. The Animals were a new group, and as they played through their catalogue of songs, they stopped to introduce their latest recording, "House of the Rising Sun." <br /><br />Wow. This song became such a huge, world-wide hit. I felt privileged to be a part of an audience hearing this song for the first time.<br /><br />Then came Chuck. His hit at the time was, ”No Particular Place to Go,” a great song that bounced along with beat, melody and humour.<br /><br />"Riding along in my automobile, my baby beside me at the wheel."<br /><br />He jumped on stage and out came a plethora of memorable songs that I knew;<br />“Johnny B Good,” “Roll Over Beethoven,” “Maybelline,” “Rock and Roll Music” and many more. And here he bounced around doing his duck walk across the stage and casting his wide-eyed stare at individual audience members.<br /><br />Then came his latest hit, "No Particular Place to Go.” And he looked at me. I had a good seat, mid-theatre and I had residual stage lights shinning on me. I guess I was an easy target. He stared at me eye-to-eye, for the longest time, through his hit song and through a couple more, until he found someone else to stare at.<br /><br />I felt good and satisfied at witnessing a memorable show. I even lined up back stage to get Chuck’s autograph. This, I treasure in my old autograph book.<br /><br />Through the years, this legendary figure has become even more solidified in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Recently, I was watching a YouTube video of Chuck giving Keith Richards hell for not playing his guitar riff correctly. In a later video, Keith talks about the day Chuck socked him in the eye for picking up his guitar and playing it.<br /><br />The legend lives on. Thank you, Chuck Berry.<br /><br />Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-72209763726464222312017-05-20T05:50:00.000-07:002017-05-20T06:01:01.351-07:00Just Moved In<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-orbg-sTSx6M/WSA7BzxdPhI/AAAAAAAAB2o/c1fo8ZsTgMMasS0o8dp_OqJvi2ogATylQCLcB/s1600/Lambourn1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-orbg-sTSx6M/WSA7BzxdPhI/AAAAAAAAB2o/c1fo8ZsTgMMasS0o8dp_OqJvi2ogATylQCLcB/s640/Lambourn1.jpg" width="640" /> </a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">So it’s stopped raining and the sunbeams
are shining through the clouds like Jacob’s Ladder. If I peak through the trees
I can glimpse the waters of the bay, as long as I mentally block the view of
the small, housing estate meandering down the slope from our ridge. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />Pine trees
and spruce trees tower over our cottage and gently wave in the breeze, while
the nearby mountains on Salt Spring Island lift into the low clouds. It’s a
lovely vista. Water surrounds, but to really see it we need to walk or drive
down the hill into town. There fishing boats, houseboats, gift stores,
restaurants and a pub built out upon the wharf greet the visitor. There is a
wonderful bakery filled with some of the most delicious, oven-baked bread I
have ever tasted and a fish and chip shop to remind us of England. This is
Cowichan Bay, or ‘Cow Bay’ as the locals call it. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Behind our property, on the top of the
ridge, the lush, green, farm fields are teaming with large birds; Canada geese,
ravens, Trumpeter swans, Seagulls, and the odd Bald Eagle watching intently as
each finds food among the abundant, fresh scatterings. There are cows; black,
white, brown, tan and others, and as many wineries and a cider brewery to
excite the taste buds. We could ride our bikes to a couple of the wineries. One
of my favourite wines is a deep, rich, ruby-red from the nearest winery sold by
a Spanish owner who looks like a transplanted onion seller from Spain, complete
with his tilted black beret. We went sketching among the rows of grapes there
last year.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Cowichan Bay is country, ocean, mountains
and fresh air. The bay itself is the outlet for the Cowichan and Koksilah
rivers that stream from Cowichan Lake and the nearby mountains that surround
the farm-rich Cowichan Valley. This Vancouver Island valley was so named by the
native peoples as “Warm Land.” E. J. Hughes, one of the many local artists,
once said, “I have painted in the Cowichan Valley for fifty years and it is the
most beautiful place on earth.” It is also Canada’s only Maritime-Mediterranean
climate, resulting in the mildest year round temperature in the country.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Mowing
grass and chopping fire-wood is going to keep me busy and possibly fit, and
one day we have plans to paint the outside of our cottage. We’ll outshine the
neighbourhood yet. We have christened our little cottage “Hygge House.” Hygge,
pronounced hoo-guh, is a Danish word meaning coziness, pleasure and peace. It
seems there is always a word in another language to fit the bill.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I have always
wanted a home by the sea, in the country, near the mountains. What could be
better than to live in such a wonderful place along with our pet cat, art, good
music, sail boats, a glass of red wine, a wood burning fireplace and love? And
in our garden hummingbirds come to visit. As long as we don’t miss garbage day
or forget to pay our taxes, we have found our little bit of heaven.</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;"></span></div>
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<br />Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-7676253337183281412017-04-07T07:25:00.000-07:002017-04-07T13:48:11.886-07:00790 Bay Street<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FeR5umg7vOA/WOehDmCilHI/AAAAAAAAB2U/GkCh3RhpuCgZ-bbcJaIsHYAwsDKrtJsegCLcB/s1600/790%2BBay.jpg" imageanchor="1" marked="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FeR5umg7vOA/WOehDmCilHI/AAAAAAAAB2U/GkCh3RhpuCgZ-bbcJaIsHYAwsDKrtJsegCLcB/s400/790%2BBay.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Take a walk by 790 Bay
Street in Toronto and you’ll see why most people would never give it a second
look. There's nothing distinctive about it, nothing to draw your interest,
excitement or imagination. In fact, it's rather utilitarian and sad,
nondescript, ordinary, featureless.</span>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It's a mid-century
modern-style building from the late 1950s, and it was built as the Canadian
offices of the Continental Can Company. Then, it was sold and refurbished to
make money from tenanting.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It's a drab,
eleven-story building situated on a standard, street corner and there's nothing
special about it. Not in architecture, styling, location or presence. Today,
it's a simple medical building that exudes nothing in character, history,
culture or elegance. It just is.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Yet, this building is
a-part of Toronto's history and it is a major part of Canada's storytelling
legacy. For this building housed the creative offices of the Canadian
Broadcasting Corporation during the 1970s and ‘80s, until the new CBC Broadcast
Centre was built on Front Street. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The CBC offices at 790
Bay Street became the nucleus of television production in Canada. Here,
television drama was created, current affairs and documentary programs were
innovated, television specials were instigated, and crews were sent out all
over the world to bring back stories and footage from everywhere. It was here
that the productions were edited and post-produced, ready for broadcast to the
nation.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">This building housed,
not just production offices for writers, producers, directors and staff, but
other floors where film camera units were ready for action, editing rooms were
assembling shot footage, screening rooms, negative cutting rooms and sound
editing rooms were in a huddle creating and finishing programming. There were
camera maintenance departments, film evaluation rooms, scheduling offices and
travel offices. Throughout the many floors the CBC rented in this office
building, there was a total production facility, from script to screen.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">This was hub of creative
and artistic talent and anyone who was anyone, the Who's Who in Canadian
production, walked these unassuming corridors. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">And from 1971 to 1986
this building was the epicenter of my career.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Here, I learned how to
be an assistant cameraman, a camera operator and a Director of Photography.
Here, I learned to be an international cinematographer, sent around the globe,
to return with stories within the many cans of film that I shot.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">We would be sent to the
jungles of the South Pacific, across the iron curtain into the heart of
communist countries, across the oceans and continents to hunt out the most
interesting of stories, from the wine-making vineyards of California’s Napa
Valley to the high speed rail systems of Europe. And each story had it’s own
drama, happy moments and sorrow, birth and death. We were sent everywhere
across the USA and we explored and documented every inch of our own country of
Canada, from sea, to sea to sea. It was a busy world and we were shipped off
for months, weeks and days.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Everything that stemmed
from 790 Bay Street, for me, was the greatest of education. The subjects were
endless and the people I worked with and documented were fascinating.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Here I also learned the
essence of drama cinematography, and I would build my resume of television
series, TV drama and movies for television.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The building itself was
filled with life. When I came home from an assignment, I would sit with the
editors who became my friends. I might climb the stairs to the drama department
to see what productions were in the works. Sometimes I would get a call from a
friend who was producing documentaries or have a coffee with a scheduling
clerk. Then, there were the wrap parties and the office Christmas parties, one
on each floor. I had a blast at every one. Friendships were made and lost, we loved, we cried, we laughed, we created together. Where are they all now?</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">In 1985, I left the CBC
to become a freelance Director of Photography, but a year later I was asked
back to shoot a lawyer-based TV series. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Then, in 1986, I ended
my CBC days and never looked back. I had learned what I could, and had traveled
the world. It had been a charmed life of adventure, knowledge and creativity.
Not long after, the CBC moved out of 790 Bay Street and into their new
production facility on Front Street.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Today, nothing remains
of the CBC’s involvement with 790 Bay Street except in the minds of the many
people who worked and created there.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Much like the workings
of a drama where sets are designed and erected to bring a story to life, then
they are torn down when the production is finished, 790 Bay Street was
discarded and cast away in the same way. It was of its time and nothing more. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It is now a medical
building, helping bring wellness to thousands who remain unaware of the history
it holds.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 14.0pt;">So take a walk by 790
Bay Street in Toronto and see a place that, for one shining moment, gave Canada
and the world a touch of film magic.</span></div>
Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-88493494398483334842017-03-17T17:33:00.001-07:002017-03-23T05:30:31.999-07:00Who Wrote Shakespeare<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Recently I was asked to participate in a debate on the works of William Shakespeare, and who really wrote them.<br />
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Having read many articles and listened to many speeches, points-of view and videos on the subject, I felt that I could take either side in the argument. Also, over the years, I have attended at least half of all the plays of Shakespeare, some of them many times, and I know his sonnets and poetry well.<br />
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The affirmative side of the argument simply states that William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon wrote all the works, plays, stories, sonnets, poems, and any other writings attributed to him. <br />
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The counter argument speculates that because there is very little written down or known about Shakespeare, he could not have written these great works. It is stressed that he had very little schooling, didn’t travel, was a country bumpkin and just an actor, a thespian who lacked the culture, knowledge and education to have written the works. On the other hand, Christopher Marlow, a theatre writer and a contemporary of Shakespeare, the Earl of Oxford, a well-educated and well-traveled writer, Sir Francis Bacon, a brilliant philosopher, writer, politician, thinker and futurist, and Ben Johnson, a well-respected playwright, among others, are cited as worthy scholars to have written the works of Shakespeare.<br />
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I decided to argue the affirmative; that William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon indeed wrote all the writings attributed to him. The problem was, I only had four minutes to make my point. I did this by bringing the whole story down to earth as a simple story about a highly creative individual.<br />
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First let's see what we know of the life of Shakespeare.<br />
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He was born William Shaks-pere on April 23rd 1564 in Stratford upon Avon, England, the son of a merchant, a glover, a town alderman. It is assumed that he attended Stratford Grammar School, but no records remain. At the age of 18, he fell in love with his sweetheart Anne Hathaway; she was 25. They got married and had three children. Sometime later he left home to look for work in London. Not much more is known of William. Anything could have happened in the life of this young man.<br />
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Many years later we find him on the London stage, an actor, writer, producer, and theatre owner. At the age of 49 he returns to Stratford as a rich retiree. He dies in 1616 at the tender age of 52. <br />
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And that is most of what is know of the life of William Shakespeare. His life remains mainly undocumented. A bit of an enigma.<br />
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My argument follows a creative life and embellishes moments that could quite easily have been lived by William. These moments are lived by most creative people, especially the ones who become the "exceptional ones", the ones we call ‘Genius.’<br />
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The debate begins.<br />
Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare<br />
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He was born William Shaks-pere in 1564, in a small market town with no cinema, library, theatre, or cultural activities except for the odd traveling circus, theatre company, comedy show or wandering minstrel.<br />
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William was a creative soul, and a creative is filled with energy, curiosity and<br />
a hunger to find his calling: Something where he can plow all his energies into creating something in a meaningful way.<br />
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I suggest that young William got caught up in the magic of a traveling theatre. He was bedazzled by the stories, the actors, the workings of the stage and the creativity of it all. I think young William saw the potential in something that excited him. So he later took off for London to join the theatre.<br />
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What followed were his lost years where not much is known. Anything could have happened in the life of this young man. So I will give you this scenario.<br />
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As a young boy he read lots of books and wrote many stories and poems. At school he read books, he participated in school plays, he acted out stories with his friends.<br />
No wonder he was hooked on the theatre.<br />
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He went to London and studied to become an actor, changing his name to William Shakespeare. It sounded better for an actor, "Shake your spear."<br />
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He wouldn't be the only person to change his name. Archie Leitch changed his name to Cary Grant, Samuel Clements changed his name to Mark Twain, Lady Ga Ga is really Stefani Germanotta and of course Reggie Dwight became Elton John.<br />
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As an actor, William would hang around with the folks of the town. The good guys, the bad guys. He may even have known people from other countries, i.e. Italy, Denmark. He may have taken a trip to Italy or Denmark. We really don’t know. But who's to say he didn't? He may have been so taken with Italy that he decided to set many of his plays there. We just don’t know.<br />
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He was surrounded by creative people, actors, writers, directors, producers in London. He may have paid a tutor or a teacher, or even befriended a mentor to help him learn and fine tune his use of the English language. "A good teacher teaches you how to teach yourself." From here he would collaborate on writing plays for his theatre. As a creative artist he would be continually learning. The more he did, the more he learned, the better he got, and like all great artists he became a master at what he loved to do.<br />
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He didn't have to go to university, he was in the university or the school of life. He was surrounded by street life, culture and great characters. They were in every doorway, pub or within the tales of the great storytelling culture of his age.<br />
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Beethoven never went to university, nor did other highly creative genius<br />
composers such as Mozart, writers like Charles Dickens, Robbie Burns or Mark Twain. Winston Churchill, who was a great writer, never went to university.<br />
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As a creative individual, William Shakespeare had an internal drive to be better and he was surrounded with great stories, from the street, from traveler’s, from friends, from hear-say and from his own imagination. <br />
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He wrote plays, he collaborated on plays, he acted, directed, produced and <br />
was a partner in a theatre company. He was a very busy man for many years. Until one day, he was so burnt out that he decided he couldn't take it any more. He left everything behind in London and retired back to Stratford, to a quiet life; a very rich man. And he took back his real name of William Shaks-Pere<br />
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He died three years later at the age of 52. He had written 38 plays, 154 Sonnets -<br />
and whatever else he wrote is gone; lost in time<br />
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Most writers rarely get good credit for their plays or movies. Can anyone remember the person who wrote Steven Spielberg's last movie? Or Alfred Hitchcock's writer? We remember Walt Disney, but how about the many writers who wrote his movies? It wasn't until ten years after Shakespeare's death that his theatre friends got together to publish some of his works. Because they thought he was so good.<br />
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No! Other people did not write Shakespeare - William Shake-Pere of Stratford-upon-Avon wrote Shakespeare.<br />
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There was a recent study undertaken by a university in the United States that compared the writings of Shakespeare on computer, to all the other people who were speculated to have written his plays.<br />
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The conclusion: William Shakespeare wrote those plays. No one else came close to his style, class or substance.<br />
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The study is online. Go see it.<br />
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NOTE.<br />
While I fully support the merit and affirmative side of this issue, if need be, I could quite easily argue the other side of the story. It is a mystery that needs to be explored with an open mind, fully knowing that in the end there may never be a definitive answer.<br />
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BRIAN’S RANT<br />
There is a great ignorance of creative artists among the ranks of the general public. Creatives are the misfits, the eccentrics, the troubled people of society. So-called normal people really don’t know how to slot them in the file system. They pass them off as being “different” while trying to ignore them. In many cases they are shunted around and rarely understood while they create their magic. In other cases they are the heads of highly successful companies that lead through innovation.<br />
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Most creative people would gladly do their work for nothing because they love what they do, and they usually do it well. This is why they are quite often short changed, bargained down, diminished, cheapened. If a creative artist does become popular and reaps the benefits by drawing in the money, he or she is hounded, degraded and made to feel that he or she doesn't deserve the wealth. They are even belittled by their own class. Yet, their products become commodities that are highly valued by financial sharks. <br />
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Then the true creative artists become so overworked and burnt out that they can't stand the people they are working for or with, and they find it difficult to continue to create. They are finally put out to pasture.<br />
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During their lifetimes, creatives make a major difference by enhancing their world in a significant and profound way. <br />
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We remember ancient Greece, Rome and Egypt by the art, the artisans and the architects who designed their edifices, their carvings and paintings. We find old cultures and religions through their writings, art and philosophies. We find ancient paintings in caves, jewelry and pottery, and we are left a wealth of literature and musical works from creative masters and those we label as genius.<br />
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We have no lasting memory of the accountants, the bankers, the politicians, the lawyers or the civil servants who control our world. They are the insignificant ones.<br />
<br />
The ones who are truly significant are the creatives; for they have made our world.<br />
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While I will never discount the value of a good education, learning in itself does not always come from educators or institutions. And this is proven every day by the individuals who rise to greatness through the basic human traits like curiosity, willfulness and gravitas. Some people are constant learners no matter with what they are involved. Usually, the creatives are the ones who defy the schools. They are the slow ones when it comes to grasping academics, yet when they latch onto a subject that interests them, they fly with it and excel through their willingness to try something new and innovative.<br />
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Take Winston Churchill. He was not a very good student. So-much-so that his father, Lord Randolph Churchill thought he would never amount to very much. When he finally left school he couldn’t pass the entrance exams for university, but he had just enough education to be admitted to the army. <br />
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However, Winston’s interest lay in adventure and writing, and in this he excelled. He used the army as a spring board to be a war correspondent and by the time he was in his mid-twenties, he saw combat on three continents, rose in the ranks to Lieutenant, won four medals, was mentioned in military despatches, wrote five books - one of them a novel - gained international fame as a war-correspondent, and won a seat in Parliament, all before his twenty-sixth birthday. Churchill later went on to become a landscape painter, a major writer of history books and an accomplished speaker.<br />
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From there we know the rest of the story. Churchill used creativity to propel him through life, until he finally became Prime Minister of Great Britain and a war-time leader who was at the forefront to win the war over one of the most evil regimes in history.<br />
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QUOTES<br />
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We are such stuff as dreams are made on,<br />
and our little life is rounded with a sleep.<br />
- William Shakespeare<br />
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All the world’s a stage.<br />
And all the men and women merely players.<br />
They have their exits and their entrances,<br />
and one man in his time plays many parts.<br />
His acts being seven ages.<br />
-William Shakespeare<br />
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Sonnet 66<br />
Tired with all these, for a restful death I cry,<br />
As to behold desert a beggar born,<br />
And needy nothing trimm’d in jollity,<br />
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,<br />
And gilded honour shamefully misplac’d,<br />
And maiden virtue rudely trumpeted,<br />
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac’d,<br />
And strength by limping sway disabled,<br />
And art made tongue-tied by authority,<br />
And folly - doctor-like - controlling skill,<br />
And simple truth miscall’d simplicity,<br />
And captive good attending captain ill:<br />
Tir’d with all these, from these would I be gone,<br />
Save, to die, I leave my love alone.<br />
- William Shakespeare<br />
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LINKS<br />
The Spelling of the name Shakespeare.<br />
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spelling_of_Shakespeare's_name<br />
<br />
<br />
The University study into who wrote Shakespeare.<br />
http://www.bardweb.net/debates.html<br />
Claremont McKenna College<br />
Computer study.<br />
http://ShakespeareAuthorship.com/elval.htmlBrian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-81822414250141690792015-12-21T13:31:00.000-08:002015-12-21T13:31:03.302-08:00Happy Holidays<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-61660707788678171252015-09-06T06:30:00.000-07:002015-09-10T07:11:00.606-07:00Life at the Speed of Sketching.<div class="p1">
I love sketching. It is basic art. Grassroots creativity. </div>
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<span class="s1">Every person does it, whether as an artist or not; doodles, scribbles, diagrams, maps, sketches of mum, the house or the neighbour's cat. We use pencil on paper, pen in notebooks, brush on canvas, sticks in sand, fingers on wood, chalk on a blackboard, scratches on the back of an envelope, a stylus pen on an Ipad, paintings in caves. We see the world in images and we connect with each other by drawing. Like music, it's one of our international languages.</span></div>
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All artists do it. Some don't admit to "just sketching," but if nothing else, they draw with the paint they are using to plot their canvas. Leonardo Da Vinci sketched people in pubs. He used them as models in many of his paintings, including the Last Supper. Michelangelo sketched people on street corners and he used those sketches as models for the Sistine Chapel. Can you imagine the fellow he used as his model of God?</div>
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<span class="s1">We have all sketched something. It's a part of our nature to communicate our ideas, our dreams through the creation of images. It's a way to create understanding. It is something that everyone knows and in its simple form, it's a way of passing time in a fun, instinctive and creative way.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">In small ways, I have been sketching all my life. Like most, I started at school with scribbles. But thinking back through my life, I have sketched to get a point across or to design a pictorial, to draw a map or to simply pass a moment or two by sketching a building or a relative.<br /><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Since moving to Victoria and being inspired by the worldwide Urban Sketchers movement, I felt as if I had found my tribe. Hence, my wife and sketching buddy and I decided to start a sketching group. Island Sketching started with the two of us. We have now expanded to more than 250 members and it's going strong. Thank goodness they don't all show up at once. We average about 20 enthusiastic members at a meet-up in the summer and about 10 -15 in the winter. We now both feel compelled to sketch, at least, once every two weeks on our meet-up days. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Picture a group of dedicated sketchers sitting around a subject on small camping stools. Quiet and in a meditative state, they are drawing, scratching, marking and staining small pads or books of paper with graphite, pen, watercolour; and what emerges is art. </span>Wow. What an amazing thing to do.</div>
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<span class="s1">People who pass by glance and wonder what's going on. Some don't understand and would rather be golfing or watching football. Some show respect and walk on while others wave. Others, oblivious to our purpose, walk in front and totally block what we are trying to sketch. Some take pictures. Some take selfies. Some stop because their kids feel the basic human instinct to want to sketch. Some are curious. Some are jealous or envious. Others gasp in astonishment at something of beauty emerging from a blank sheet of paper. However, there are a select few who show total interest and want to politely chat. They ask how to join the group, how often we meet, what tools they will need to start sketching. I usually tell them a pencil, a piece of paper and their brain. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Is that all?" they ask.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Yes", I say. "The rest comes from observation, learning and practice, practice, practice. The more you do the better you get. After that, and as you get better, you will need to refine your tool set and grow your creativity."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">There are no rules. Like most sketchers, over time I have developed a set of tools that I carry with me. Artists are very different individuals and we all have our own unique style, but many of us use the same or similar tools. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">So, other than your brain, what are the basic tools of today's urban sketcher? </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Well, as this blog is from me, I will tell you my own personal approach.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">TOOLS</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Pencil.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I use an F pencil. This is the middle of the graphite range. It gives me a medium look without being to light or too heavy. I don't want my lines to be overpowering because I pen over the pencil lines later. I need the pencil to make fine lines and marks that will draw my intent and vision, as most of my sketching time is spent plotting out my composition and perspective with a pencil.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Pencil sharpener.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I like a sharp pencil so I carry a tiny Staedtler sharpener. I also have a mini Swiss army knife that is very sharp and is great for graphite pencils. I always collect the shavings in a paper towel or napkin for disposal later, or throw them in a flower garden as they are bio-degradable.<br /><br />
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<span class="s1">Eraser. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">This is a very important tool for me. It helps me see. It helps me find and unify my composition and perspective. And, of course, it helps me correct my mistakes seamlessly. I use a Staedtler PVC free eraser. Good for wide swaths and to eventually get rid of the pencil marks that I cover with pen. I also have a pull-on eraser that fits on the back of pencil. Great for those quick corrections.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fine tip pen.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">An extra fine tip Micron 005 Archival Ink pen is my pen of choice. 500 signifies the sharpness of the tip. Sometimes I use a Lamy fine-tip fountain pen for just pen and ink sketches or sketches where I intentionally smudge the line of the ink with a water pen or brush.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sketch book.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I prefer the Pentalic 5 x 8, 140 lb, watercolour sketchbook or a Moleskin 5 x 8 watercolour sketchbook. These books are a wonderful archive of your drawings and a</span>s a matter of personal observation, I truly think that some of the best art is hidden in small sketchbooks on peoples shelves and in boxes around the world. I also use larger watercolour books, pads and blocks including: Arches and Fluid brands. For quick pen & ink sketches I use a Robert Bateman 5 x 8, 90 lb sketchbook.</div>
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<span class="s1">Watercolours</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I purchased a couple of small, tin paintboxes into which I squeeze fresh watercolour paint out of the tube. I use Winsor Newton watercolour paints. I also experiment with M. Graham and Daniel Smith watercolours. I usually work with basic colours because I can mix almost any other colour with them. But, I do like a good selection. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Water</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I use a small Nalgene screw top jar in which I carry a small amount of water. I also carry a drinking bottle of water. Good for replacing my watercolour water, should it get too murky.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Paint Brush</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have a couple of good travel brushes and a small set of synthetic brushes. On occasion I use a water brush. This is a nylon brush that has a mini water reservoir within it. You squeeze it and you have as much water as you need.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Note:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Some people think, and adamantly so, that sketching is just sketching with a pencil or pen. They will almost fight you for this basic idea of sketching. However, many of us, including some of the great masters who sketched, i.e. John Singer Sargent, J. M. W. Turner, Winslow Homer, etc. also used watercolour. Watercolour is easy to transport, it has rich colours, it's adaptable to different styles and it dries fast. And for the dedicated amateur, like myself, it looks good. It adds a fresh completed look and its amazing what great effects you can create on your drawing with a varied approach to watercolour.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Bags</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have a canvas school bag which is good for an over-the-shoulder, relaxed outing. It carries everything for the small quick sketch. I also have a typical back sack for larger trips. As well as having three, good compartments, it has two side pockets for containers. These I use for an umbrella and a small camping type stool.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LaxDISDZwbs/VereFNJ6ZDI/AAAAAAAABjg/fAPSXOo1N90/s1600/VancouverBackYard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LaxDISDZwbs/VereFNJ6ZDI/AAAAAAAABjg/fAPSXOo1N90/s320/VancouverBackYard.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Other notables</div>
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<span class="s1">A floppy hat to keep the sun off my face.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Sun glasses, because drawing with the sun on a white piece of paper shining back in your eyes, leads to eye strain. Sun glasses help cut the glare.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Rain poncho. This is good for those wet days when I feel that I must complete that sketch on location.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Umbrella, for those pesky little showers. But the way, I love the rain. To learn to sketch and paint different weather patterns is a wonderful way to educate myself.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">A camera, to take pictures for reference of the colours and location. This, so I can complete the painting process later at home.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sunscreen. It's amazing how time flies when you're sketching in the same place for two hours. You get burnt and you don't notice it until later when it's uncomfortable.</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RsComJidOco/Verf6LJghsI/AAAAAAAABkM/YyO8CBD5Zo8/s1600/CherylInHat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RsComJidOco/Verf6LJghsI/AAAAAAAABkM/YyO8CBD5Zo8/s320/CherylInHat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Small camping stool. It's always good to have somewhere to sit or somewhere to put your tools.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Extra layer - sweater or jacket. Your body can cool down when you sit still for a couple of hours. Extra layers can go a long way for comfort.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Bottle of water - keep hydrated. Also used to replenish your watercolour water.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Energy bar or snack to help keep you alert.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">A pack of tissues or a roll of kitchen paper towels. I use these when working with watercolour. </span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1rJO1Z7aWM4/VereVaDZq1I/AAAAAAAABjo/Oqv3knCnBvU/s1600/OverRegina2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1rJO1Z7aWM4/VereVaDZq1I/AAAAAAAABjo/Oqv3knCnBvU/s200/OverRegina2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="p2">
So, where do I start?</div>
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<span class="s1"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I am often asked how I choose subjects. What do I sketch? Well, anything is sketchable. As a creator, your job is to create something out of nothing. It is for the individual artist to turn, what some see as, a mediocre subject into an inspired piece of art. Some like sketching buildings while others like to draw trees and flowers. One of our artists in the sketch group has spent the last couple of years sketching faces. Subjects are everywhere; the cows in the pasture, the ornament on your desk, the fire-engine around the corner, the fancy hotel downtown, the kids on the swings, the washing hanging on the line, the knots in a tree trunk. I like unusual structures; airplanes, antique cars, curved buildings, grave yards. However, find something that has a unique flavour where you can attempt to capture an interesting angle with your sketching tools. If it doesn't inspire you, use the occasion as a practice to turn nothing into something.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">After I grab my tiny, traveling, camp stool, I sit where I can see my composition perfectly. Sometimes it's better if I stand but I like to sit.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Usually, I find a composition with my eyes first. This comes with experience. I have been a photographer and cinematographer all my working life and I can place a camera in a good spot at a moment's notice. This skill I carry through to my art work and sketching. After I have found my subject, I usually find a composition quickly. For others it may take some time to find a subject that inspires them to start a sketch. </span>There are many books that you can find on the subject of composition, as well, you can study the great masters; how they formed their compositions, what makes a balanced picture etc.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bqt3EGl4nA0/Vere6Z8REgI/AAAAAAAABjw/TybUqMPI-xA/s1600/BBComp4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bqt3EGl4nA0/Vere6Z8REgI/AAAAAAAABjw/TybUqMPI-xA/s640/BBComp4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">In pencil, I draw a border line around the paper onto which I will sketch the composition. This leaves me with a frame and some "spill room" in case I need to extend my composition or painting outwards. I then plot out the composition and pencil sketch it lightly. Here I can make mistakes that I correct later with an eraser. I sketch the perspective and the background and later add foreground people or objects. The pencil sketching process takes me the most time as this is my blueprint for the whole art work. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The sketcher sees, draws and captures things that most people never see or even comprehend in front of them. People go about their daily process and pass buildings, people and areas, yet they rarely take the time to see the life around them. Whereas sketchers study the things they draw, they ponder the shape, size, colour, contrast, dimensions, connections of every little corner, crevasse, join and detail they want to include in their drawing. Some sketch more detail than others, while some scribble a likeness of something to be shaped with colour later, and somehow it ends up a masterpiece. Go figure. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Only the sketcher knows what he or she sees, because we all see things differently. I am truly amazed at the varied quality and styles within our sketch group. Everybody is truly unique when it comes to art. It's very refreshing to see.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I am very much a realist with my drawings. Although I do like to use artistic license and not include items that get in my way. I use a light pencil sketch as a basic outline drawing of form and light, and when I am happy with it, I pull out my fine lined ink pen and go over the pencil lines. Here, I also add some shading and nuances that I have missed before. I then take my eraser and rub out all the pencil lines leaving a pen and ink drawing, which will be improved upon later.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So this is the sketch. Here, I decide if I am going to keep it as a pen and ink drawing, or move on to create a watercolour painting. If it's to remain a drawing, I will add more intense light and shadow and refine the elements that will bring it to life. If it is going to be a watercolour painting, then I will plot the colours, the light and shade, and all the elements needed to accentuate the painting.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">With watercolour, I usually start with a wash; sometimes with the sky where I might add threatening storm clouds, sunshine or sunbeams. I next add colour, shade and texture to the sketch. I am forever trying to emulate English artist John Constable's, puffy clouds. He was a master at clouds. He studied them endlessly. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Am I ever satisfied with my sketches? Sometimes I can find a rare piece of which I'm proud, but mostly there are sections in each drawing that I like, but not the whole piece. From my point-of-view, I am learning to control the medium and that takes time. It's a hobby and I enjoy the learning process.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Do I ever use other mediums? I have used coloured pencils in the past but I really enjoy using and learning watercolour techniques for now. Sometimes I will not use a pen. I will use the pencil sketch as a form to create a watercolour painting.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dKbvwXfSm7k/VerfUia-ipI/AAAAAAAABkA/lBHd7-ImDC0/s1600/Queenswood%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="118" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dKbvwXfSm7k/VerfUia-ipI/AAAAAAAABkA/lBHd7-ImDC0/s200/Queenswood%25232.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<div class="p2">
For me, sketching is better than golf or any other hobby I can think of. Although I do like to ride my street bike and listen to great music. This I can do while I sketch. I can bike to a good sketching location, get out the tools and the ipod and find a good composition to sketch. I often listen to some classical music while creating something special, or I put it away and listen to the sounds from the location. <span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">My goal with sketching is to enjoy the moment and get better. Yes, it's the journey not the destination that matters. It's about doing it, it's not about the finished sketch or painting. I have sketched some interesting places and my sketchbooks are filled with great memories. But the best memories are of actually sketching.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PmxUryx9lV8/VerfHeQgW9I/AAAAAAAABj4/9WF9cfirbDU/s1600/Avon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PmxUryx9lV8/VerfHeQgW9I/AAAAAAAABj4/9WF9cfirbDU/s320/Avon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">On a recent visit to England my wife and I sat down among the reeds on the banks of the River Avon in Stratford-upon-Avon. There we sketched a spring scene in the shade of some willow trees with the river flowing beside us. We were immersed in a landscape of perfection. Swans were taking their babies for a swim, while a tiny, man-powered, ferry boat was plying back and forth across the river. And the focal point of the sketch was the church, just down river, where William Shakespeare was buried. Yes, I value the sketches, but the memory of that moment is so very precious. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">When I sketch, all my senses are alive. I hear the seagulls or the crickets or the waves lapping on the shore. I smell the salt air, coffee brewing or I get a sniff of the hotdog vendor barbecuing a smokey. I hear the kids playing or the skateboarder wiz by. I feel the cool wind on my face and sense the approaching rain. And I see things that others pass-by and miss. I am a slow sketcher. I don't do it for speed and I don't do it for anybody's approval. I do it for me. It's very much like a meditation. Being in the zone.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Sketching is a revery, a muse of contemplation, concentration and application. It's an art and as a creator you can turn it into anything you want. You can move buildings to enhance a composition, you can remove ugly power lines to show a mountain top, you can add colourful people doing colourful things. You can be as creative as you wish.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1">As with all things creative, art is a freedom where the only limitation is my own ignorance of the technical task of working with the tools and the medium. But I'm learning. I may not know as much as I want, but I'm getting better. And who knows where these many practice sessions will take me? Someday I may crack the creative wall and paint something of significance. Until then, "doing" keeps me happy. When you find something interesting to spend a few hours of undivided attention on, you really do experience life at the speed of sketching.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fsDu64EOaos/VfBcMvAM4UI/AAAAAAAABkw/qXpxjhIhzjA/s1600/CafeMontmartre2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fsDu64EOaos/VfBcMvAM4UI/AAAAAAAABkw/qXpxjhIhzjA/s400/CafeMontmartre2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span class="s1"></span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="p2">
Here are a few items to illustrate the sketching tools I use.<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Pencil</span></div>
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<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.fabercastell.com/art-and-graphic/artist-products/pitt-monochrome-graphite/GraphitepencilCASTELL9000F/119010">http://www.fabercastell.com/art-and-graphic/artist-products/pitt-monochrome-graphite/GraphitepencilCASTELL9000F/119010<span class="s3"></span></a></span></div>
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<br />
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p5">
<span class="s1">Pencil Sharpener</span></div>
<div class="p6">
<span class="s1">Staedtler® Handheld Metal Pencil Sharpener 510-10</span></div>
<div class="p7">
<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Staedtler-Double-hole-Tub-Pencil-Sharpener/dp/B001E67Z16/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1439335669&sr=8-1&keywords=Staedtler+pencil+sharpener">http://www.amazon.ca/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Staedtler+pencil+sharpener<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Eraser</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Staedtler STD525B30 Lead Pencil Eraser, Latex-Free, Smudge-Free, Small</span></div>
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<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Staedtler-STD525B30-Pencil-Latex-Free-Smudge-Free/dp/B001JKMIW8/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1439336023&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=Staedtler+PVC+free+eraser">http://www.amazon.ca/Staedtler-STD525B30-Pencil-Latex-Free-Smudge-Free/dp/B001JKMIW8/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1439336023&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=Staedtler+PVC+free+eraser<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Pen</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Micron 005 Archival Ink</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sakura 50034 6-Piece Pigma Micron-005 Ink Pen Set, 0.20mm, Black</span></div>
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<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Sakura-50034-6-Piece-Pigma-Micron-005/dp/B00K3KRMFI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1439337666&sr=8-1&keywords=micron+pen+005">http://www.amazon.ca/Sakura-50034-6-Piece-Pigma-Micron-005/dp/B00K3KRMFI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1439337666&sr=8-1&keywords=micron+pen+005<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Watercolour sketchbook</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Pentalic 100-Percent Cotton Watercolor Journal 5-Inch by 8-Inch</span></div>
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<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Pentalic-100-Percent-Cotton-Watercolor-Journal/dp/B00479VQOE/ref=pd_sim_201_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=0XEWT276E4Q9D1D9QF7">http://www.amazon.ca/Pentalic-100-Percent-Cotton-Watercolor-Journal/dp/B00479VQOE/ref=pd_sim_201_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=0XEWT276E4Q9D1D9QF7<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Watercolour </span><span class="s5">Paint Box</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Empty Metal Watercolour Box : will hold 12 Half Pans or 6 Full Pans</span></div>
<div class="p7">
<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Empty-Metal-Watercolour-Box-will/dp/B006FHOMVU/ref=pd_rhf_gw_s_cp_4?ie=UTF8&refRID=03D4H542G5YFAZWYY0DQ">http://www.amazon.ca/Empty-Metal-Watercolour-Box-will/dp/B006FHOMVU/ref=pd_rhf_gw_s_cp_4?ie=UTF8&refRID=03D4H542G5YFAZWYY0DQ<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p5">
<span class="s1">Watercolour Paint</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Winsor & Newton Artist Watercolor</span></div>
<div class="p7">
<span class="s2"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6eD6LrKgdwY#t=67">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6eD6LrKgdwY#t=67<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s2"><a href="http://mgraham.com/products/watercolors/">http://mgraham.com/products/watercolors/<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.danielsmith.com/ItemList--Daniel-Smith-Watercolor--m-591">http://www.danielsmith.com/ItemList--Daniel-Smith-Watercolor--m-591<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">Watercolour Brushes</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Jack Richeson Plein Air Travel Brush Set</span></div>
<div class="p7">
<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Jack-Richeson-Plein-Travel-Brush/dp/B00FN6PT0W/ref=sr_1_3?s=office&ie=UTF8&qid=1439336688&sr=1-3&keywords=watercolour+brushes">http://www.amazon.ca/Jack-Richeson-Plein-Travel-Brush/dp/B00FN6PT0W/ref=sr_1_3?s=office&ie=UTF8&qid=1439336688&sr=1-3&keywords=watercolour+brushes<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p5">
<span class="s1">Water brushes</span></div>
<div class="p6">
<span class="s1">Pentel Arts Aquash Water Brush Assorted Tips, Pack of 3</span></div>
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<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Pentel-Aquash-Water-Assorted-FRHBFMBP3/dp/B00AX31TZO/ref=pd_sim_201_3?ie=UTF8&refRID=1HDKQHQ2P4J7HQX1PR2Z">http://www.amazon.ca/Pentel-Aquash-Water-Assorted-FRHBFMBP3/dp/B00AX31TZO/ref=pd_sim_201_3?ie=UTF8&refRID=1HDKQHQ2P4J7HQX1PR2Z<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<br />
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Nalgene screw top jar </span></div>
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<span class="s1">NALGENE POLYPROPYLENE JAR</span></div>
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<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.mec.ca/product/4000-662/nalgene-polypropylene-jar/?h=10+4294955222+4294965393&f=10+4294965393">http://www.mec.ca/product/4000-662/nalgene-polypropylene-jar/?h=10+4294955222+4294965393&f=10+4294965393<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Small camping stool </span></div>
<div class="p15">
<span class="s1">ALPS Mountaineering Tri-Leg Stool</span></div>
<div class="p7">
<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/ALPS-Mountaineering-8120005-Tri-Leg-Stool/dp/B009WH1920/ref=pd_sim_sbs_86_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=1SN85T2RN4VGBW6X82NC">http://www.amazon.ca/ALPS-Mountaineering-8120005-Tri-Leg-Stool/dp/B009WH1920/ref=pd_sim_sbs_86_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=1SN85T2RN4VGBW6X82NC<span class="s4"></span></a></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p4">
<br />
MY SKETCHES<br />
http://brrhart.blogspot.ca/<br />
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br />QUOTES</span></div>
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<br />
<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">“I am interested in art as a means of living a life; not as a means of making a living.” </span><br />
<span class="s1">~Robert Henri</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">“Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.” </span><br />
<span class="s1">~Vincent Van Gogh</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
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<span class="s1">“The whole culture is telling you to hurry, while the art tells you to take your time. Always listen to the art.” </span><br />
<span class="s1">~Junot Diaz</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.” </span><br />
<span class="s1">~Pablo Picasso</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time”. </span><br />
<span class="s1">~Thomas Merton</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“The earth has music for those who listen.” </span><br />
<span class="s1">~William Shakespeare</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"<span class="s6">Photography is an immediate reaction, drawing is a meditation.</span>"</span></div>
- Henri Cartier-BressonBrian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-34213196664934106962015-07-30T08:21:00.001-07:002015-08-06T08:49:22.372-07:00T. E. Lawrence<div class="p1">
The gravestone read: Died 19 May 1935.<br />
"But isn't it May 19th today?" I queried.<br />
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That morning we had stumbled upon the 80th anniversary of the death of T. E. Lawrence. There had been ceremonies at the gravesite, his birth place, the hospital where he died and the place where he crashed his motorcycle. It was a significant passing; 80 years ago, to the day.<br />
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We were in a small churchyard in Morton, Dorset, not too far from the Thomas Hardy area of Dorchester. We had visited Hardy's home and had wandered the country lanes of his childhood but I was more interested in Lawrence.<br />
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Like many, I first learned about T. E. Lawrence from the David Lean film "Lawrence of Arabia," starring Peter O'Toole.<br />
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Thomas Edward (Ned) Lawrence had been a young British Army officer, advisor and the western energy behind the Arab uprising against the Ottoman Empire in the Arabian Desert during the first World War. He had made quite the impression riding the deserts on camels, dressed in the clothes of an Arab Sharif and helping the Arab leaders strategize and win their war. American journalist, Lowell Thomas met him and was so impressed that he created a traveling road show where he spoke about Lawrence and his story. This contributed in making Lawrence one of the most famous heros of World War One. And Thomas gave him the title Lawrence of Arabia.<br />
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It must have been the early 1960s when I first saw the movie, and it inspired me in many ways. I was a teenager and I was caught by the epic story, the adventure, the man, the music, the film. This was a spectacular introduction to great movie making; it was well directed, well written, well photographed. I wanted more, and it was an encouraging prompt for me to want to become an adventurer and a photographer.<br />
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Of course, adventure was the draw. I had always been inspired to travel and photograph distant places within the pages of the National Geographic Magazine and other such periodicals. However, it was the great films that solidified some of my goals and challenges.<br />
<br />
As I found my way within the photographic and movie industries, I always looked back to "Lawrence of Arabia" as my favorite film. When I saw the next two films from David Lean, "Doctor Zhivago" and "Ryan's Daughter," I was smitten with the photography of films. So-much-so that when I was asked what I wanted to do with my life, I answered in such a way that inspired my mother to help find me my first job in the photographic industry. <br />
<br />
Over the years, I saw "Lawrence of Arabia" many times. I bought the script and all the video versions. But the movie was not the man. As I aged, I began to find interest in the character of T. E. Lawrence himself and I realized he was so much more interesting than the character portrayed in the film. <br />
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I bought books about his life, his death and his many adventures in-between. T. E. Lawrence was a character haunted by passions. He was very personable, liked and conversed with almost everyone. Although he could not stand the puffed-up, self-centered, English buffoons or military types with whom he worked.</div>
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On his return to England, after the war, he was hounded by the press, as are all celebrity heros. He hadn't realized the impact of Lowell Thomas's "Lawrence of Arabia." At first he loved the portrayal, but he began to despise the character as something other than himself. <br />
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Lawrence gathered his robes for one last time when he joined the Paris Peace Conference in 1919, taking the side of the Arabs against the imperial ambitions of France and Great Britain. He had always told the Arabs that they would rule their own lands. But, eventually, the lands were split between the European powers.<br />
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He was devastated. He felt so betrayed by his own country. He wanted to hide.<br />
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He had been promoted to Colonel, received the Order of Bath, the Distinguished Service Order, the French Legion of Honour, the French Crox de guerre. He was offered and refused the post of Viceroy of India and he refused a Knighthood of the British Empire in front of the King.<br />
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He resigned as Colonel from the British Army and bought a hill top retreat next to Epping Forest where he built a small shack. Here he worked on his biography "Seven Pillars of Wisdom" and he set up a Boy Scout camp. For a while he also worked for Winston Churchill in the Colonial Office, but to get away from the press he decided to re-enlisted in the RAF under the name Air Craftsman John Ross. Of course the press found him again, and would not leave him alone. He moved to Dorset and joined the Army's Royal Tank Corps under the name of T. E. Shaw. Here he found a tiny cottage "Clouds Hill" where he was able to complete his biography and author a couple of other books. But he didn't like the Tank Corps so he applied to the RAF again. He was sent to a remote base in India for two years and upon return he was stationed at an RAF base in Yorkshire, specializing in speed-boats. He eventually retired at the age of forty-five and moved permanently to Clouds Hill, his tiny Dorset cottage.<br />
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At Clouds Hill he was out of sight. Just the way he liked it. But he was never forgotten. In fact, he became a legend in his own time. His book became highly successful and well received. Winston Churchill said "it ranks with the greatest books ever written in the English language." George Bernard Shaw said, "The work is a masterpiece, one of the few very best of it's kind in the world."<br />
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Lawrence loved speed and was comfortable on his "top-of-the-line" Brome Motor bike. He had owned many. On the 13th May, 1935, on the way back from posting a letter, he swerved to avoid some kids in the road and he was hurtled head first onto the ground. No crash helmet. He died of his wounds a few days later, 19th May, 1935. He was forty six years old.<br />
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For me, it was time to experience Lawrence first-hand. On a planned trip to England to deal with some family matters, we traveled through Dorset. My wife is a Thomas Hardy fan and I am a Lawrence Fan. Hardy and Lawrence were good friends and lived only a few miles from each other. <br />
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We spent some time at his grave, found the place where he had crashed his bike and slowly wandered around his cottage. The cottage is really tiny with four small rooms on two floors, but it was furnished as if he'd left it yesterday. Here was his favourite reading chair, his bed, his bath and the room upstairs where he entertained friends and listened to music. It was a small connection but a connection.<br />
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T. E. Lawrence, the man, I always found fascinating. I own many books about Lawrence and his great life, and am pleased to have the 1922 text edition of "Seven Pillars of Wisdom," the memoir written by Lawrence after the revolt in the desert. This version is the complete book before he started to edit it down for public consumption. And as you read about the man, you very quickly come to understand that a movie, no matter how well conceived, could never do justice to a person as complicated and as interesting as T. E . Lawrence. Lawrence was just so much larger than a movie character.<br />
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I just started reading "The Young T.E. Lawrence" by Anthony Sattin. Yet another book to shed light on his adventurous life. This time following his path as an awkward youth, and an Oxford University student plotting his life as an archaeologist.<br />
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QUOTES:<br />
"All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible."<br />
- T. E. Lawrence<br />
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"At this moment, somewhere in London, hiding from feminine admirers, reporters, book publishers, autograph collections, and every species of hero worship, is a young man whose name will go down in history along with those of Sir Frances Drake, Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Gordon, and other legendary heroes of Great Britain's glorious past."</div>
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<span class="s1">- Lowell Thomas</span><span class="s3"><br /><br />"</span><span class="s1">I deem him one of the greatest beings alive in our time... We shall never see his like again. His name will live in history. It will live in the annals of war... It will live in the legends of Arabia."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">-Winston Churchill<br /><br />"I am not much of a hero-worshipper but I could have followed T. E. Lawrence over the edge of the world."<br />- John Buchan</span><br />
<a href="http://www.castlehillpress.com/publications/2003_seven_pillars_1922_library_edition.shtml">http://www.castlehillpress.com/publications/2003_seven_pillars_1922_library_edition.shtml</a></div>
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Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-49513862033685302182015-06-03T21:43:00.004-07:002015-06-05T09:37:20.036-07:00Salt of the Sea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Mother's ashes had been sitting in a hat box next to my sister's desk since she died. It was now time to sprinkle them.<br />
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She had been a Wren (WRNS - Women's Royal Naval Service) during World War II, and her wish was for a military burial at sea.<br />
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After much research, we found a small Royal Naval detachment that performs sea burials from Nelson's Dockyard in Portsmouth, England.<br />
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On the morning of May 13th, my sister and I had taken the ashes to the Royal Navy Chapel of Saint Ann's in the Portsmouth naval yards. Here, all the ashes for the day's voyage were assembled. Five ceremonies were going to be performed this day, one of which was our mother's. We paid the clerk for the carved pink salt urn and the ashes were gently placed inside. The urn itself looked like it was carved from pink Himalayan rock salt, but it was actually mined in England. It was beautifully shaped into a simple, yet elegant, pink urn. The reason for the salt urn was for a quick dissolve as it entered the salt waters, allowing the ashes to quickly dissipate into the sea and the undercurrents to spread them far and wide. For our benefit, the urn was placed on a small table beside the chapel's main altar so we could inspect it, take pictures and pay our respects. As my sister and I left the chapel, the urn was still sitting on the table.<br />
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Our family of mourners consisted of sisters, cousins, aunts, wives and husbands, and we assembled in the lobby of our nearby hotel at the local seaside town of Southsea. Southsea is a lovely spot over-looking the Solent, the body of water that separates the mainland of England from the Isle of Wight, just a couple of miles from Portsmouth. We had a most spectacular view overlooking the water with the old Southsea Pier across the street from our hotel.<br />
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Our family left the hotel and soon arrived at the naval dockyard and awaited the chaplain, the last remains and the motor launch to take us to sea. When all the families had arrived, we followed the chaplain (Chaplain Ned Kelly) down to the dock to await the vessel.<br />
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The families' urns and packages of ashes had arrived with a Navy honour-guard of three sailors and all were draped with the Union Jack: Very Royal Navy. However, upon closer inspection of the draped ashes, my sister noted that mother's urn could not have been included as the urn was much larger and it would have protruded above the rest. She asked the chaplain to have the flag removed so she could see if the urn was there. He told her that this could not be done as it was a sacred ceremony. Somehow, he found a way for her to peek under the flag without removing it.<br />
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"She's not there!" my sister exclaimed. "She must still be on the table beside the altar in the chapel."<br />
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The chaplain immediately despatched the sergeant from the honour-guard to quickly go to the chapel and retrieve the urn as we waited for the boat and for Mum's ashes. <br />
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Talk about being late for your own funeral! Mum would have liked that. She could always be counted on, when at a solemn occasion, to spread a giggle or two.<br />
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My problem was that as we waited for the sergeant to return with the delicate urn, I had images dancing in my head of him tripping over the gang plank on the way back, dropping the urn, and having the ashes fly into the air in a puff of cloud, and spread over the waiting crowd. Fortunately, that didn't happen and we boarded the boat with the ashes intact in her pink urn.<br />
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Our motor launch sailed out of Nelson's Dockyard en route to the open waters of the Solent. It was a beautiful day. The sky blue, the sea calm and along the way we hugged the shoreline of Portsmouth and Southsea; the same stretch we had driven from our hotel. As we approached the Southsea Pier, the launch slowed the engines, turned and drifted toward the afternoon sun for the funerals and dedications to take place. Here, we drifted in the water very near to our hotel. Unknowingly, we had picked the right hotel.<br />
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Each family was called, one at a time, to the aft of the vessel for their particular ceremony and each took about ten minutes for the burial at sea of their loved ones. Then it was our turn. We were called and we gathered at the stern. Out in the sun were two Royal Navy sailors holding Mum's urn on a wooden plank to be tipped into the sea when the time came. As we arrived we saw the pink urn, glistening in the sun for the last time, then it was draped in the Union Jack. The Chaplain said a prayer for the souls of the Women's Royal Naval Service and then held out his hand to bless Mum's ashes. The sailors were then given the order and they tipped the plank. Mum's urn slipped out from under the flag and dropped into the ocean. It was a heavy urn and it made a good splash in the green-blue waters. The salt urn quickly started to dissolve and spread the ashes as it sank to the ocean depths to be carried far and wide with the prevailing currents.<br />
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Farewell Mother. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.<br />
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QUOTES:<br />
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"And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."<br />
Hamlet - William Shakespeare<br />
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"I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over."<br />
Sea Fever - John Masefield</div>
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<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.thememoryproject.com/stories/1836:pauline-hebb/">http://www.thememoryproject.com/stories/1836:pauline-hebb/</a></span></div>
Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-7525067208765608152015-04-24T07:55:00.000-07:002015-04-24T07:59:29.847-07:00Will's Birthday<div class="p1">
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<span class="s1"><br />William Shakespeare, the Bard of Stratford-upon-Avon, was reputed to be born on April 23rd, 1564.<br /></span><br />
Happy Birthday, Will. What would the world be without you?<br />
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Last year, while on a quick trip to England, my wife and I had the pleasure of attending the last performance of the season at Shakespeare's Globe Theatre in London. Shakespeare built the Globe and wrote and performed all his plays there, but the original Globe Theatre burned down centuries ago.<br />
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Skip forward a few years. Some time ago, when I was in the film business, I worked with many interesting actors, some of them famous, but most of them I knew very little about. However, one name cropped up a number of times and I remember him well; an American actor named Sam Wanamaker. He played the husband of Debbie Reynolds in one film I did, while in the other he played a mad scientist.</div>
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While chatting on the set, I got to know him a little. We had a few quick conversations and he told me he lived in England, near Regents Park. He was extremely gracious, but that's all I knew about him.<br />
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Later, I researched his history. He was born in Chicago and grew up in the American theatre. In the 1950s he joined the American Communist Party and got subpoenaed by the UnAmerican Activities Committee. He was blacklisted by Senator Joe McCarthy. So, he decided to move to England.<br />
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There he acted, he directed, and he had a project; a dream, of bringing Shakespeare's Globe Theatre back to life.<br />
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It took him years of fundraising, planning, cajoling, and he founded the Shakespeare Trust to finance the rebuilding of the theatre. He also found the building site beside the Thames, just a few feet from where the original Globe Theatre had been.<br />
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Unfortunately, it was a dream Sam never saw come to fruition while he was alive. He died of prostate cancer in 1993.<br />
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But his dream lived on.<br />
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Sam's hard work had inspired the rebuilding and it finally opened in 1997 with great fan fair and a production of Shakespeare's "Henry the Fifth."<br />
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Last year, my wife and I enjoyed "A Comedy of Errors," at the Globe Theatre. It was a fine production with great audience interplay. The theatre is a round, wooden structure with many floors of balcony seats and standing room in the middle, in front of the stage. Of course, that is where the real drama unfolds, for if you're standing and it happens to rain, you get wet. The middle is open to the elements as in Shakespeare's time. <br />
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As we were walking into the theatre, I noticed a blue plaque on the wall.</div>
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<span class="s1">Last year beside the Globe another theatre opened and they named it</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The Sam Wanamaker Playhouse.</span><span class="s1"><br /><br />So, here's to an inspiring man I shared some time with, Sam Wanamaker, </span>who helped Shakespeare live on, on this, the Bard's 451st birthday.</div>
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Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-7299938785790957732015-01-10T08:14:00.000-08:002015-06-05T11:27:23.295-07:00Sunrise 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1">This year, as with many previous years, the compulsion to get out and greet the first dawn of the New Year was a guiding force. Thankfully, the weather cooperated, at least enough to see the sun beams rise while we embraced the cool Canadian air.</span><br />
Victoria's Clover Point was a short drive and a perfect place to observe the sun's trajectory out of the Straight of Juan de Fuca and the Salish Sea. Although I've seen dawn break, and even filmed it many times in my life, it remains life-affirming to experience nature's spectacle at dawn.<br />
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Looking east, the blue twilight slowly gave way to patches of gold as clouds caught the glow of dawn. As we watched the light slowly brightening, I reminisced about a time when one of my filming assignments was to capture a sunrise for a television documentary. The opening of the film called for an actor to sit on a rock reciting a poem as the sun of the new day slowly rose behind him. <br />
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It was mid summer, and we were on the shore of Lake Ontario in the Cherry Beach area of Toronto. I had seen the location a few days earlier and had determined that I needed a big light to fully illuminate the actor and compensate for the brightness of the sun as it appeared from the lake behind him.<br />
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On the day, we were set and ready. We had selected the rock where the actor would sit and established just where the sun would rise. The camera was set, the sound man was in readiness and we had placed a large six-thousand-watt light aiming at the actor's spot. All was set for the sunrise, but, as I looked over at the director, I could see a heated discussion between him and the actor. Somehow the office had neglected to tell the actor that he was to learn and recite a full four minutes of dialogue in one shot. The camera would be continually rolling; a one take deal.<br />
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The actor hadn't memorized all the lines; merely one page.<br />
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"Couldn't you cut the camera?" he asked.<br />
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"But, the reason we are all here is to have the sun rising behind you. How can we cut away from that?" answered the director.<br />
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I felt for him. Richard Monette was an excellent Shakespearian actor and well accustomed to learning great soliloquies and speeches for multiple plays; but not in five minutes. This day, I could see the panic on his face as the glow from the east grew brighter. We were all anxious, wanting the sun to slow its entrance as we watched Richard pace the shoreline, nervously trying to cram lines into his head.<br />
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"Richard, we need you now," called the director.<br />
Richard, his head full of partially memorized sentences, slowly took his place on the rock.</div>
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"I'll try," he said, shaking his head.<br />
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The glow brightened and I rolled the camera. The director called, "action."<br />
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And as the sun reared its fiery head above the horizon and shone brightly toward us, Richard looked toward the camera and spoke.<br />
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He recited every word of the four minute poem. It was flawless.<br />
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I was looking through the camera lens. It was beautiful. Very Shakespearian. Very dramatic. Very epic. The sun was spectacular and so was Richard.<br />
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At the end of the speech, we cut camera and sound, and Richard sat in silence. Suddenly and spontaneously, all the crew broke into a very enthusiastic round of applause: Richard was the hero.<br />
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A few years later, Richard and I met on the set of another film and we talked about the sunrise shot. He told me that he had never been so nervous, neither before nor since: It had been a pivotal moment in his life. He then proceeded to tell one of his fellow actors the story; yes, of how he had learned the words quickly, but also, of how he was inspired by the sunrise, itself, and his need to get it right.<br />
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Richard went on to become the one of the most successful and longest reigning Artistic Directors of the Stratford Ontario Shakespearian Festival. He died in 2008.<br />
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Our New Year's sunrise this January 2015, was spectacular and very inspiring. For, to witness something as magical and magnificent as the world turning is more than a physical experience; it is a deeply spiritual and conscious connection with the infinite. It is our life cycle. For me, I look upon a new day, a new year as an opportunity, a possibility to do something that I have never done before; to find another part of the world, or myself, that I never knew; to gain new knowledge on the way to learning some new wisdom; to connect and create with different human beings; and to find that there really is much more to life than the ordinary.<br />
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As I look back on the splendor of all the years when I have witnessed a new day rising, I feel for those who can't find their way to get up in the morning and experience the magic, or those who are so tied up in our man-made matrix that they can't find their way to witness the glory of nature: They truly miss the real essence of life itself.<br />
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We are so connected to the turning of the planet and the pulse of day and night that we <i>are</i> nature itself. Watching the sunrise is nature observing itself and being at one.<br />
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QUOTES:<br />
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"What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives?<br />
- E M Forster<br />
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"The most beautiful and profound emotion we can experience is the sensation of the mystical. It is at the root of all true science. That deeply emotional conviction of the presence of a superior reasoning power, which is revealed in the incomprehensible universe, is my idea of God.<br />
- Albert Einstein. </div>
Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-17859645152147271612014-10-24T21:51:00.002-07:002014-10-27T12:56:43.284-07:00The Last Time I Saw Paris.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PvzkpeGvIG0/VEspCgFBaiI/AAAAAAAABTQ/-tOUbWvbnYE/s1600/CafeMontmartre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PvzkpeGvIG0/VEspCgFBaiI/AAAAAAAABTQ/-tOUbWvbnYE/s1600/CafeMontmartre.jpg" height="247" width="400" /></a></div>
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The last time I saw Paris was many moons ago when my mother, sister and I took a trip on the Orient Express. I was very busy as a freelance cinematographer, a job that took me to the capitals and hamlets of the world filming feature films, television movies and documentaries. So when mother suddenly asked if I could take a ride with her on the Orient Express, I thought she was kidding. But I surprised her. A film project I was slated to work on fell through and I had some spare time. <br />
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"Ready when you are."I told her.<br />
"What for?" She questioned.<br />
"The Orient Express of course."<br />
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We spent a week walking around Paris, then an overnight trip on the Orient Express and on to Venice for a week. A most spectacular trip filled with memories and anticipation to see these wonderful places again. Unfortunately, that was the last time I saw Paris, and Venice.<br />
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I had landed in Paris many times thanks to my career. I got to know it well. So I naturally became a tourist guide for my family. We visited the Mona Lisa, walked the Champs Elysees, frequented the sidewalk cafes. We even had the opportunity to take my mother to Maxim's on Mother's Day. But that was many years ago. I now felt I needed to visit this favourite city again.<br />
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Three years ago my wife and I journeyed with a single carry-on bag and a personal tote to Rome where we trod the streets for two weeks. This year we decided to reprise the experience in Paris. However, this visit was going to be a little different. Both my wife and I had taken up sketching and water-colour art, so art and the art experience was to be a major component of our trip.<br />
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Touch down at Charles de Gaul airport was easy, as was the skip through the airport with our small carry-on bags to the train, to the city. Our journey ended with a ten-minute hike to our rented apartment where we rested for the day.<br />
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The next day found us at Monsieur Fernand, a small bakery on the corner of our street where an array of croissants, buns and coffee greeted us. This was the Paris breakfast I remembered. Then we meandered through the busy Paris streets, winding our way up to Montmartre. <br />
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Montmartre is a small hill-top village/suburb of old Paris. Renoir, Picasso, Monet, Van Gogh and so many other artists lived and worked there. As we reached the base of the 300 steps leading up to Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur Basilica, we found the Funicular, a cable railway that transported us smoothly up the small mountain, that took the sting out of climbing.<br />
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On top, haze blanketed the spectacular views of Paris, but we found other avenues to explore. Winding cobblestone streets through the old village were laced with cafes and trinket stores, and Place du Tertre (the main square) was filled with artists selling their renditions of Paris to tourists who flocked and sipped coffee in the surrounding street side cafes. As we wound our way around the small streets and pathways, we found the Salvador Dali Museum and a square where Picasso shared a studio with many other avant-garde and soon-to-be famous artists like Mogdigliani.<br />
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The highlight of our first day was the discovery of Le Moulin de la Galette. Once a hot spot of dance and frolic, this was the place where Renoir painted his masterpiece "Bal du Moulin de la Galette." This has always been one of my favourite paintings. The sheer joy at the dance hall on a Sunday afternoon is depicted underneath the trees in dappled light. Colourful dresses and a joie de vivre, which so many other works don't have, exude from this painting. The place is now a cafe and the dance hall at the rear no longer exists. We decided to have lunch there to celebrate our first day in Paris. This was our small version of Renoir's painting, as we were served lunch on the small patio where sun light filtered through the trees to cast the dappled shadows.<br />
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Just down the road we found our first sketching opportunity at Place Dalida. Dalida was a singer, so beloved that they erected a statue and named the intersection after her. But facing up Rue de l'Abreuvior toward Sacre Coeur was a wonderfully sketchable perspective on Montmartre. We obliged. But of course every other artist who has sketched or painted Montmartre has found this special view too. We were in good company.<br />
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Late afternoon found us walking down the mountain streets past a home of Henri de Toulouse Lautrec and an apartment where Vincent Van Gogh lived with his brother Theo. Further down we sat at the cafe used in the French film "Amelie" and then past the base of Rue Lepic in the Pigalle area, where the famous cabaret theatre Moulin Rouge sits. <br />
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I remember on a 1980s business trip through Paris, I had a night off. I decided to take myself to the Moulin Rouge burlesque cabaret. Just me at a centre table served with French Champagne, filet mignon and topless dancing girls doing the Can-Can all around me. Ou la la.<br />
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On this trip, our walk home from Montmartre was spent shopping and gathering a truly French dinner; red wine from Bordeaux, a selection of cheeses from local farms and pate from northern France, with a local baguette to blend it all together. All this and the fine company of my wife.<br />
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This first day would be a reflection of the busy, yet relaxed Paris experience we were to explore. We wanted to find culture and humanity by walking the streets and getting to know the areas. This we did, yet we always found time to sketch.<br />
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The old adage of travel to get away from things has its drawbacks for some, because you always take yourself with you. You just can't get away from your own ego. But, with travel, you must be your own best friend and guide. Be enthralled by your own creativity and the way you find and discouver new experiences. Go out of your way to search out something. Let your minor troubles blow away. Enjoy the rain. Stop and delight in your surroundings. Find a few moments of quiet wonder in your day. For us, sketching has become a quiet moment. It's almost a meditation. In sketching you study details and connections, and observation brings things together in a way nothing else can. Too many of us journey through life and miss life itself. We want to see everything, but we end up missing most, and feeling nothing.<br />
<br />
In Paris we attended a street art show at Place Bastille, sampled the Marais area and the Jewish quarter with lunch at the famous L'As du Fallafel. We strolled Ile de la Cite and Ile Saint Louis, and lunched by the Seine in Hemingway's favourite park. We browsed the Shakespeare and Company bookstore and bought "'A Movable Feast," where Hemingway writes about his adventures in Paris. We stood in the teaming rain chatting with a couple from Chicago for an hour while waiting to enter the Louvre, while a couple of celebrities where shown the "Mona Lisa." Paris was an every-day feast of great moments. Each had its qualities and we were never rushed.<br />
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The Louvre is a very special place and we quickly made a bee line for the "Mona Lisa" to view Leonardo da Vinci's great work before the huge crowds overwhelmed the gallery. I made it to the front where I was eye to eye with Mona for the longest time. Some think it's a small painting but its 21 x 31 inches. When it's close it doesn't look so small and for the first time I could see the colours, the landscape in the background and the eyes starring at me. The Louvre is filled with a wealth of great masterpieces. But Mona is the star. And a great one at that.<br />
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Mona's seduction of me was quickly brought down to earth by an Australian at the back of the group who shouted, "Give others a chance at the front."<br />
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I turned my head and shouted back, "Come and join me."<br />
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Then I turned back to experience my intimacy with Mona for one last time. Crowds were gathering, so we headed to another gallery where we were face-to-face with "Liberty Leading the People," by Delacroix. To think that this painting stirred a population from one revolution to another. This painting is big in idea, scope and size.<br />
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We soon found a cafe and coincidently were seated in a most spectacular spot. Before us was an ornate arch leading back to Delacroix's wonderful painting. At the rear of the gallery were doors leading back to the "Mona Lisa," and the view below us down the stairs was the back of the statue "The Dying Slave," by Michelangelo. Underneath and just down the hall stood "Venus de Milo." All this surrounded us while we munched muffins, drank black coffee and sketched the scene in this place that was once Napoleon's palace.<br />
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One could spend a lifetime in Paris and not see everything. Best to experience the place slowly. We could always return. We didn't over-do the galleries, but aimed at specific things we wanted to experience. In the Museum D'Orsay we headed to the top floor to see the Impressionist gallery, and I aimed for one of my favourite paintings, Renoir's "Bal du Moulin de la Galette." Yes, this was the depiction of the afternoon dance at the Moulin de la Galette in Montmartre, where we had had lunch. Standing eye-to-eye with this work of art, I was struck by how large it is; 52 x 69 inches. It glows, like seeing the painting in huge, high definition. The colours are so vibrant, and the faces I had grown to love were just a couple of feet from my eyes. It's filled with fun and humanity where people are together and enjoying the dance in full swing, and I became so totally involved with this painting that I was enjoying the music in my own mind. WOW. The dappled light on the scene had so much impact on me. It was as if I was a part of the picture. Talk about emotion. My eyes were damp. It's such an overwhelmingly beautiful painting. <br />
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Then there were more. This museum is filled with great art by Renoir, Monet, Pissarro, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Manet, Degas and a host of other artists I have studied and many I have not. The art in Paris is magnificent. Like the Orangerie gallery. It's a small museum across the river from the D'Orsay, at the Tulleries Gardens. You walk into two large oval rooms and, in each, you are surrounded by a continuous painting of water lillies by Monet. They are huge. Not just one room, but two. This gallery was especially constructed for, and designed by, Monet. I'm not a big Monet fan, but I was impressed by this gallery. And downstairs were more paintings by Renoir and others.<br />
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We walked the Gardens of the Tulleries and the Champs Elysees, we bought souvenirs at the Opera House and Maxim's, marveled at the Galleries LaFayette and sat down by the Seine and sketched Notre Dame Cathedral at sunset. Of our many sketches, Luxembourg Gardens was an experience where we both sat in chairs beside the gardens and sketched a panorama of the Palace and the gardens, while children were playing with sailboats on the large pond and a small orchestra in the gazebo filled the air with chords of wonderful, classical music.<br />
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The place we loved the most was Montmartre. We returned two more times at the end of our stay to feel the vibe of this little bit of restored Paris. We discovered the only remaining vineyard in Paris and bought a painting from an artist at Place du Tertre. But, by far the most memorable moment for me was to walk around the home where Renoir lived and painted (now the Montmartre Museum), where so many of his most memorable works such as "The Swing" and "Bal du Moulin de la Galette" were painted.<br />
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I have seen many of the world's great works of art during my travels around the world, but I must harken back to our own sketch group in Victoria, and the Urban Sketchers movement through out the world, and think that probably some of the greatest works of art sit in closed sketchbooks on artists' shelves, never to be seen.<br />
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Our ten day journey to Paris was filled with involvement of life and art at the speed of a sketch. What a lovely way to experience a place.<br />
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The last time I saw Paris, I was thrilled.<br />
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<span class="s1">QUOTES:</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br />"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime."</span>- Mark Twain<br />
<span class="s2"><br />"</span><span class="s1">Art is about emotion; if art needs to be explained it is no longer art. "</span>- Pierre-Auguste Renoir<br />
<span class="s2"><br />"</span><span class="s1">To my mind, a picture should be something pleasant, cheerful, and pretty, yes pretty! There are too many unpleasant things in life as it is without creating still more of them."</span>- Pierre-Auguste Renoir<br />
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"Do not be troubled for a language, cultivate your soul and she will show herself."<br />
- Eugene Delacroix<br />
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<span class="s1">LINKS:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">My Paris sketchbook consists of twelve pen & ink and watercolour sketches:<br /><a href="http://brrhart.blogspot.ca/">brrhart.blogspot.ca</a></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Montmartre</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9-7fiPEcHc">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9-7fiPEcHc</a></span></div>
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<span class="s2">Moulin de la Galette<br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moulin_de_la_Galette"><span class="s3">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moulin_de_la_Galette</span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Bal du Moulin de la Galette."</span></div>
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<span class="s3"><a href="http://www.renoir.net/bal-du-moulin-de-la-galette.jsp">http://www.renoir.net/bal-du-moulin-de-la-galette.jsp</a><br /><br />"The Last Time I Saw Paris."<br /><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AvGVC3HpLsk">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AvGVC3HpLsk</a></span></div>
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Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-90117863418206347662014-06-29T10:12:00.000-07:002014-06-29T10:12:49.731-07:00Moved again<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We landed on our feet when we moved to Vancouver Island two years ago. The first place we found to rent was perfect, a lovely house in suburbs like no other, surrounded by the sea, five beaches and a small neighbourhood that resembled an English village. We were in a house that seemed like it was placed in the middle of a park, where deer, rabbits, raccoons and other animals would visit, including a resident owl that would hoot at us in the middle of the night. And flowers, there was an abundance of flowers, tall trees, and hummingbirds. One hummingbird hovered a couple of feet from my face one morning as if to ask for more food in the feeder. It was a thrill. The air was clear like pure oxygen, except for the odd ship motoring past on the far side of the trees. And though it was not a waterfront property, it was still a small paradise. It was quiet, real quiet. But we missed the vibrancy of downtown living. So we moved.<br /></span><br />
Victoria is a vacation town where cruise ships visit while on route to Alaska, each one letting off a small town's worth of people each summer morning. Other ships ferry people from Vancouver, Seattle and nearby Port Angeles, across the Juan de Fuca Straight; so our small city gets lively.<br />
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Except for living in the San Fernando Valley on the outskirts of Los Angeles and for a short while in the outer suburbs of Toronto, I have always been a part of a vibrant downtown culture. I like a safe city where you can walk or take a good public transportation, where busses are plentiful and they take you almost everywhere, where a car is a waste of money, except on those days when you crave a drive to the country. So we found a new home near Victoria's harbour area, in the heart of everything, surrounded by an old neighbourhood adjacent to the downtown core. <br />
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Of course, the noise level has risen. Seagulls squawk, cruise ships blast their horns, passenger ferry's sound their arrival and the hustle bustle of everyday city living makes itself known. I hear neighbourhood conversations, guitar picking from a nearby balcony, crow conventions. I smell coffee brewing, barbecues sizzling and the fresh aroma of horse dung from the sightseeing carriages that drive tourists around. I hear a small band entertaining at a local old age home. Construction and hammering is also factor, as others also want to experience the charm of downtown living.<br />
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It was a month ago that we moved and downsized to our rental townhouse. That was the most difficult part. We still have boxes everywhere. A few years ago, both my wife and I had large houses with lots of "stuff". We downsized to move in together, but somehow we still managed to hang onto too much, and we traveled from place to place with too much. This time we are determined to cull.<br />
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Downtown is filled with a cacophony of life. It was a wonderful move, indeed.</div>
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Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-29579937143101909362014-03-26T18:38:00.002-07:002014-04-10T09:35:04.947-07:00Point No Point<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PwTsSGoc-qE/UzOAyDJTH0I/AAAAAAAABCM/SqGlSbV0H6o/s1600/Point.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PwTsSGoc-qE/UzOAyDJTH0I/AAAAAAAABCM/SqGlSbV0H6o/s1600/Point.jpg" height="175" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">A birthday surprise took me to the shores of the Straight of Juan de Fuca, to a small rustic cabin perched high on a rugged cliff at the edge of the world, with a seascape that stretched west to Japan and south to the shores of Washington State.<br /><br />Why did they name this place Point No Point lodge? What was the point? For me, it was a celebration of a life. I had now reached the tender age of an official old man; semi-retirement, pension, free flu shots, a better price on the bus and theatre tickets, and many more perks of maturity.</span><br />
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So, my point for being there was for contemplation. Where had I been? Where was I going? Here, I was looking out at the end of land like the end of life staring back at me. Was I approaching cliff's end? Was the world? Point No Point had a point for me: the balance of life itself. <br />
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The excursion was very much in the Now. We traveled west along a beautiful, tree-lined country road with lush green foliage that pointed us toward our hide-away along the cliff tops. This day it supplied its own drama; torrential rain, sleet, hail and high winds. And the logs of the tiny cabin rattled and the windows beat with spewing water. It almost seemed as if the cabin was going to be lifted off its perch, like Dorothy's home in the Wizard of Oz, far away, or, down to the black rock beach below where larger than normal breakers rushed and smashed at the base of the cliff, shuddering us. Outside the weather was wild, but inside we lounged. With a cozy fireplace to keep us warm, we added a log or two, painted pictures and read mystery novels.<br />
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Obviously, my life continued on those first days of a new age, enjoying the company of my wonderful wife and savouring the delicacies of fine cuisine at the lodge restaurant.<br />
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So why contemplate, as long as we were healthy and making meaning in life? We even managed to skip a few rain drops to dunk in the hot tub that was primed and ready to warm our bones.<br />
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Unfortunately, as with the rest of life, the days flew by too soon, and we were off on our journey home with a great many more future moments to contemplate in the months and years ahead.<br />
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QUOTES<br />
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."<br />
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<span class="s1">- Robert Frost</span><br />
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"Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields."</div>
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<span class="s1">- Christopher Marlowe</span><br />
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"Keep close to Nature's heart... and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean."<br />
- John Muir<br />
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"There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age."<br />
- Sophia Loren<br />
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<b>Point no Point Lodge</b><br />
<a href="http://pointnopointresort.com/">http://pointnopointresort.com/</a><br />
Our Cabin #14<br />
<a href="http://pointnopointresort.com/room/cabin-14-cozy-cabin/">http://pointnopointresort.com/room/cabin-14-cozy-cabin/</a></div>
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Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-11996718416369795852014-01-18T16:06:00.000-08:002014-01-23T06:16:42.848-08:00Voyeur<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WxXA2zxxAwQ/UtsWf_WfUsI/AAAAAAAAA9Y/4yRizd_CVY0/s1600/CadBayFog-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WxXA2zxxAwQ/UtsWf_WfUsI/AAAAAAAAA9Y/4yRizd_CVY0/s1600/CadBayFog-4.jpg" height="245" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /><br />Immersed in the meditation of sketching, I was suddenly jarred out of my reverie by a shrill voice. </span></div>
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"Are you from around here?" </div>
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I looked up from my park bench to see a rather large white-haired woman with a Corgi dog. They were both staring at me from the beach. </div>
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"Yes," I said, with a smile, fully expecting to be speaking with yet, another friendly fellow-Cadboro Bay villager.</div>
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"Are you a voyeur?" She asked. </div>
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Odd question, I thought. I was immediately inclined to offer my silly sense of humour and respond </div>
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with a "yes," but, I paused and allowed my rational brain to take over, realizing that this person might be serious. </div>
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"What's that?" I asked, feigning ignorance while pondering her situation. <br />
"Don't you know what a voyeur is?" she steamed. <br />
"Someone who spies on others?" I politely replied. <br />
"Were you taking pictures of me and my dog on the beach?" <br />
"I take pictures of the beach, the houses, the boats, the logs. I'm a sketcher." I told her. "I draw pictures then record the colours with my camera for later paintings. Would you like to see?" I asked, politely holding out my sketchbook. <br />
"Well, no. I guess I'll have to believe you," she replied. <br />
"I'll show you if you'd like." I offered, again. <br />
"No." She said bluntly, turning around and walking off down the beach. <br />
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As the English expression goes, I was gobsmacked, astounded, utterly astonished that someone would think I was literally a voyeur. As I resumed my sketching, I thought about the word, "voyeur." I suppose I have always been an <i>observer</i>, a witness, a recorder of others. That's what a photographer is. That's what a sketcher is. That's what a human being is. But a voyeur? <br />
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I packed my sketch pad and headed down the beach to catch up with this woman. I wanted to tell her that I had been a photographer all my life and that I had never been called a voyeur before. However, when I did catch up with her, she began telling me she didn't like sketchers and photographers, saying they interpreted the world like journalists, with a point of view that wasn't necessarily the truth. Her attitude was anything but congenial. I tipped my cap and wished her a good day. <br />
"I'm trying to have one," she shouted after me as I walked away.<br />
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A beach walk is a good place for contemplation and thought. Was I a voyeur? The dictionary says that a voyeur is an obsessive observer of sensational or sordid subjects; a person who derives sexual pleasure from secretly observing other people, or a person who enjoys seeing the pain or distress of others. Over the years, the word has been used very liberally to mean an interested watcher; someone who just enjoys observing life. Hence, among friends, I used to say, in fun, that I was a professional voyeur. But from this woman's point-of-view I was spying on her when I took some simple pictures of the beach. <br />
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Voyeurism itself has been around since the world began, when one neighbour peered in on another to see what they looked like in the flesh. In the past there have been "peep shows" at fair grounds, or fun shows where observers peer into machines to see women taking off items of clothing. Photographic or sketching of erotic art is considered voyeurism. <i>Playboy, Penthouse</i> and other magazines depicting naked bodies cash in on humanity's lust for erotic images. Today, the Internet is filled with graphic depictions of erotica to stimulate the masses. War photographers have often been referred to as voyeurs; people who record killing happening in front of their lens without lending a hand to help the person or people being photographed. </div>
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<span class="s1">For me, a lifetime as a photographer, cinematographer, film maker, sketcher and an interested observer did not make me a voyeur in the <i>bad</i> sense of the word. I was not the bad spying, sexual, deviant, stalker type. But I had photographed people without their permission. I had filmed people around the world, in many countries for documentary films. I had sketched people in coffee houses as life studies without their permission. So how many of the people that I had photographed or sketched without their permission would have objected had they known I was recording their image? Surely, this didn't make me evil or a <i>bad</i> voyeur?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Photographers, film makers, television directors, artists of all kinds have used humanity as their muse since time began. Leonardo Da Vinci and Michelangelo sketched caricatures of people in their local pubs to eventually fit into their great masterpieces. Great composers were influenced by street musicians and folk songs from many cultures. Shakespeare and Hemingway found their art among the voices of ordinary folk. So for a photographer to shoot a scene that includes some people is quite normal. Life drawing/sketching nudes or photographing nudes is also considered quite a normal exercise.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The beach lady had spotted me snapping innocent pictures for my sketches and paintings, so, clearly, I was not guilty of voyeurism. But this experience has made me realize that one word can mean so much depending on its interpretation. Voyeur ... good, bad, evil or innocent? Voyeur can mean erotic sexual peering, i.e, Peeping Tom, or taking dark, secret sexual photographs. Or, it could be totally innocent observation through art, photography or human curiosity. </span><br />
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We are all innocent voyeurs. We all observe each other. That's how we learn. We see others and, through them, we see ourselves, gain knowledge, live our lives. Our visual interaction and understanding of others is the essence of who we are. We are people watchers, whether through our own eyes or someone else's eyes, such as via television, magazines or motion pictures. What is a movie but a peering into someone else's life? What is television but a means to bring others into our lives? But, then I ask myself, is not the United States NSA spying program a form of government financed voyeurism?<br />
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As a child, I was an observer. As an adult, I was a professional witness. I can have fun with the word, but could I ever admit to being a voyeur to strangers? No. The word itself has such a sigma that to admit you observe others, as a voyeur, is like giving small-minded people a rope with which to hang a good reputation. So, I use the word "visual artist." And that is what I do.<br />
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QUOTES:<br />
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"Any photographer who says he's not a voyeur is either stupid or a liar."<br />
- Helmut Newton<br />
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"I feel as though the camera is almost a kind of voyeur in Mr. Bean's life, and you just watch this bizarre man going about his life in the way he wants to."<br />
- Rowan Atkinson<br />
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"Neighbours are the most indecent sort of folk around. Nothing but voyeurs and gossipers. As a community we would be much better off without them."<br />
- Bauvard - <i>The Prince of Plungers</i><br />
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"We've become a race of Peeping Toms. What people ought'a do is get outside their own house and look in for a change."<br />
- John Michael Hayes - Screenwriter for Hitchcock's <i>Rear Window</i></div>
Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-41930096246831507742013-12-21T15:06:00.003-08:002013-12-24T15:06:35.579-08:00A Creative Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kUN42tSn2D4/UrZBISn3RjI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/gDbcV6vPTBw/s1600/EveSiloutte.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kUN42tSn2D4/UrZBISn3RjI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/gDbcV6vPTBw/s320/EveSiloutte.jpg" width="178" /></a></div>
<i>EVE</i></div>
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Two-thousand and thirteen started in an unusual way when a piece of firewood in the wood pile caught my attention. It had curves. I plucked it from the pile and examined it. Somehow I could see a figure within. I found a sharp knife and started to carve. The floor of my office soon began piling thick with wood shavings, and within a couple of days this slowly diminishing piece of cedar took life as a fat figure, then a thinner figure. It was feminine, so feminine. I sanded it for a soft finish. The most difficult part of the carving was her neck. It needed to be carved carefully and I didn't want my sharp knife to slip and decapitate her. I left the face blank, not carving it at all. I really need more experience with faces. The wood slowly came to life as a small statuette about the size of an Oscar. I call her Eve. She's the first, full woodcarving I have ever done, and I'm very proud of her. <br />
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Carving is not easy. Every new experience takes concentration. Next, I carved ten wood spirit faces that stare down on us from the living room wall, each with their own personality, but after carving a couple of wooden kitchen spoons and spatulas, and a futile effort at a Madonna and child, I stopped. I had destroyed two good sweaters with my sharp knife and almost sliced off an extremity or two. Too dangerous for this rusty carver.<br />
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In the spring I bought a new small sketch book, a set of pencils, an eraser and a sharpener, and I began to draw anything that I found interesting. The sketcher in me re-emerged, and soon, the water-colour artist. It's now been a year of sketchbooks and water-colour books filled with my new drawings and paintings, and they all sit proudly on my office shelf. I am now just about to complete my first full, all water-colour book of urban art. There is only one of these books. Like Eve. They are products of the creative energy that flows though and drives each of us, and it gives me such a sense of accomplishment. <br />
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We all have it in us to do something creative. We are all born creative. The world itself is a work of art, this great, perfect ball of blue and life. Or, as the Beatles song says, "Because the world is round it turns me on." Well, the world of creativity and art turns me on. It always has. And, I have made it my calling to live in this creative world since I was a child. I was also very fortunate to have made my career in the artistic world of cinema and television. Funny thing is, there has been no one who has been able to dissuade me of the pleasure of creating something, although some have tried.<br />
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Creativity and art are the essence of who we are as human beings. Everything we take for granted in this manufactured world has been created by innovators and artists, and people who were no smarter than anyone else. What hasn't been created by us? We have the basics of the flush toilet and plumbing, the light bulb and electricity, the car and the mechanical engine, the computer and world wide communication. Everything we use that gets us through our day was invented and created by someone or a group of innovators and artists. So why isn't art, creativity and innovation the top subjects taught in schools? <br />
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To create something from raw beginnings and bring forth an emotive or practical entity, is us. A painting could bring awe, a melody could tugs at heart strings, a motion picture could tell a story that may connect and influence others, a well designed building could function as a structure that enhances a street scape and evokes a culture, a knitted sweater could keep you warm.<br />
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For me, I have experimented with many arts and creative endeavors. I've written songs, short stories, film scripts and poetry. I was a choir boy, I play music, I've acted in plays, directed and photographed films, photographed super models, sketched portraits, carved statues, designed apartments and coffee houses, and have photographed many major cities from helicopters. I have created businesses that create. But there are many things I still have yet to do; perhaps write a novel, paint a masterpiece, build a house, write a new Christmas song, help elect a government that holds our environment as sacred.<br />
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Society likes to define people in a singular word, a sentence or an elevator pitch. However, people are not that shallow; never have been, never will be. We are all multi-dimensional and multi-talented creatures who must continue to grow, evolve and transform our world.<br />
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No matter what age you are:</div>
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Don't be passive. DO!</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Do something, build something, create something.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Don't let the grass grow under your feet.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Build life and live it.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Embrace an art and CREATE something.</span></div>
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Create an emotion for someone. Even my little statue Eve has brought smiles to people's faces.<br />
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QUOTES<br />
"Being is not just a thing you are, it is also a thing you do."<br />
- Seamus Heaney <br />
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"I can't think of a case where poems change the world, but what they do is they change people's understanding of what's going on in the world.<br />
- Seamus Heaney<br />
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"All I have, really, is my creativity."<br />
- Jack Abramoff<br />
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<br />Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-35782418972929599162013-09-13T08:19:00.002-07:002013-09-28T21:38:23.469-07:00Island Sketching<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Grenville Bridge Vancouver BC</div>
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Through out my life, I was always finding ways to be creative. It seemed to be in my nature. I didn't always succeed with everything I tried, but whenever there was an opportunity in front of me, I jumped.<br />
<span class="s1"><br />In my younger years, I used to have fun with drawing and sketching, </span>among other things. But that was before I got really busy in the film business. Then, I'd jokingly tell film producers I could film, photograph or sketch their scripts, but they never took me up on the offer to sketch. <br />
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Now as I age into antiquity, the film business has slowed for me, so I started sketching again. It started with simple drawings. One a day. Then I became the "mad sketcher," filling small sketchbooks with pencil drawings, pen & ink and water-colour creations. I began to search the Internet for other artists and sketchers who loved the art like me, and I was really inspired when I found the Urban Sketchers group from Seattle. This is a group started by an illustrator/reporter, Gabriel Campanario who works for the Seattle Times. He has inspired a world of closeted artists to go out, find their "tribe" and sketch together.<br />
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I didn't know there was such a pent-up demand for something like this, but it certainly inspired me. You don't have to be a really good sketcher to join the group. But, as with most things, the more you practice something, the better you get. The Urban Sketchers website now has a huge following around the world. <br />
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So, I was looking for an associate group in my city, Victoria; but I found none. Victoria is a wonderful little city filled with artists and artisans of all kinds, but there was no group that regularly met together to sketch. However, I did find a Vancouver group. They are loosely associated with Urban Sketchers, and I noticed that the organizer had a familiar name. <br />
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Sigrid was a classmate of mine at a teachers college in Vancouver. We hadn't seen each other for a couple of years, but I emailed her anyway and asked for advise on how to start a sketching group. She told me that I really didn't have to be associated with Urban Sketchers: I could start a unique Vancouver Island group through a website called Meetup. <br />
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It was three months ago I started "Island Sketching." Three months and eight sketching meet-ups later we have twenty-six members and counting, and it's slowly growing, with about half of them being regulars. Victoria is filled with great places to sketch, so we have no problem finding interesting locations for the group, i.e. Fisherman's Wharf, St Annes Academy, Craigdarrock Castle, Cadboro Bay, etc. The list for future locations is endless.<br />
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Island Sketching group members range from expert, seasoned artists to total beginners. We all learn from each other and the many drawings that emerge from this group show a wonderful, artistic range. Artists can look at the same thing, but the variations in artistic work are amazing. People are having fun and we arrange to have a creative discussion after each sketching at a local coffee house. Here, we comment on each other's work and take photographs for the website. It truly is a great feeling to have started something that people of all ages and vocations can enjoy together. <br />
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Sigrid is our Guru and sends us encouragement across the Straights of Georgia from time to time. Her group in Vancouver is so successful that it has now grown to more than 300 members. I recently asked her what she would do if all 300 showed up at once. "Head for the hills," she told me.<br />
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Sketching is a meditation, a mind clearing, a "NOW" activity. And to be around others who just like to draw is very refreshing. Here you see artists in their raw state, at the beginning of their art. Most artists are introverts and work very easily on their own. Then, there are individuals who will hesitantly join groups like ours and enjoy being in the company of like-minded people. It's about being a part of something bigger than yourself that recognizes you. It's about getting up, getting out, leaving your egos at the door and doing.<br />
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As Woody Allen said, "Eighty percent of success is in just showing up."<br />
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QUOTES:<br />
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<span class="s1">"Just Do It"</span> - Nike<br />
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"Every artist was first an amateur."<br />
- Ralph Waldo Emerson<br />
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"Make art into a regular part of your everyday life."<br />
- Danny Gregory<br />
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Island Sketching:<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span><span class="s4"><a href="http://www.meetup.com/IslandSketching/">http://www.meetup.com/IslandSketching/</a></span><br />
My sketches:<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"></span><a href="http://brrhart.blogspot.ca/">http://brrhart.blogspot.ca/</a><br />
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Urban Sketchers:<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>http://<span class="s2"><a href="http://www.urbansketchers.org/">www.urbansketchers.org</a></span><br />
Seattle Sketcher:<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><a href="http://blogs.seattletimes.com/seattlesketcher/">http://blogs.seattletimes.com/seattlesketcher/</a><br />
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Vancouver Urban Sketchers: <span class="s4"><a href="http://www.meetup.com/Vancouver-Urban-Sketchers/">http://www.meetup.com/Vancouver-Urban-Sketchers</a><br />Sigrid's personal website: <a href="http://www.urbansketcher.ca/">http://www.urbansketcher.ca/</a></span><br />
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Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-28661295806867687042013-07-08T17:28:00.000-07:002014-11-04T20:31:51.065-08:00Santiago El Grande<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">One moment I was walking into a small unassuming art gallery, the next I was </span>startled and surprised to be confronted by an awe inspiring, artistic, emotional volcano.<br />
<span class="s1"><br />I was on a working assignment in the provincial capital city of Fredericton, New Brunswick, and had a couple of hours to myself. I decided to go for a walk and immediately found the Beaverbrook Art Gallery next door to the hotel. It is a quiet, low-lying structure, in no way artistic in it's design. But, to my mind, any art gallery is worth a look. I opened the door and wandered in.</span></div>
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<i style="text-align: start;">Salvador Dali - Santiago El Grande</i><span style="text-align: start;"> of 1957.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">There it stood before me. Seducing me. This magical gigantic oil painting filling a large wall. But this is no ordinary painting. This is a true masterpiece: Santiago El Grande by Salvador Dali.<br /><br />Never before had I been stopped in my track so dramatically by such an overwhelming feeling given to me by a painting. An almost 15ft tall canvas.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br />In the painting, Dali pays tribute to Santiago El Grande or Saint James the Great, the Patron Saint of Spain. James is riding a gigantic life-like, white horse rearing up out of the sea surrounded by a huge dome-like structure. Hanging over James is Jesus Christ on the cross ascending into heaven, while angels are depicted flying around the horse's head. Gala, Dali's wife, stands as a cloaked figure in the bottom right corner. The vivid colours of blues, whites and warm skin tones are dramatic.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br />Salvador Dali was a classical artist with a major twist of surrealism. He was quirky and funny. He was astonishingly finely detailed and wild at heart. Each of his creations is totally original and it is a wonderful fascination for those who suddenly discover another Dali to explore. Dali is just as new and vibrant today as he has ever been. He fills the void of a population yearning for something new, something more. And he fills it with each fresh glance at his work. This painting fulfills all that Dali was and is: A master of fine art.<br /><br />It was originally painted for the Spanish Pavilion at the 1958 Brussels World Fair. Then, it was offered to the Church of Spain, only to be refused. Dali then sold it to his friends, Canadian financier Sir James Dunn and Lady Dunn, who eventually donated it to the Beaverbrook Art Gallery.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">This is not one of the most well known of Salvador Dali's creations, but of all the Dali compositions that I have seen, and I am a Dali fan, this is the most magnificent and awe inspiring. And, it has been said, "This could be one of the best works of art ever painted."<br /><br />Do your artistic passions a favour and visit </span>Santiago El Grande at the Beaverbrook Art Gallery. </div>
Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-69703737170255840062013-04-15T07:09:00.001-07:002013-04-15T16:02:04.137-07:00Memorial Speech for Mother<br />
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<span class="s1">Hello, my name is Brian. </span>Pauline is my mother. She always will be.<br />
<span class="s1"><br />As a remembrance, </span>I'd like to thank her for some of the things she gave me.<br />
<span class="s1"><br />First ... how to giggle. </span>I have giggled more in my life with my mother than with any other human being. <span class="s1">We'd be in "gut-wrenching" stitches </span>over some of the most trivial things. I remember at one time setting up a camera to take our picture together. The camera was in place and the timer was set to trigger the shutter. The picture was going to be perfect. I was to run in and take my place beside her, and smile. We were the only ones on the beach and the setting was so picturesque.<br />
<span class="s1"><br />I pushed the shutter, </span>then ran to get in the picture before it triggered. As I got beside her, I slipped and bumped her, almost pushing her over. Well ... all of a sudden she started to giggle. I didn't know why, </div>
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<span class="s1">I didn't think anything was funny. </span>Perhaps it was my seriousness she found so funny. Somehow her giggle got to me and we laughed and laughed and we couldn't stop. <span class="s1">We were in stitches </span>and it continued long after the picture snapped. Each was spurring the other on, and we must have laughed for fifteen minutes: You know, those giggles you just can't get out of.</div>
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<span class="s1">She was a very, very funny lady.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">She taught me to be silly. </span>Silliness is one of the most wonderfully insane ways of sustaining your sanity.</div>
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<span class="s1">She sang us songs: Songs like "Three old ladies locked in a lavatory," and "There was an old farmer had an old sow," which she sang in a Devonshire accent. She was born and brought up in Devon, you know.</span></div>
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She taught me many life sustaining things, like the fight to find culture in everything. She introduced me to the arts, the symphony, the opera, painting and the theatre. And we went sailing. We went to museums, art galleries, castles, countrysides and we crossed the ocean. She even sent me on a school trip to Switzerland when she couldn't afford it.<br />
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When I was a teenager she sat me down and pointed the finger at me.<br />
"I'm worried about you, what are you going to do with your life?" she said.<br />
I was a dreamer. I wanted to see the world, maybe be a beach bum. I never really wanted to work.<br />
<span class="s1">I shrugged my shoulders. </span>"I don't know," I said.<br />
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She then said one of the most important things a parent can say to a kid.<br />
"What do you like doing?"<br />
I knew this was an important question. I needed to find an important answer. I finally said,</div>
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<span class="s1">"I kinda like taking pictures."</span></div>
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She helped me to get my first job in photography, which led to a lifetime career as a photographer, a cinematographer and a film maker. <br />
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I did travel the world but I never became a beach bum; the work's too hard.<br />
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I have been at one with the arts and creativity all my life, thanks to my mother's push and inspiration.<br />
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People wanting a tickle might think of entertainers, <span class="s1">but Mum could make us</span><span class="s1"> laugh, and she tried to entertain us throughout her life. </span>And that smile: Oh that smile that was so infectious.<br />
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When she was lying in her hospital bed, very ill after a stroke, and was very slow to respond, I leaned in and whispered to her,<br />
"Why did the chicken cross the road?"<br />
With out a hesitation came the response,<br />
"To get to the other side."<br />
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She never lost it.<br />
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I have a quote by George Bernard Shaw, who said:<br />
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"Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh."<br />
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Thank you Mum.<br />
Keep em laughing</div>
Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-40370618689779900112013-03-01T10:22:00.001-08:002013-03-17T17:47:02.771-07:00Fingal's Cave<br />
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<span class="s1">From a very young age the music of Felix Mendelssohn's Hebrides Overture (Fingal's Cave) has haunted me, mainly because of my love for the sea. I was born by the sea, lived by the sea and I love the sounds, smells and the sights of the undulating rhythms and the unrestricted wildness of the ocean. Just sitting and watching huge waves crash onto rocks fills me with euphoria: Truly a magnificent part of nature to be unquestionably respected.</span></div>
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<span class="s2"><br />Mendelssohn's music can paint a picture of the emotion itself. Within the music, one can hear the rolling ocean, white caps on the waves and breakers crashing onto cliffs and rocks. One also gets a sense of the majesty and grandeur of a great cave filled with strange rocks, like organ pipes pointing to heaven. Composer Johannes Brahams said of the music, "I would sacrifice all my works to have been able to compose an overture like it."</span><br />
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Many years ago, when planning a trip to Scotland, I was excited by the idea of taking a trip to the site of Mendelssohn's inspiration for the Fingal's Cave Overture.<br />
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The cave is situated on the small island of Staffa, near Mull in the Western Isles of Scotland. The name commemorates the third century Irish hero Fionn MacCoul who had his headquarters on Staffa and supposedly defended the Hebrides against pirate attacks.<br />
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My traveling companion hadn't visited Britain before, and Scotland was her introduction. Happily, she also loved Mendelssohn's music, for the Western Isles in rough weather can be quite a miserable experience. One needs a purpose to be there.<br />
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The ferry to the island of Mull departed Oban in the West Highlands at 8.00am. Loaded with mail, fresh supplies, locals going home and visitors like ourselves on the last guided "Three Island Trip" of the season to Mull, Iona and Staffa.<br />
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As the ferry boat motored out of Oban Harbour in the cool morning mist, the sea breeze and salt air was fresh on our faces. Out past the breakwater and the ever-flashing lighthouse we steamed, the strange sight of a Parthenon (McCraig's Tower) looking down on us from high on the hill over Oban, sitting like a crown on the head of an ancient Scottish King.<br />
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After a 45-minute crossing to the Island of Mull, the ship's bow broke the calm waters of the Firth of Lorn, an inlet off the fierce North Atlantic ocean. The weather was fine, but the forecast was not.</div>
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<span class="s2"><br />From high a rocky outcrop and dominating the barren landscape, Duart Castle kept guard on the approach to Mull as we sailed through the misty rain. Many battles were fought here, as with all the castles in Scotland. This day the cannons were silent.</span><br />
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As we landed at Craignure, a strange mixture of Scottish and Scandinavian accents filled the air as we waited for our bus for the drive over the moors to the far western shore of Mull. A retired group of blond and white-haired Swedes were here; not to rape, pillage and settle these shores, as their ancestors the Vikings had done. Today, I presumed, they were here as music lovers. <br />
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The bus bumped and weaved across the cold, wet, barren moors picking up the odd resident or two and dropping them off a couple miles later, then picking up some more.<br />
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The steady rain blended with the scenery and a raw atmosphere of foreboding clawed the mountain tops. This was definitely the place where ghost stories originate, where large crags protrude from massive bald highlands that tower high into the enveloping low clouds. My imagination could see visions of Highlanders charging through the valleys dressed in their kilts, waving sabers to ward off the encroaching enemy. <br />
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At Fionnphort, we jumped aboard the M.V. Laird of Staffa for our nautical journey out to Fingal's Cave. Putt...putt...putt. It was an older motor boat struggling under the helm of a young, but experienced Captain navigating the protected passage between the islands of Mull and Iona. To our left lay the famous Iona burial ground of 65 Kings of Scotland and Norway, including William Shakespeare's characters, Macbeth and Duncan.<br />
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The ocean was noticeably rougher out past the shelter of the islands as the tiny vessel heaved as graceful as a horse in slow motion. It was full of tourists, about twenty five, including the group from Sweden and a couple of young men who were seated at the stern. They, too, must have been music lovers because I heard one turn to the other and say, "I wonder if they'll play the tune when we get there?"<br />
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The rain held, but not for long. Staffa was a 45-minute journey, and we rode up and down and over the sea like a cork. In the distance we could barely make out the dark shape of the island. It got colder and more blustery and the sea's swells were getting larger; the wind strengthened and the rain returned.<br />
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Somehow the music was there with me. I knew the piece so well. Of course Mendelssohn had been inspired by the same kind of weather. You could hear it in the music, and it kept playing over and over again in my head. Then the cave loomed ahead and I could see the waves building up from the west and heading for the Island to crash onto the rocks as breakers. </div>
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The Captain's voice came over the small speaker telling us that it would be too dangerous to land everyone at the cave today; the seas were rough and people could be swept away by rogue waves. He had thought of landing at an other part of the island, but decided not to as the weather was getting worse; the tide was rising and the sea was getting rougher. This was the scene that the music portrayed so perfectly. <br />
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There it was looming over us, the open mouth of a large, cavernous shape carved by earth's upheaval and centuries of heavy pounding by the Atlantic Ocean. The island of Staffa is made of basaltic columns caused by the steady cooling of lava as it came into contact with the cold bedrock. As we studied nature's rugged work, we were being bounced. The waves would roll under the boat, lifting us high, then continue and break on the nearby rock columns with an energy of magnificent proportions. <br />
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(Fingal's Cave, Island of Staffa by Thomas Moran)</div>
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The Gaelic name for the cave is An Uamh Binn, "The Melodious Cave:" Particularly appropriate on hearing the thunderous sounds emanating from the cave's mouth, as the water hit the inside walls.<br />
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Mendelssohn's music described this agitated place perfectly. In fact, when the twenty-year-old composer visited the cave in 1829, he became quite sea sick. Not a healthy experience, but one to make a lasting impression.</div>
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Our Captain decided for the safety of everyone, to turn the boat around and head back to the sheltered passageway between Mull and Iona. <br />
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Now we were heading into the wind; the spray was worse than a heavy rain storm, as the small boat rode the large waves. All were huddled in the bottom of the boat. Many were sick and all were quiet as the journey back took twice as long as the passage out.<br />
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I kept looking behind at the cave and the lonely island. "The Lonely Island" was Mendelssohn's first title for his music, but what caught my eye were the two young men sitting at the stern of the boat, getting the full force of the wind and salt water in their faces. They were reveling in the experience.</div>
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<span class="s2"><br />My companion and I felt a little sick and were soaked to the skin, but this was truly living the experience. </span>Now, every time I listen to Mendelssohn's overture, I re-live the thrilling experience. A moment I'll never forgotten.<br />
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Art is the great connector. We, as individuals, are moved by the creative spirit. Creativity is something we are all born with and it makes us find life in a most profound way. Whether we inspire others through something we have created; art, music, painting, theatre, or one of the other great mediums, or we are inspired by someone else's creation, art gives us a new way of looking at life. In art and creativity we find the experience of being alive.<br />
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<i>Edited parts of this essay were originally published in The Toronto Star travel section - 1987<br /><br /></i><br />
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QUOTES:<br />
"In order to make you understand how extraordinarily <i>The Hebrides</i> affected me, I send you the following, which came into my head there."<br />
- Felix Mendelssohn<br />
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(From a 1829 letter to his sister Fanny, in which he included a musical sketch of the opening notes of The Hebrides)<br />
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"Many composers, before and since, have used music to depict the physical world, but in <i>Fingal's Cave</i>, Mendelssohn set an example that has never been equaled."<br />
- Geoff Kuenning<br />
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"Though everything else may appear shallow and repulsive, even the smallest task in music is so absorbing, and carries us so far away from town, country, earth, and all worldly things, that it is truly a blessed gift of God."<br />
- Felix Mendelssohn<br />
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"Without music life would be a mistake."<br />
- Friedrich Nietzsche<br />
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"Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life."<br />
- Ludwig van Beethoven<br />
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This is my favorite rendition of this wonderful piece of music.<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcogD-hHEYs">www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcogD-hHEYs</a><br />
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"Moods of the Sea" -1941<br />
A cinematic tone poem of seascape set to the music of Mendelsshon's Hebrides Overture </div>
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<span class="s1"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wlbAoGSslAQ">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wlbAoGSslAQ</a></span><br />
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Three Island Tour: Mull, Iona, Staffa<br />
<a href="http://www.staffatours.com/">http://www.staffatours.com/</a><br />
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Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-38002525789930279862013-01-04T21:45:00.000-08:002013-01-16T12:06:41.113-08:00Disco PacificEver hear of an "Earworm?"<br />
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The Wikipedia Encyclopedia describes earworm as "a piece of music that sticks in one's mind so that one seems to hear it, even when it's not being played." It's a haunting melody, a hard to shake tune, something you just can't get out of your head. Well, this is the story of one such earworm, or an album of earworms, which caught the world by storm.</div>
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It was March 1978, the movie "Saturday Night Fever" had been released a few months earlier, and flying at thirty-nine thousand feet, high above the clouds en-route to Tahiti, my headphones were rolling to the sounds of "Night Fever" by the Bee Gees. Once more the disco era, the beat, the dancing, the melodies had taken the world by storm. Songs from the new movie were being played almost everywhere in the world and this became the soundtrack for my South Pacific jaunt. </div>
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I was on route to an assignment in the Solomon Islands to meet up with a crew to film a documentary for the CBC. Back at home-base, in the bureaucratic offices of the Corporation, the accountants were being insistent that I use up my stacked vacation days or they would pay me for them. I'd rather have the days off, so I asked to take a week off in Tahiti en route to the assignment. Of course, the women in the office, who themselves couldn't stop listening to the music of "Saturday Night Fever," were immediately jealous.</div>
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After landing at Papeete, the capital of Tahiti, and walking through the airport, the earworm was in full swing as I was drawn to the taxi driver who did the best marketing of all. He was swinging and singing along to "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees. Then, his soul was on display as we drove along Papeete's picturesque waterfront, looking across at the island of Moorea. With "Boogie Shoes" by K.C. and the Sunshine Band blaring, my cab dodged road obstacles of cycles, dogs, tourists and buses. This was hectic.</div>
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Three songs had played before we pulled up to the mid-range hotel where we were met by the bellman who danced toward us singing "Disco Inferno" by the Tramps. This was my introduction to the South Pacific, and so far the trip reminded me of a musical. No, not the popular Rogers and Hammerstein musical, "South Pacific," which was set in this wonderful place; but this new, crazy dance scene.</div>
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The movie soundtrack was a compilation of old and new (1977) Bee Gees songs mingled with a few other danceable tunes from groups like The Tramps, Tavares, M.F.S.B. and K.C. and the Sunshine Band. Each group made a lot of money and sold endless tickets for what was, in this viewer's opinion, a very mediocre film. But the album became the most successful soundtrack of all time.</div>
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The next day a sign caught my eye. I had been whistling my way down a main street to the tune of the Bee Gees song "More than a Woman," emanating from a local breakfast joint, when I was stopped in my tracks. The Club Med on Bora Bora was having a three-day special. Flight, hotel and all meals, including dancing. I was on the next plane.</div>
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It was a spectacular flight along the French Polynesian string of mountainous islands rising up from the dark Pacific, surrounded by turquoise atolls, warm lagoons and white sandy beaches. This was paradise. So, too, was the Bora Bora airport, sitting on the outer reef. I climbed down from the small inter-island plane and my jaw dropped at the sight of the pure-white sand and the turquoise lagoon stretching toward the island mountain. Could there be a better place on earth? Beside me stood a young woman, also heading for Club Med, who had just taken off her head phones to gaze. The sound coming from those mini speakers was "Jive Talkin'" by the Bee Gees. Somehow I wanted to hear the old classic "Sleepy Lagoon." But that wasn't of the day.</div>
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The earworms of BeeGees and the other artists songs on "Saturday Night Fever" were everywhere, and when not being listened to, they were swirling around in the heads of almost everyone I met. I could tell by the smiles and the internal beat that everyone seemed to have. </div>
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A speedboat ride to the island, and we were met by a Club Med mini-bus playing "Night on Disco Mountain" by David Shire on the van tape deck. Even an island at the far reaches of the world was connected to the latest culture.</div>
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My room was a grass hut and one of many built on stilts out onto the lagoon. This I had to share with another male traveler, as the rooms were only twin accommodation. My room mate was from Fresno, California, and he liked Disco; especially, the Bee Gees. </div>
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"Saturday Night Fever" disco ruled everywhere Club Med went, from the white-sand, coco-loco picnics to dance floor crazies. But the most memorable use of this music was as background to crab races. A long box was placed on the dance floor with six individual, separate runs numbered one to six, and each had arrows pointing 'this way.' All this so Club Medders could bet on which crab finished the race first. </div>
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To the music of "Disco Inferno" and narrated by French Club Med organizers, six large crabs, each with numbers taped on their backs, were placed in the tracks and expected to race to the finish. Crabs walk sideways, but I wasn't so sure the Club Med people knew that. Some crabs seem to know what to do, while others were placed in the wrong way and, of course, they ran backwards. They were quickly turned around to run, or saunter, to the finish line. Some crabs climbed into the next run so there were two crabs competing. Thank goodness the songs lasted as the races were quite slow and "Disco Inferno" didn't hurry them up one bit. The dance floor was then cleared and the disco was in full swing with people jumping and bumping to the music from "Saturday Night Fever," repeated over and over again. Far from the idyllic and serene paradise lagoon resort during the day, the location became a totally vibrant, rockin' world at night.</div>
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That was the year I discoed around the South Pacific. Somehow it got into my soul. I'll always remember those white, sandy beaches, turquoise lagoons, and disco crab races. When I eventually met the film crew in the Solomon Islands the next week, it seemed that they, too, were spinning to "Saturday Night Fever," as every now and again someone would blurt out "burn baby burn" or "oh oh oh oh stayin' alive, stayin' alive." It was so unnatural, but somehow it all seemed natural.<br />
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And today? Yes, those great Bee Gee classics still surface in my head from time to time to give me a spin, a shuffle and a hand in the air, disco style. Earworm indeed.</div>
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Note: </div>
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Recently the Club Med property on Bora Bora was for sale. It sold for 10 million dollars. If only I had known. If I only had 10 million dollars to spare. For this is probably the most beautiful place on the planet, earworms or not.</div>
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QUOTES:<br />
"Our happiest moments as tourists always seem to come when we stumble upon one thing while in pursuit of something else."<br />
- Lawrence Block<br />
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"I never really did any disco dancing." </div>
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- Barry Gibb</div>
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"A ticket to Tahiti please." </div>
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- my mother</div>
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"Like all great travelers, I have seen more than I remember, and I remember more than I have seen."</div>
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- Benjamin Disraeli</div>
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"It's one of the most beautiful places on Earth."</div>
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- Clive Palmer - Australian billionaire businessman who recently bought the property that used to be the Club Med on Bora Bora.</div>
Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-66921770338393999852012-12-01T17:20:00.000-08:002012-12-04T07:05:32.785-08:00End of the World - 2012<br />
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It seemed like a good time to buy my yearly diary for 2013. But, I did ask the sales clerk if I could receive a refund if the world ended on December 21st, as the Mayan calendar has predicted. He laughed and told me that if he was able he would, indeed, give me a refund.</div>
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The Mayan calendar ends on December 21st, 2012. That's soon. Is there any sign of a catastrophic, world-ending event about to happen? It's not that I'm making fun of what could be a disaster for all: I just can't see how anyone, let alone the ending of an ancient calendar, can predict a certain day for it to happen. There could be an unusual Earth movement, a major earthquake, a storm, a volcano or a tsunami. But some recent predictions include an asteroid hitting the earth with such great force that destruction would be worldwide. There isn't one in sight.<br />
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Perhaps another planet will nudge Earth as the magnetic forces of the universe come into alignment at this time. Then again, it could be the recently predicted earth's magnetic pole shifting. Imagine the earth's magnetic, gravitational pull, sliding to another side of the globe from the North Pole. If the skin of the Earth shifted, it would tilt the planet in another direction and hurtle all of us out into space, which is quite possible. That would be a big one and wipe us all out. But it may not last one day. It could take a week, a month or more. And, if we were involved in a real earth shift, would we really have the time or the interest to consult our calendars?<br />
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Another predicted reason for the Mayan calendar ending in 2012, is that the gods are supposed to return to Earth. These are extra terrestrials, men (and women) I presume, in space suits who fly down from another, far-advanced planetary civilization to implant us with new knowledge.<br />
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As we know, the Earth is not totally perfect for human life. Ninety-nine percent of all the species that have ever lived are now extinct. Most of the people who have ever lived are now dead and gone. We could be swallowed up by a nasty animal, drown in a rushing river, burn in a raging fire, be poisoned by bad food, succumb to the plague, be crushed by a crumbling mountain, fall off a bicycle or many other strange, and not too happy, accidents. In the long run, we are not safe. There are so many things we must be on guard against. Yet, some of us live to be a hundred years old. However, the Earth, the planet will survive a lot longer than us.<br />
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The Mayan calendar is a man-made measurement of time. While most calendars go from year to year in a never ending cycle, this one continued for hundreds or thousands of years only to stop this month. But the Mayan's never predicted a doomsday to follow. So why does it's demise need to be regarded as something sinister?<br />
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On mass, we are thinking, feeling, emotive and worry-hungry beings and every scary idea that permeates throughout humanity frightens us silly. We stew over things that may or may not happen in our future or our lifetime. Perhaps we should be more concerned about fixing something really scary that we could fix, i.e. global warming (a REAL pending major disaster), pollution, crime, ignorance, corrupt politics, peace, personal happiness. But these great personal and societal concerns continue to elude us and our societies. We live with our heads in the sand about the obvious problems and worry about everything else.<br />
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The bright light of universal energy shines through each of us. We are of this universe. We are made from the same atoms that created everything. So if we explode in a great ball of destruction it would be natural. We will be returning from whence we came, and, as many believe, to perhaps rise again in another moment of time. Life is circular, born - die - born, transcend.<br />
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The solution to the end of the Mayan calendar is to welcome the new dawn and to find happiness every day there after. It could be a new beginning, so keep loving, creating, smiling, dancing and singing along with the stream of life and consciousness we all love so dearly. Think yourself lucky you've been given this wonderful moment to participate. You showed up. Now, truly live.<br />
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And while you're at it, try to fix the world. Please.<br />
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Perhaps I'll hang on to that new diary, at least until 2014 rolls around.<br />
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QUOTE<br />
From Monte Python's Eric Idle:<br />
<br />
"Whenever life gets you down Mrs. Brown and things seem hard or tough<br />
and people are stupid, obnoxious or daft and you feel that you've had quite enough.<br />
<br />
Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving</div>
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<span class="s2">and revolving at nine hundred miles an hour,</span></div>
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<span class="s2">That's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned,</span></div>
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<span class="s2">a sun that is the source of all our power.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">The sun and you and me and all the stars that we can see</span></div>
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<span class="s2">are moving at a million miles a day.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">In an outer spiral arm, at forty thousand miles an hour,</span></div>
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<span class="s2">of the galaxy we call the milky way.</span><br />
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Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars</div>
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<span class="s2">It's a hundred thousand light years side to side</span></div>
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<span class="s2">It bulges in the middle, sixteen thousand light year's thick</span></div>
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<span class="s2">but out by us, it's just three thousand light year's wide.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">We're thirty thousand light years from galactic central point</span></div>
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<span class="s2">we go 'round every two hundred million years</span></div>
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<span class="s2">and our galaxy is only one of million of billions</span></div>
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<span class="s2">in this amazing and expanding universe.</span><br />
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The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding</div>
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<span class="s2"></span></div>
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<span class="s2">in all of the directions it can whizz</span></div>
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<span class="s2">as fast as it can go, at the speed of light, you know</span></div>
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<span class="s2">Twelve million miles a minute, and that's the fastest speed there is.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">So remember when you're feeling very small and insecure,</span></div>
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<span class="s2">How amazingly unlikely is your birth</span></div>
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<span class="s2">and pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space</span></div>
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<span class="s2">'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth."</span></div>
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Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-59282901175005778342012-11-25T14:23:00.004-08:002012-11-26T13:04:44.095-08:00Autumn Sky - Poem<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NYLNBf6UF28/ULPZSNrSc3I/AAAAAAAAAR8/pV72qdaRwN0/s1600/Autumn-Sunrise+copy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NYLNBf6UF28/ULPZSNrSc3I/AAAAAAAAAR8/pV72qdaRwN0/s400/Autumn-Sunrise+copy.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">AUTUMN SKY</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Off the tip of the highest
oak </span></div>
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far away from us city folk</div>
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the little leaf begins to fly</div>
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falling, falling from the sky</div>
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that cloud filled Autumn sky</div>
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Blown by the restless breeze</div>
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over and through the forest
trees</div>
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around and across the hard
woods bare</div>
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the soaring leaf travels
who-knows-where ... without a care</div>
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falling, falling from the sky</div>
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that cloud filled Autumn sky</div>
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Fly, fly, where does it dare</div>
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across the fields harvested
bare</div>
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along the meadow’s hedgerow
there</div>
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and up into the Autumn sky</div>
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that cloud filled Autumn sky</div>
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Up, fly up, fly up again</div>
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around the trees and swooping
low</div>
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across the pumpkin fields it
blows</div>
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through the weathered village
fair</div>
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down the gushing streams with
care</div>
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falling, falling from the sky</div>
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that cloud filled Autumn sky</div>
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And up again and down to rest</div>
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upon a farmer who laughs in
jest</div>
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a gust sweeps by and again it
blows</div>
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along stone fences built so
low</div>
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until the final journey slows
... and stops</div>
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The little leaf rests, no
more gusts</div>
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until the snow lays deep and
crush</div>
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and blankets it till spring’s
wet slush</div>
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to turn it into ground and
mush</div>
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to help a new oak find it’s
lie</div>
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and aim up to the fresh
spring sky</div>
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to grow a leaf and reach so
high</div>
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with life’s true colours of
green then red, oh my</div>
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When seasons turn in nature’s
wise</div>
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Autumn tells the leaf “let go
and fly,</div>
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begin your journey before you die.”</div>
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So the leaf begins to fly</div>
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into the windy, cool, fall
sky.</div>
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That cloud filled Autumn sky</div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © 2000 Brian R. R.
Hebb</span><br /><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo Credit</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small; font-weight: normal;">http://www.photographyblogger.net/16-awesome-autumn-leaf-pictures/</span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6705103448779338482.post-39592829871140277152012-11-01T05:53:00.004-07:002013-01-13T15:12:40.174-08:00Farewell Bounty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This week, I was devastated to hear of the sinking of HMS Bounty by Hurricane Sandy. The lure of this ship and her story grabbed my imagination when I was a lad, and in some ways, it became a metaphor for the way I learned life.<br />
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In 1963, I was living in England, when, following a family separation of many years, I was invited to visit with my grandparents in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia. Meeting grandparents and other family members, cousins, uncles, aunts, great aunts, great uncles and distant relatives was thrilling, but so to was Lunenburg. I was born and brought up by the sea both in Canada and in England. Sea fishing and tide pools were my muse. In Devon, where I lived, people told tales of smugglers and pirates and their exploits, and <i>Treasure Island </i>was one of the first books I read. I loved adventures of the sea. To have the opportunity to wander the docks of Lunenburg, where the sea was a way of life, was an adventure. I was 14 and that summer became a life changer.<br />
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Lunenburg was a bustling community of fisherman and ship building, and most made their living from the sea. The harbour was fascinating and each day I explored the wharfs and shipyards where the overwhelming smell of freshly caught fish, being unloaded from the deep sea trawlers, permeated the lower levels of the hilly Atlantic town. At the end of a string of brightly coloured boathouses and docks was the Smith and Rhuland boat yard. Here, weathered and hardened, boat-building craftsmen were carving and molding the finishing touches to the Bluenose II, a replica of the famous Canadian racing schooner that was sunk off Haiti in 1946.<br />
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That July, I watched the long, sleek, black hull of the Bluenose II slip out of the boat shed, down the slipway and into the harbour with a shared splash of excitement for all Canadians. My grandfather had another opinion. He felt the Bluenose had been taken over by commercial interests, namely, a beer commercial for Schooner Beer. So he'd lost interest in the rebuilding and he didn't attend the launch. However, his excitement surfaced when he talked about being at the same boat slip, a year earlier, for the launch of the Bounty. <br />
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I had never heard of the Bounty, so my grandfather sat me down and told me the story. In 1788, the British naval vessel HMS Bounty, under the Captaincy of Lieutenant William Bligh, was sent on a botanical mission to Tahiti in the South Pacific. They needed to transplant some small breadfruit trees to feed the population in the West Indies. While in Tahiti, the Bounty's mission needed to wait for a period while the breadfruit plants became safe to transport. It was a long wait. Meanwhile, the sailors made friends with Tahitian women. Some got married, some had families on the way. When it came time to return to their mission, they didn't want to leave. They were forced to leave, then there was a mutiny on board when the ship's master's mate Fletcher Christian had a fierce argument with Captain Bligh about crew discipline. Bligh was set adrift in the ship's launch and Christian and the mutineers set sail back to Tahiti and onward to live on Pitcairn Island. There, they set fire to the Bounty and couldn't leave the island.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xWz4umv8pOc/UJL_aAfKS9I/AAAAAAAAARc/gisyTMBTGwE/s1600/LLHebb-BountyWheel4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xWz4umv8pOc/UJL_aAfKS9I/AAAAAAAAARc/gisyTMBTGwE/s400/LLHebb-BountyWheel4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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(My Grandfather at the Bounty's wheel 1962)<br />
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The replica of HMS Bounty was built in the Lunenburg ship yard for the MGM movie 'Mutiny on the Bounty' starring Marlon Brando. In some ways the ship revived the Lunenburg wooden boat building industry that had floundered since the days of the old fishing schooners; and it spurred on the careers of craftsmen, sailmakers, carpenters and shipyards. The Bounty was something special to Lunenburg. It showed the quality and the passion of shipbuilding of which this town was capable, and the town was plastered with proud photographs of the ship under full sail on her trial runs.<br />
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This youth's imagination was caught by the lure of adventure: Images of sailing the high seas to exotic places like the South Pacific aboard such a stunningly beautiful vessel. This was a dream. When I returned home to England, I read the three books written by Charles Nordoff and James Norman Hall: <i>Mutiny on the Bounty, Men Against the Sea</i> and <i>Pitcairn Island</i>. And when the movie came out, I think I was first in line on opening night. I was in awe of not only the story and the spectacular location of Tahiti, but I couldn't keep my eyes off the beautiful ship built in Lunenburg. I read books about the filming of the movie and learned that the Bounty was designed slightly larger than the original so they could use her as a sailing film studio. The film makers planned to burn the ship at the end of the film, as the mutineers had done. But, apparently, Marlon Brando stepped in and saved the ship.<br />
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We humans connect with certain interests. Sometimes we don't quite know where we are going with the odd ideas and thoughts that become planted in our heads. But the dots seem to connect later in life, when we realize something inspired us. Many are led to a career or a profession, others to a hobby or a passion. The story of "Mutiny on the Bounty" showed me the exotic, the beauty, the lush and the hardship of life at sea: The good, the evil that men do. The fate of the mutineers and the adventure opened my eyes to many twists and turns of our world. Bounty was no longer just a ship, it became a key to unlock many doors; doors of philosophy, of leadership and failure, hardship and triumph. I learned to question authority and think about consequences. And it was films like "Mutiny on the Bounty," with it's spectacular photography and scenery, and other epics like "Lawrence of Arabia" and "Doctor Zhivago" that brought the idea of being a photographer and cinematographer to my imagination. I went to photographic art school and later, after returning to live in Canada, I studied and apprenticed as a cinematographer at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.<br />
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One of my many international documentary assignments was to the South Pacific. I was to meet our filming crew in the Solomon Islands for a film about western influence in Melanesia. On route, I stopped off in Tahiti for a few days vacation. Tahiti was the first tropical island I had ever visited. Here, I learned more about the tropical paradise that enticed the mutineers from the Bounty and I visited Matavia Bay where the original HMS Bounty had anchored in 1788. Here, she waited for the breadfruit saplings to ripen before being transported to Jamaica. I also learned that Conrad Hall, the son of James Norman Hall, one of the authors of Mutiny on the Bounty, who lived in Tahiti, became an assistant cameraman on the Brando film, eventually becoming a cinematographer, like myself.</div>
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For me, the Bounty story became a metaphor. It sparked possibilities in me. It was a seed of inspiration from which to set sail on an adventurous life journey. It opened my thinking and my imaginings of what could be. What I found was an excitement of the exotic through travel, life styles, dreams, escapes. I began to realize that quality of life was built through experiences, sensuality, art, colour, creativity, knowledge. In turn, I could see life as a clear slate from which to truly live and dream. It was a vessel that set me on a curious, free-spirited navigation of life. For this, I will always be thankful.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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This week, HMS Bounty's Captain was trying to sail around the worst Atlantic storm ever recorded. The ships engines were over powered and she took on too much water. The Captain called abandon ship, and they did. Two lives were lost, a great-great-great-great-great grand daughter of Fletcher Christian and the Captain, who was lost at sea. My heartfelt condolences to all.<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br />October 29/ 2012, HMS Bounty sank to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. </span>She was a beautiful piece of Hollywood magic. But, Hollywood and film sets are only illusions. Unfortunately, I never got to sail on the Bounty, and in someways, that is good. Better to leave her as a dream that helped open an awareness.<br />
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For all the great timbers and craftsmen of Lunenburg who built and sailed the Bounty, and to a distant relative named Charlie Hebb who made the original sails, I salute you.<br />
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My grandfather would be very sad.<br />
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Farewell Bounty.<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/107731791866146182839/20121101#5805972631775685458" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YrMZlOnYcz4/UJL1WOShK1I/AAAAAAAAAQ8/Lx32HWmbi7E/s640/Bounty1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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(photo - HMS Bounty website)<br />
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QUOTES:<br />
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"Dreams are like stars... you may never touch them, but if you follow them they will lead you to your destiny."<br />
- Lawrence Block<br />
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"I'm not afraid of storms, for I'm learning to sail my ship."<br />
- Aeschylus<br />
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"The ultimate value of life depends upon awareness and the power of contemplation rather than upon mere survival."<br />
- Aristotle<br />
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"Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering.<br />
- Saint Augustine<br />
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"The key to growth is the introduction of higher dimensions of consciousness into our awareness."<br />
- Lao Tzu</div>
Brian R. R. Hebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02499702583264988804noreply@blogger.com