In a moment of rarity and pleasure, you may have had the occasion of speaking with an artist over a glass of wine or cup of coffee in a small cafe. While watching the lights from the traffic outside illuminating the paths of raindrops on the restaurant window, lovers walking past unaware of the wonders that are spoken of just on the other side of the pane, the entire city seems oblivious to the lines which haunt and inspire the artist’s mind that sits before you. It is like stepping into another landscape to which you have never travelled before. In speaking with them, the lines of thought in your own mind suddenly seem truncated, the world seems bigger, and...
As the hours tick down to the Opening of our grand new home at the Rectory in Collingwood, we wanted to reflect a little on what we hope that the Rectory comes to mean to you, or at least to symbolize to you if you happen to live too far away to come to visit us in person. In a world where life seems to be lived more and morethrough the medium of the screen,So that that the very essence of our livesThreatens to become that of plastic... In a world where things seem to move a little faster every day...where, instead of hearing the little bell ringon the door of the Ole Book Shop on Charing Cross Road,where we...
One of the most difficult things in life is to find just the right thing to do or say when tragedy strikes. To be able to understand the moment, to be close enough to it to feel its impact, its consequences, its dilemmas, on the one hand, but to keep one’s perspective all the same so as to be able to be of genuine comfort and assistance, on the other. It is not an easy balance to strike, to be sure. When something happens to radically alter the world as we or a friend or loved one knows it, how to proceed, what to say, in the minutes and hours that follow in its wake are among the hardest things...
She walks alone among the fields, with her friend,Not even caring in the moment where she is, Or how she came to be there,Great grandmother’s daughter that she is.Living on this prairie harvest table,As if a solitary dot at the end of a sentence That declares its own infinity. Nor does she mind the wind,Her hair taken and tossed,Falling as it will on the shoulders of her denim shirt. Jeans on and dirty, sleeves rolled up, Never doubting there is always more to doBetween Home and Barn. She lights the candle on the windowsill and goes out into the rain,to watch the evening’s fall.Completely and utterly,As it is with her in love.Then, almost reluctantly, she turns inward to read Wordsworth...
Now any sport without the proper introduction or explanation may seem arbitrary and foolish — except for cricket, that seems pretty cut and dry. I myself love hockey, a bunch of concussed players on blades attempting to kill one another over a small rubber disk; baseball, which is essentially people standing around cultivating heatstroke whilst their limbs fall asleep due to a lack of movement; and squash, wherein you are literally hitting a rubber ball into the wall over and over in a plain white room. But each one of these sports is wonderfully fun, full of strategy, and undeniably captivating to the experienced player who has overcome the dreadful first appearance of the game. Now if you're reading this,...
