Dante’s Township, Quebec, Canada

I realize how important it is to start with a good image. I never have in mind what it will look like, it becomes what it looks like when buttons and levers…are pushed and drawn an the photo editing software.
There a quality of Dante that suddenly entered the image and it went from a Hand Sketched image of town ships in Quebec to this darker asscent to light…

Images are a way of communicating. They can be a form of codeing that becomes established between people. Like reading a fine novel, you know when you are reading a fine novel, and you sometimes begin to know other people who enjoy the same novels as you do.

Photo graphics, image and writing seem to meld easily. Some photos need no introduction, while other may have several layers of emotional feeling attached.

This one I call, Dante’s Township, photographyQuebec, Canada

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Post-Card from Canada

 

      Some Days are more saturated than others…some colors
are more satisfying than others, and it is disconcerting to learn
that colors have no existence of their own.
     Color is an interaction of light and mind.  The light illuminates
and the differences in illuminations are captured by the mind.  One
can not exist without the other.  An abstraction as an image pays less
attention to the form, and more attention to the interaction of light
with matter. I like my work to reflect my fascination with intensity, intensity
of emotion and intensity of light.
    There is power in color evidenced by the dreary gloom of a damp
cloudy day juxtaposed with a blue sky spotted with white clouds under
a brilliant sun.
    In Canada the winters are long and darkness
needs to be enflames with warm colors.  The Blues and the yellows
in this abstraction of a pipe organ reflect those extremities in a
sanctuary of peace, tranquility and Gregorian Chant.
A. L. Dussault
St. Benoit organ
The Title of this piece is, “St. Benoit of the Lake”. The original
photo was taken in a monastery where ancient Gregorian Chants
are sung five times a day by brothers who are otherwise silent,
obedient and dedicated to survival and the love of God.
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I Wonder as I Wander….Quebec, Canada

roo

roof-tops, quebec, ca

Ahhhh! but the beauty,
the provincial character,
the politeness that is part of everyday life,
the calm and the enchantment that the french have —
i wanted to live there, I wanted to be young— your age;
and have it to do again, not to do it over, but, to do again,
to be here and let the magic of consciousness
be my guide.

“yes,” i said “but quebec was so, so wonderful….”

pastel roofs against the slate-blue, grey, green river,
the snow that falls even as the sun shines,
the clumsy steps, each leading to a new wonder,
a new vista, a new thing of beauty to gaze upon,
a new star on which to hitch my wagon and let
myself be dragged through the consciousness of the universe.

“but,” i thought, “if i choose quebec there are many,
many wonders that I can not choose.”
“choosing you means not choosing all the other wonders,
the ones i have not yet dared to dream—
those sights and sounds and smells that i have yet to meet.

“will my dust be conscious of the green, green, grass of home?”
I paused and thought for a minute—Some secrets are
better kept forever unrevealed?”

I move closer to the glimpse that I had of you
loving me back the way quebec did.”
The blue bites at my unshaved beard freezing the whiskers up to my chin…the green, grass
mingles with salt and snow….
the white fades into a rising fog as I bundled up my neck
against the wind,
unable to keep my feet and hands from the wet chill of melting ice.

leaning against the rail, the ancient city below calmed my inner yearnings.
i was home for the one moment in all eternal time that counts, I was here.
I was here now.
i was here now together with you.

i can never be dissuaded from what i find as beauty.

North of the Laurentien Mountains

This multimedia abstract depicts a fantasy village north of the Laurentien Mts, in Quebec, Canada…the colors imply the temperature in the village. It is both Native American and French Canadian in tradition. The person in the photo is suspended between earth and air suggesting the Roman Catholic ideas of heaven and earth. 
This region of the world is populated with memories of stories told to me by my wise grandmother in post cards dating back to the late 1940’s and in the stories she told me when she would return from visiting this holy ground where she was born. 
The stories were surreal to a young american boy hearing them through an imagination. What I remember most was the letters written to her by her sisters who had remained in Canada after the potato famine in the late 1800’s had brought many Canadian immigrants to the textile mills of New England.

She was born in a small village named St. Prospere. Her sister Marie Louise still owned a farm and frequently she would lament the loss of chickens because a grizzly bear from the great woods would have emerged from forest and raid the chicken coop…Bears could be seen walking down the paths and roadways. They would try not to kill them but when they became too aggressive they had to be hunted and a posse of men with rifles would take to the streets and the forest in search for the last bear that had become too familiar with the houses in the village….

Many of my paintings reflect memories of what villages and what life might have looked like from the perspective of a boy hearing the stories. Memere would say, ” matante justine called last night, the snow was so deep they had to carve a tunnel from the front door to the wood shed. The snow was over her head and the bears broke into the chicken coop again.”

These are images and memories etched like fairy tales in my mind…they linger as an unconscious source of creative energy and some of my paintings seem to reflect these embedded visionsImage