Our Guest Blog this month is a photographic essay with text by Dee Lysak and photos by Wanda Kabel-Easton.
The still images are shared in black and white. They represent a mapping of cultural spaces – up and down the King’s Highway #71, in the Township of Sioux Narrows-Nestor Falls. Rural and remote communities and the people that reside there, alongside of their urban counterparts, are living through a once-in-a-lifetime global health pandemic. This photo essay explores the sad reality of so many spaces that are shuttered, indefinitely.
I sit empty. Vacant. Waiting. Wood beams, pine boards, asphalt shingles. The quiet surrounds me.
This summer – the woodland friends kept me company. The blue heron in the reeds on Caliper Lake. The blue jays. Nuthatches. Jackrabbits. The sounds are familiar, yet others are missing.
I am purpose built. I am an outdoor stage for the Moose n’ Fiddle Music Festival. I need musicians: singer-songwriters, guitar players, drummers. I miss the audience. Where has everyone gone?
Imagine. Tables and chairs. A painter’s workshop. Folk art. Tyler Boyle. Bridge & Falls Creative Residency. A potter. A writer. A playwright. A geologist. A reading. Artist talkback.
People entering. Take your seat. People. All walks of life. Indigenous. Non-Indigenous. Young and old. The lights dim. A live performance of AN ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF THE ANISHINAABE by Ian Ross. Performed by Ian Ross and James Durham. Laughter. Applause. Cold brew coffee. Pastries. Q+A. Conversation.
In the here and now, all alone. Waiting. Patiently. For the next act. For friends to come again. Enter. Exit.
Wood. Light. Air. Sun. Wind. Rain.
I am ON THE ROCK. I am the inspiration. Artist-centred. To work. To create. To take deep dives into artistic practices. Creative minds. Come and go. The window opens. The cool breeze rushes in. Poet’s linger. Laptops. iPhones. Pencils. Paper. Voices. Movement. Artists play.
I am ON THE ROCK. I am transformed. I am a satellite performance space. Playing now. 14 Chairs. Pop up performance. First set: Charlie Madden and Jake Blosser. The music echoes over the Canadian Shield. Sitting here at the head of a trail. In the deep, dark woods. Twilight is upon us. The moon rises.
When will we meet again? Soon, I hope.
Summer picnics. Let’s break bread together. BBQ, grills are fired up. Smokers: hickory, applewood, mesquite. In my mind’s eye. Coolers are everywhere. A buffet table. Red + white checkerboard cover. Side dishes. Cold salads. Condiments. Families. Aunts and Uncles. Grandma, grandpa, mom, dad, cousins. Friends.
On the lawn. Children play: hopscotch; red rover, red rover; duck, duck, goose. Minnow races. Dogs on and off leashes. Beach towels. Clouds roll in. Thunder and lighting. Rainbows. Campfires. S’mores. Sing-alongs. Ghost stories.
Art in the Park? Crafters. Displays. People roaming. Wifi on. Bags filled. Transaction approved.
Shelter in place? Am I now redundant? Do I still exist? Without living – breathing human beings, I am just a shell.
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