Ahoy! It's a small world

Question: “Where were you in the Solar System a month ago?”

Answer: “80 million kilometres, or 49 million miles from where you are right now.”

The elections here in Canada are history. Not all eligible citizens voted. Multitudes stayed away, not exercising their democratic rights. Maybe they had reasons for doing so?
All I can say is, as an artist, the results don’t bode well, considering what our government ‘thinks’ about the Arts. Already we’re placed into a begging status; funding has been cut and cut over the past few decades. (And even before the cuts, it wasn’t in good shape before the surgery). Enough said about this.

Recently the very last cruise ship of the Alaska season came and went. Many passengers take pre-packaged ‘shore excursions’, while others end up strolling around our neighbourhood of James Bay.
On my daily excursions, shopping for fresh groceries, I often meet a few passengers. That’s no surprise since the ships dock nearby at Ogden Point, 500 metres from where we live. What made a recent encounter very different was the fact that a woman came up to me while I was pushing the grocery cart along in the supermarket. She was with her husband.
“Mr. van Bentum, what a surprise! How good to see you. Remember us? My name’s Jennifer Trenholme and this is my husband, Paul. I was a student in your Small is Beautiful art class aboard the Queen Elizabeth 2 a few years’ ago, on the Xmas/New Year’s sailing.”

I didn’t recognized them since they were decked out in anoraks, quite different from attire aboard QE2. “Hello. Good to see you again. Natasha and I live here in James Bay”, I replied.
Jennifer went on, “Ah yes, now I recall your speaking in art class about Victoria. Well, what a small world. We’re sailing with the Celebrity ship which docked this morning. We’ve just come from Alaska and soon head back to England.

Paul and I also wanted to see for ourselves the impact global warming is having on the glaciers. By chance we came across this store, we’d like to get some genuine Canadian maple syrup. It’s a real treat in England to put on “pancakes”, as you call them.
This is a beautiful region; we’re going on a tour after lunch to visit the “Centre of the Universe” at the Observatory.
"Mr. van Bentum, I wanted to let you know how much I learned from you in the art classes; am still using those professional quality Watercolour Pencils you introduced in your ‘art afloat’ workshops.
Are you going to continue teaching o/b other ships now the venerable QE2 will soon be out of service?” I replied. “Yes, the new “Queen Victoria” is on our horizon.” “Oh good!”, she exclaimed. We’ll have to book whichever voyage you’re taking, that would be great.”
I told them Natasha and I don’t have a car, otherwise “we’d take you on a tour ourselves. But in the meantime, since your ship is docked close to our apartment, when you depart later this afternoon, look out for us. We’ll be waving a bright golden-yellow towel (“Deep Cadmium”!) from our balcony. You should be able to spot us from aft or port side of your ship. In the meantime, enjoy beautiful Victoria, and we may see you aboard “Queen Victoria”. Bon voyage! And safe journey home.”

Yes, it’s a small world after all. Our planet is getting smaller by the day, it seems, while we’re orbiting around the Sun at 29.85 kilometres per second (that’s 18.55 miles per second), zoooooooooming through space.

Light! Give us Light!

We had a blackout last night, a massive power failure over all of southern Vancouver Island."It was mayhem," said Victoria firefighter Patricia Core. "Every line was lit up and it was impossible to keep up. It was craziness. I've never seen it like that in here."

I say, “Be prepared for outside influences, then it won’t be a surprise”. Authorities still don’t know what caused it (not a squirrel this time); there were no serious injuries, but lots of people stuck in elevators.

And turkeys stuck in ovens; it happened exactly at dinner time, when most homes were cooking “Thanksgiving” dinners. Power was back on our neighbourhood after an hour, so we give Thanks to B.C. Hydro (ho-ho!) for fixing it so swiftly.

Within seconds, we were ready with flashlights, matches and emergency candles. Goes to show you how we can switch from Space Age to the Middle Ages.

 

All this reminded me of ancient wisdom from India:

“By what light do we see after the Sun has set?

By what light do we see when the Moon wanes?

By what light do we see when Stars are covered by clouds?

By what light do we see when the Fire is out?

By what light can we still do our work, function and live?

By our Inner Light.”

How fragile we are when fully dependent on progress and technical gadgets. Only when a sudden blackout occurs, does it ‘come home’.“Intelligent electricity” continues, only most of us are unaware of this.

A while back I talked about our dependency on electric power, at the kinetic art show in Paris, where I brought the exhibition to a standstill by simply pulling the plug.
You can only wonder how long it would take before we revert to pre-Industrial Revolution times, should a power outage be ‘permanent’. But of course - - - solar and wind energy, amongst other things, are the way to go.
***
Tomorrow is election day here in Canada. Our southern neighbours in the States will also have one soon, and see the ‘end of an error’, oops, I meant “era”. Speaking of which, Will Rogers, the ‘Roping Jester” said: "With Congress, every time they make a joke it's a law, and every time they make a law it's a joke". Happy Thanksgiving. Henri

What a Creative Person is Like

“What would you say a creative person is like?”“Is the cultivation of creativity lacking in our education system?” These are some of the questions that come my way. In answer to the first question about what a creative person is like, see my version below.

Education should give students an opportunity to make their own discoveries, and form their own expression. Art has the means to cultivate uniqueness in the child. The way has to be left open within the curriculum, to require knowledge beyond “Reading, Writing and Arithmetic”, with other means of expression, such as tackling one of the “Nine Muses”. Art = Serious Play and Playful Seriousness.

 

What is a Creative Person Like? by Henri van Bentum

THEY ARE EXTREMELY ALERT PERCEPTUALLY

Are observant of the world about them

Are aware of the feel and touch of things

Listen to the sound of life around them

Are sensitive to smell

Are aware of the taste of things

THEY LIKE TO ‘BUILD’ THEIR IDEAS

Like to construct things in material

Prefer to rearrange old ideas into new relationships

Like to experiment with various approaches and media

Like to try out new methods and techniques

Prefer to manipulate their ideas in various ways

Have to solve problems set by themselves

Seek to push beyond the boundaries of their thinking

THEY LIKE TO EXPLORE NEW IDEAS

Are original in their thoughts about things

Like to invent new ways of saying and telling

Like to dream up new possibilities

Like to imagine and pretend

THEY ARE CONFIDENT IN THEMSELVES

Flexible in approaches to situations

Like to be independent and on their own

Are outwardly expressive of what they have to say

Are not afraid of emotional feelings and show them

THEY LIKE TO INVESTIGATE THE NATURE OF THINGS

Like to search for the meaning of things

Question available data and information

Like to inquire into unknown quantities

Discover new relationships

Desire to uncover new meanings

THEY RESPOND TO AESTHETIC STIMULI

Are sensitive to the beauty of nature

Appreciate beauty man has made and

Which nature abundantly provides

Have feeling for harmony and rhythm

Love to sing, write, explore, cook,

act, sculpt, draw, paint or dance.

From Rough to Brilliant

On more than one occasion I’ve met with situations where the value of a commodity is known but the beauty it contains is not.

Over the years I’ve travelled aboard ships as Artist-in- Residence. My classes always begin with the foundation of colour studies. One of the passengers came to art class wearing a stunning diamond ring. The jewel must have been at least 2.5 karats. Upon mentioning the dazzling spectrum colours this gemstone reflected, she was absolutely flabbergasted: she had never before seen them! However, she certainly knew its value in the marketplace.

See what we mean? Speaking of colour, people often think right away of flowers. But, there’s also the rainbow - - -that mysterious phenomenon which displays how the mixing of primary and secondary colours creates a spectrum. When the ship cuts through the waves on a sunny day, at the crest you can see myriads of spectrum sparkles. Even closer, just squint and look through your eyelashes. Voila! more rainbows.This spectrum of course is also present in prisms and crystals.

Diamonds have a particular meaning for me, being the son of a diamond-faceter and grandson of a diamond-faceter and cleaver. Here is a picture of my father:

The craftsmen who create such brilliance from a raw gemstone are not “diamond cutters”. That’s a misnomer. It should be “diamond faceters”. The original “diamond cutters” were the cleavers.

Both my grandfathers, and my father (see photo) were diamond-faceters. However my maternal grandfather also practised the now-rare skill of diamond cleaving. How do you cleave a diamond? With steely nerves.

A rough diamond is enclosed in a piece of sealing wax, layered with shellac. Then it’s stuck on a “dob” (a wooden stick), which is fastened onto a clamp. Depending on the size of the rough diamond, and how many stones have to be cut from it, the cleaver marks the ‘veins’ (each diamond has a unique growth pattern) with pen and Chinese ink. This is followed by carving a small cut or ‘guide groove’ into the marked lines. To accomplish this, another diamond must be used (diamonds are the hardest gemstones).

Very carefully, and after sometimes weeks of contemplation, the master cleaver hits the wedge with a mallet. One mistake and the rough diamond splinters into a multitude of fragments – a disaster for all concerned!

So you can see why we say that diamond cleaving is a “rarely practised profession”. It demands a steady hand, patience, good eyesight and steely nerves - - besides of course skill and know-how. (And today, computers guide the sawing of the diamond.)

Next, comes the faceting. And there are numerous types of diamond shapes, the most popular being a “Brilliant” cut (shown here). If faceted correctly and of good quality, the gem will have the same dazzling effect as the diamond of my student aboard ship. In my boyhood, I often watched my grandfather at work. I would stand on a chair looking through a small window in the door (the little window was ostensibly for visitors, but really for the boss to keep an eye on things).

Under no circumstances was a diamond-cleaver to be disturbed. He would need all his privacy and solitude to contemplate his task. Patience, skill and a calm mind was required, in what was to me, a‘magical domain’. Few know the long voyage a diamond takes from ‘rough’ to ‘brilliant’, from discovery in the bowels of the Earth or riverbed, to final destination on finger, neck, ear or nowadays, a nose. Signing off, Henri

We're all Astronauts

We "speed and spin" so fast through Space, that all 'stays put', or so it seems.

Are we still finding time to look at these blog posts, what with the economy, and those elections on the horizon, not to speak of day-to-day Life . . .

We looked up the Mayan Calendar prediction our Mexican Troubadour was talking about on October 7. It’s all there on the Internet (where else?), showing the ancient Mayans predicted a catastrophic disaster will take place on our planet, December 21, 2012.

May we just point to the North and South Poles in the Arctic and Antarctica and how rapidly glaciers are melting. Interestingly, the word Arctic comes from Greek arktikos, meaning arktos ‘bear’, Ursa Major, North Star.’ And the word Antarctic comes also from the Greek, ανταρκτικός antarktikos meaning opposite of north. The prefix 'ante' means opposite. And, there are no polar bears in Ant-arctica!

You could say these two icy realms keep the planet “in balance” on its axis, so to speak, allowing us to enjoy our ride in space. Yes, and quite a ride it is. It’s hard to believe we’re travelling around the Sun at a mere 67,000 miles per hour (108,000 kph). And we’re whirling, spinning around our axis (at the Equator) at 1,040 mph/1,674 kph. And, in case you forgot, our “mean orbital velocity” is 29.78 kilometres per second.

So, going back to the Mayan Calendar predication, all it needs is a shift in any of these velocity phenomena, and Voila!, “There goes the neighbourhood”.

Has it happened before? They say it has, but I don’t know, I wasn’t there. Except perhaps as a mitochondrion, or diatom (sounds close to “van Bentum”), or one of those ancient deep-sea sponges.

So we should be thankful our planet Ocean/Earth planet permits us to come along for the ride. Have a memorable Thanksgiving, although I can hear the turkeys gobbling, “All we are saying, gobble-gobble, is give Life a chance!” Henri

Roses do have thorns

The longest time I lived in one place during the ‘60s was 579 Jarvis Street, Toronto, 1965-67, the old ‘Massey’ family mansion which had been converted into apartments; I was assistant manager. Furniture was sparse but solid. The canvas “Living Tapestry’ (see post of October 4) was painted there, along with many other works, all painted in the kitchen which had a square table (and of course the essential tap water on hand).

My first solo exhibition at Roberts Gallery in 1965 was a success:“sold out”. Then in 1966 I received First Prize at the OSA show. On top of all that, there was the solo exhibition in Paris, May 1966 (more on this in a later post).

Meanwhile my thinking, inspiration and intuition were spiralling upwards, and changes in my work were noticeable since that 1965 exhibition at Roberts Gallery. Abstract or non-objective art (and Surrealism) allows you to give imagination free reign, within the discipline required from skill, in turn learned from experience.

Roberts Gallery was conservative with mostly “Group of Seven” or post-Group of Seven artists. There I was, an abstract artist. The dealer was so pleased with the success of the ’65 show, he offered me another solo exhibition to take place in February 1967. (For a novice, this was quite a coup.)

In preparation, I worked from first daylight to dusk, for nearly two years. (I always work in daylight, which allows you to judge and see colour at its best.) My paintings were becoming simpler, almost minimalist, but required complete awareness in order to prevent the ‘blank’ areas of the canvas from being splattered. Freedom and awareness was required in unison. It was vital for these blank or ‘void’ areas to remain pristine for my composition and imagery to maintain its strength.

For me, it was exciting and uplifting - - - through the joy of free creative exploration - - - to realize you can travel to far-away galaxies, enter microscopic realms, coral reefs, or go to Antarctica --- without actually having to ‘be there’. Virtual reality, forty years ahead of its time! Not only “the sky is the limit”, but the whole universe.

Back to Jarvis Street, one painting after another was born on that kitchen table (or depending on the size, on the floor). Since they were all done with acrylic, and mixed with water, I had to keep my canvas perfectly flat. Otherwise, the paint would drip and run downwards.

And then came the exhibition: here you can see some paintings at Roberts Gallery, done forty-two years ago. Notice their space-like quality, or what I call “micro-macro” nature. Keep in mind these were created long before NASA images of space we’re so familiar with today. (We were still two years from landing on the moon.) But - - - this major exhibition of ‘67, with forty-two works, was not the success of the 1965 show.

Understandably, clients came back expecting to see more of the same kind of paintings from two years earlier. Instead, they were faced with an evolutionary change. Of the 42 paintings, three were sold. Robert Gallery kept another three. This was Toronto in February, cold and snow. The landlord was not amused that his ‘manager’ was the creator of all those ‘strange and weird looking things’.

The ‘blow’ at the end of the show, of having to take all those paintings back from the Gallery, was intense. Plus, the landlord gave me notice. I am sad to say, that reluctantly, I took 32 of these paintings, and burned them in the fireplace.

Not because they didn’t sell, but because I absolutely did not know what to do with them. Also, because of the blank areas of the canvas which could easily be damaged. So I took it into my own hands to determine their destiny.

After this trauma, the shock of burning my own work, awoke me to the need of preventing suffering like this from ever happening again. I removed myself from the art scene and it would be another 5 years before a return to painting. Five years of introspection, worldwide travel, exploration and healing which in turn, set the stage for further evolution in my work.

The Mexican Troubadour

One of the last ships of the Alaska season was here the other day. Soon all will be quiet, at least until April when it starts all over again. While sitting on a bench at the sea walk watching the world go by on a grey Autumn day, I heard someone singing. There was a fellow seated at the next bench over. Some passengers from the ship, along with some curious locals and dog-walkers, gathered around him.

I walked over. He was greying at the temples, playing a guitar and singing Mexican songs. All alone, no ‘hat’ to collect coins. When one of the onlookers tossed him a coin, he suddenly stopped, put down the guitar, as if his dignity was offended, and quietly lit up a cigarette.

Slowly the curious crowd dispersed, leaving just the two of us. “Usted de Mexico?” I asked. “Si, amigo”, he replied, pleased to speak his language. “I work in the galley”, pointing to the docked cruise ship. I told him I’d been on lots of sea voyages and also lived in Mexico. When he told me he was born in the Yucatan (Merida), I mentioned I’d been to Chichen Itza & Uxmal, back in 1969, to visit and study the great Mayan temples.

He put the guitar on his lap to make room for me to join him on the bench. “I am half-Mayan”, he said. “Have you heard of the Mayan Calendar?” was his unexpected question. “Yes, I have”. He then asked, “Did you know my wise ancestors predicted in their calendar that, at the end of the year 2012, a catastrophic disaster will take place to our planet?”

I replied, “I hope not, but the way we’re treating our Earth and our biosphere, we’re certainly heading in that direction”. The fellow added, “That’s why I work on ships, to see the world while it’s still possible. I sing and play guitar (‘mucho problemas’ with security and the guitar), not for the public, but for me. It makes me ‘feliz’, happy”.

I invited him over for a coffee at our place located just across the road. ‘Muchas gracias, amigo, but I must get back to the ship. I only have a short time for my break, and need to go back, for more problems with my guitar and securidad. Adios!”, he smiled. In turn I wished him “Adios”.

He then slung the guitar over his shoulder. Although there was a lead-grey sky, I could hear him whistling the jaunty tune, “Cielito Lindo”. No sooner had he gone out of sight when I remembered a question I’d meant to ask about the venerable Mayan ‘liquer’ which bears our name: Bentum. 

Ah, well, maybe next time?

Two autumns, one for he who departs, one for me who stays.