City of Light (part II)

You cannot even begin to scratch the surface of Paris over the course of two days, but as that was the only time we had, a double-decker bus tour gave us the Coles Notes version. My father also appreciated it as it meant less walking on cobblestones and other uneven surfaces that were causing him severe hip pain. Our first stop was Notre-Dame Cathedral. I'm not sure why I'm so drawn this to place but there's something about it that makes me feel at peace. Perhaps it's the way the light reflects prismatic through the stained glass windows. Perhaps it's the creepy gargoyles. A service was underway when we entered. All was quiet. Before our trip, I visited the Notre Dame website and submitted a prayer request for my father. Part of me knows this is ultimately meaningless but my non-skeptical self was willing to try anything if even the most minute exertion of positive energy could somehow make him better.  

After the walk-through, I took my father around back past lush pink cherry blossoms in full bloom to Pont de l'Archeveche, the most famous of Paris' many "love lock" bridges. Normally a rite of passage for couples young and old (of whom I question how many are still together), I instead wanted to use the opportunity to place two intertwined locks with mine and my father's name on it - a way to commemorate our adventure and leave a piece of ourselves forever in this great city: 

Some consider this vandalism, a blight on the city's architecture. I suppose it ultimately is. Defacement can be interesting though. Artistic even.  

Onward we visited the Conciergerie, once a former palace and then a revolution-era prison. It is known as the last residence of King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette before they were brought to the guillotine. It's interesting to me how France, in most instances, avoids mention of the darker aspects of its past; times that have changed the course of history and continue to influence social and political movements today. For example: how many people walking by it know the significance of Place de la Concorde? Or realize that the cobblestones they walk on here were once part of the Bastille? In contrast, England (their biggest rival) has made an economy out of morbid tourism. The London Dungeons even contain a ride, whizzing tourists past decaying fake corpses and plasticized vomit, all to "educate" people on the history of the Black Plague. The Conciergerie just contained replica prison cells, authentic personal items from Marie Antoinette's quarters, and a registry of everyone executed during the Revolution. I'm happy to report that no Clague was listed. 

Art, culture, history…Paris has all of these in spades. And her citizens know it. There is a pride of place here that is often mistaken for arrogance. People know they are on a world stage and don't squander the opportunity to take the lead. Naturally beautiful and alluring Parisian women dress as if on their way to a photoshoot with Vogue, confidently walking the streets like a runway even when wearing second-hand thrift items (such as one twenty-something I sat next to on a subway to Montmarte that had the most original, compelling style I have ever laid eyes on). And then there are French men...

I'm not sure if French men are naturally more amorous than others or if it's some deep-felt urge to conquer over something like Napoleon, but Paris is definitely the city for single ladies. You will get hit on every day. Oftentimes with lines that would merit a sharp slap across the face in North America: 

"Excuse me, do you have a cigarette?"

"No, I don't smoke."

"Where are you from?"

"Canada"

"May I make myself comfortable?" (points to adjacent empty seat in a room full of empty seats)

"I'm busy right now."

"I would still like to get comfortable."

In comparison, the last guy that asked me out in Saskatoon spent 20 minutes extolling the financial benefits of still living at home with his parents. And he didn't have a sexy accent. Clearly I need to move to France. 

Cherry blossoms in bloom outside Notre-Dame Cathedral

Interior of Notre-Dame Cathedral

One of the last portraits of Marie Antoinette, done during her stay at the Conciergerie. 

Original rug from inside Marie Antoinette's prison cell at the Conciergerie

Montmarte

Sacre Coeur

Second-hand shopping in Montmarte

Palais Garnier (Paris Opera House)

Traffic around the Arc du Triomphe

View of the Eiffel Tower from below

Help this man

Your Occasional Monty

Monty avec un béret: 

City of Light (PART I)

Our driver was waiting for us upon arrival at Charles de Gaulle. He was a jovial, rotund man displaying a hospitality that, at times, I've found is not as immediate in this part of the world. As he helped lift my suitcase into the trunk, I took a moment to soak in the adventure I was about to embark on - spending a month exploring Europe with my father, recently diagnosed with stage IV cancer. We had already seen a good portion of the world together and while I hoped that we would see more in the years to come, there was a bittersweetness to everything. As written about before, you can't escape the "white noise" of a loved one's cancer diagnosis; it is omnipresent at every moment in every situation, reminding you of the fleeting time you have on this planet and the importance of holding value to love above all. 

Seven hours previous, I was in my home and snow-blanketed native land which was experiencing one of the coldest winters on record. Now I was in Paris, France, sitting at an almost tropical by comparison 20 degrees celsius. Our driver expertly navigated traffic while singing along to Gloria Estefan's "Rhythm Is Gonna Get You" (his favourite song, I presumed, as it was on repeat during the hour-long ride). As we inched closer and closer to the Seine, I could barely contain my excitement pointing out every iconic bit of architecture to my dad. "There's Sacre Couer!", "There's the Opera House!", "There's the Eiffel Tower!!!". No matter how many times I see it, there's something about that last one that continues to hold me in awe. Perhaps because it symbolizes that I am in the world's greatest city, a source of inspiration and enlightenment for some of the greatest minds in history, and that I have every bit as much potential as those who were before me. 

Our hotel was located in Montparnesse, a neighbourhood known throughout history as a place where creative-types would congregate. I booked it, intrigued for this reason (Man Ray called Suite 37 his home at one time). I'm also a Left-Bank girl at heart. After dropping off our stuff in Room 57 - and eating my first purchase, an authentic French baguette - my father required rest so I ventured out alone to the Musee d'Orsay to see the Gustave Doré exhibit. I've become obsessed over the past while with the intricate illustrations for which he is known and was awestruck to see more of his original output, including sculpture and painting. It was also interesting to read about how vilified he was from critics back in the day, who felt his work was amateurish and lacked substance. I left rejuvenated, inspired…and overwhelmed. I now wanted to paint, sculpt and do intricate pen-and-ink drawings in addition to everything else I am filling my time with. It's hard to be a renaissance (wo)man without focus though. I know myself enough to know I won't change. Reading random shit on the internet with whatever spare time I have may not be fulfilling nor legacy building, but it is entertaining and lord knows I need the schadenfreude distraction. So much for that potential... 

I walked back to the hotel, getting purposely lost for a bit in the Latin District and then not so purposely by turning the wrong way down one of Paris' famous narrow, curved side streets. You'd think that the Eiffel Tower or some other high landmark is visible at all times but they are not. Paris' seduction is deeper. It wants you to stroll and admire less superficial things. 

On our balcony at the Lenox Montparnesse hotel in Paris. 

Musee d'Orsay, formerly a train station. 

Statuary outside the Musee D'Orsay in Paris

Narrow side street near the Latin Quarter in Paris

Political posters in Montparnesse

Street art in Montparnesse

Booyah!

Very proud to announce that my work has received two awards this month: 

The "Let Them Eat Cake" poster I designed received a Merit award in the 2015 Graphis Poster Annual. Graphis publishes the world's most significant and influential works in the areas of design, advertising and photography (since 1944). 

My colleagues, Tanya Turner, Tom Bartlett and I received a 2014 IABC Gold Quill Award of Excellence (Division 3: Category 33) for work on the 2014-2015 SIAST Student Recruitment Viewbook ("Go!"). This division of award honours marketing and communication elements that showcase technical skills such as editing, writing, design and multi-media production. 

Natural One

As a teenager, I would record songs off the radio onto cassette tape. Quality was always shite (especially if I couldn't manage to escape the commercials or the DJ's shrill voiceovers), however, it was more practical than throwing my allowance away on CDs every time an ear worm infested itself in me. The 90s were the era of the Macarena after all - although I'm proud to note that particular parasite never got to me. 

This song in particular was one I always coveted. They would only play it after 10:00 pm during DJ Brian Cook's more "indie"-friendly set on Winnipeg's 92 CITI, a rock station clearly aiming for the record of playing the most Guns-n-Roses tracks in a single day (still). It took quick action to capture it. After I did, it became my teenage soundtrack for awhile. Great beat. Hasn't aged.

I eventually bought the CD: 

What is a Polytechnic?: an infographic

Saskatchewan is now home to a polytechnic. To aid with educating the public on SIAST's evolution to this post-secondary model, I designed the following infographic that details the transition and benefits for various stakeholder groups: 

Darkness & Light no.1

I've been playing around with the concept of darkness and light in terms of art and design lately. Below is the first piece of a series that I've completed. I hoped to balance the beauty and desolation of life on the Canadian prairie. 

To order a copy of this 18"x24" print (titled "Darkness and Light no.1"), please contact me here.

Great commercial

If this doesn't tug at your heartstrings, you're heartless. 

Or worse: a cat person. 

129

It's been 129 days since my father broke the news. During this time, I've experienced the best of humanity and the downright most repugnant. The best of the best has been my next-door neighbour, adopted grandmother and Queen Mum-lookalike Annie. When I informed her about the situation, she told me she would add a prayer for my father to the phone-circle that she has with several of her friends. She's been doing this for 18 weeks now because she believes in the power of positive thought.

I believe she is an absolute angel.

You don't need to be of religious bent to be moved by this type of gesture. I'm not. But knowing that someone with nothing to gain cares about you provides its own reassurance of faith that the world isn't as despondent a place as it sometimes appears. 

As often happens in life though, the seedy side tries to eclipse the light. There can be no yin without the yang.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is another neighbour who heard the news through the surprisingly agile gossip community of this 51 unit building. A few days in and still processing everything, I encountered this individual in the hallway wherein they informed me that they used to work in an old age home and have witnessed this particular diagnosis numerous times before. "Your father is going to die a horrible, brutal death" they warned me. Repeatedly, I might add. Standing there dumbfounded at the incredible lack of tact, sensitivity and brains, I continued on my merry way vowing not to let the "words of wisdom" from this village idiot bother me. But it did. It became all I could think of. I obsessed. 

Then my father intimated an encounter he had. A phone call one night from a real estate agent that somehow also heard about his diagnosis and tried to coax him to sell the family home. "I can get you a nice condo which would be better for someone in your condition" they told him. My father didn't say it outright, but I could tell he was clearly hurt by this. His life, his legacy, whittled down in the moment to some asshole trying to score a commission. Seen as nothing more than a dead man walking. No hope. No future. 

---

My father had his first follow-up appointment last week to determine how successful the initial radiation treatments were. While he is still frequently fatigued and not 100% of his old self, he surprised everyone with the progress made. The cancer appears to be stabilized. He will have to return for check-ups every three months, but this is three months extra time that we didn't expect to have 129 days ago. 

God is in the details. 

Infographics: The Power of Visual Storytelling

If you are a designer who develops infographics, you need to read this. "Infographics: The Power of Visual Storytelling" is an extremely informative and inspiring design tome that covers all bases in regards to dissection and display of data. 

If you are a person requesting the design of an infographic, you need to read this. "Infographics: The Power of Visual Storytelling" includes easily understood terminology and planning/strategy guides that will aid in communication with your designer and decrease the amount of attitude and eye rolls they reciprocate for not fully understanding their process. 

To purchase "Infographics: The Power of Visual Storytelling", click here.