Thelma and Louise* Take Paris

Deborah Clague June 11, 2019

Day three was momentus for a few reasons, most notably for the arrival of one of my best friends who would be joining me in the City of Light. It would be her first time in Europe, but not the first time we’ve travelled together - she was my partner-in-crime during previous excursions to San Francisco, Chicago and Dubai. Despite enjoying all of those places, I set the expectations high for Paris and promised, né GUARANTEED, that this city would would surpass those experiences and positively change her life. After all, Paris IS life. When we met up though, I realized I had my work cut out for me.

“This is not Toronto. The people—the men—here are very rude.”

Granted, the metro system was a clusterfuck because of the fire at Notre-Dame the evening prior. And granted, my friend had just flown in from Canada with little sleep and was now lugging a heavy suitcase through cobblestone streets and crowded sidewalks. But negatively comparing the greatest city in the world to a place I don’t even consider one of the greatest cities in Canada (fight me) was so beyond comprehension that I felt I greatly misjudged Paris’ power as universal tonic.

We slowly made our way to the next place I was checking into, an apartment in Paris’ famed 7th arrondissement. I booked this location for two reasons: it was in close proximity to nearly everything, Les Invalides was literally around the corner and the Eiffel Tower was a 10 minute walk away, and, more importantly, it would be safe. The latter is something I research thoroughly before traveling because the world is not the same for men and women and I often travel alone. An easy target. I’ve been followed. I’ve been harassed. I wanted to limit any possibility of this for us both and just live, as should be our right.

There was another, more superficial, factoid though that I knew my fashion-loving friend might be impressed with.

“Karl Lagerfeld lived in this area.”

“Really?!!” Her eyes widened. My friend’s number one goal of this trip was to visit the Chanel boutique.

Over the next ten days, the magic of the city would eventually do what I promised it would.

Prior to obtaining the keys to the apartment, we sat down for lunch at a traditional Parisian café. I ordered a green smoothie and a cheeseburger—yes, please judge, but do realize that a honey and goat cheese burger I ate in France a few years ago was one of the best I’ve ever had. My order this time came to 35 Euros and was, admittedly, pretty mediocre. At the time I paid no heed and just enjoyed the moment as my friend and I played a guessing game on whether the well-dressed characters walking by were secretly spies but I later nearly had a heart attack when I realized the currency conversion would make the meal over fifty dollars (Canadian). It would be my only splurge on dining at a restaurant. For the remainder of the ten days, I would cook my own fresh meals (wine included) at a much, much reduced cost.

I would, however, indulge without limit or guilt at Paris’ many amazing bakeries.

After lunch, we checked in and my friend hit the couch and immediately fell asleep. Her adventure would begin the next day. I spent some time marvelling at the apartment before heading out for another walk. The fifth floor unit was bigger than I imagined it would be with a small kitchen, bathroom with laundry, bedroom and living area (with couch that pulled out to a bed). It had great light and air flow and I couldn’t help but imagine what my life would be like living there and actually becoming a Parisian. My father would always tell me that life would be the same as it is here; that life is what you make of it and I would get as bored in Paris as I do in Saskatchewan. It’s not about location, it’s about motivation. Yada yada. I get this. It’s still nice to dream though. It’s also good to set goals in life. If I can’t live in Paris, then I want to spend as much time as possible there.

On one of our first days together, we visited the Louvre. It would be my first time walking its galleries. My first impression was that it is truly massive; one could spend an entire week perusing it and not see everything. We visited in the early evening, which made the line-ups slightly less intimidating but still present. Most of the wait had to do with security measures. Once in, we immediately went to the Denon Wing to see the most famous painting in history - the Mona Lisa. The artwork, which, as everyone says, is much smaller than you imagine, is located in its own massive room with barren walls, the only focus of which is her mysterious smile. At one point I got within maybe twenty feet but I gave up on getting closer. A more interesting observation, to me at least, was standing in the back of the room and watching people clamour to take pictures and selfies to prove that they were there.

The ceiling work in the Louvre, but especially the Denon Wing, was unbelievable. I wished I could lie on my back on the floor and spend some time staring up at it but instead I left with neck strain. Parts of it felt so heavy that I thought it might crumble onto the patrons below. But it was hundreds of years old and would probably be there for hundreds more. The artistry and craftsmanship impressed me as much as anything hanging on the walls.

My absolute favourite part of the Louvre was the opulent Napoléon III Apartments. Entering this area, in the decorative arts-focused Richelieu Wing, was like stepping back in time. I imagined the ghosts of Parisians, who once sat in the exact chairs laid before me, drinking from gold-plated goblets and conversing about life during the Third Revolution. I’d honestly never even heard of this part of the Louvre before … and considering there were few tourists walking about, I don’t think I’m the only one. It was the perfect cap to the evening before heading back to our apartment and enjoying some bordeaux of our own.

*Abbi and Ilana may be more accurate.

My rental apartment in the 7th arrondissement of Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

One of the reasons I wanted to return to Paris was to continue learning to cook while using local ingredients. The kitchen in my rental apartment was well-used for this (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

After going to a local restaurant and spending 35 Euros on a cheeseburger and green smoothie, I decided to stick to making my own meals. All of the ingredients here—which two people ate from for almost a week—also cost 35 Euros, Paris (©Deborah Clag… — After going to a local restaurant and spending 35 Euros on a cheeseburger and green smoothie, I decided to stick to making my own meals. All of the ingredients here—which two people ate from for almost a week—also cost 35 Euros, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

French herbs from Provence (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

My next indulgence: my friend and I split these two pastries, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Visiting the Louvre, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The ceiling detail in the Louvre is not to be missed, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

This is as close as I got to the iconic Mona Lisa by Leonardo Di Vinci, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The Mona Lisa is located in a large room that contains no other pieces of art, Paris (©Deborah Clague).

Entrance near the Egyptian wing of the Louvre, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

In the Greek antiquities wing, Louvre, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The Venus di Milo, Louvre, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The Louvre, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Napoleon III Rooms at The Louvre, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

This is the street view I got to enjoy every day (and night) as my rental apartment was located here, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

April 15

Deborah Clague June 1, 2019

I awoke from what I thought was an hour long nap cursing because it was actually three. I would have slept even longer were it not for the near-constant sirens I heard outside. These are always part of the background noise in Paris. One becomes accustomed to them and their distinct tone. However, on this early evening, Monday, April 15, 2019, it felt escalated. From the bottom living quarters of my boat, I couldn’t see much save a few skateboarders near the dock looking and pointing eastward. It piqued my curiosity. After ascending to the upper level of my boat, I saw it all — a giant plume of smoke filled the air from the direction of Ile de la Cité.

My immediate thought was that a terrorist attack may have occurred. The central island houses the law courts for Paris, in addition to being a major tourist hub because of Notre-Dame Cathedral. I streamed my live line of vision on social media and almost immediately a stranger informed me that the world-renowned church was on fire. I grabbed my keys and joined the thousands of Parisians taking to the streets to observe and pray that it could be saved.

Construction on the Cathedral began over eight-hundred years ago in 1160 and was completed in 1260. It is known for being the finest example of French Gothic architecture in the world, with its iconic stained-glass windows frequently listed as an artistic zenith of human skill and spirit. Over twelve million people per year visit Notre-Dame, making it the most visited site in Paris (exceeding even the Eiffel Tower). Beyond being a bucket-list item to see though, it remains a place of worship in this dominantly Catholic country and is dearly beloved by Parisians as part of their history, part of their being.

Police barricades prevented the growing crowds from getting anywhere near the fire, but with its scale I could clearly see that it was major. The entire roof was engulfed in flames scaling upwards to the clouds and helicopters circling overhead. Some observers stood in shocked silence, others openly wept. Some sang choral hymns. I was acutely aware that this was something I would never forget for the rest of my life, a moment that would be recorded by history. I tried to take everything in: the multi-lingual conversation of strangers in shared shock, the changing hue of the sky as the sun started to set, the smell (and taste) of smoke. After observing for a few hours, I returned to my boat to try and sleep. I was a bit restless with worry as I didn’t know what the extent of damage would be … or even if Notre-Dame would survive the night.

The next day, framed with a sombre overcast sky, I returned to the scene. The crowds were even larger, now met with world media turning their cameras and headlines to what remained of the structure. From the exterior, damage was clearly visible (and extensive) to the back-end and roofing which was all but destroyed. But I feel there was enough of a skeleton still standing that a full reconstruction could be achieved (this would later be confirmed and priced at $5 billion, with $1 billion being donated by France’s elite within the first twenty-four hours of the fire leading to increased fury from the Yellow Vest Movement protesters).

One of the most memorable scenes I encountered took place as I walked the perimeter of Ile de la Cité. A crowd broke out in applause as several firefighters exited the area of Notre-Dame Cathedral making their way for much needed rest. Their task over and a new one about to begin.

View of Notre-Dame Cathedral fire from Passerelle Léopold-Sédar-Senghor, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The Day After:

World media descends upon Notre-Dame Cathedral the day after the fire (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Meeting my fan club at Bois des Vincennes, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Playing With Pongo

Deborah Clague May 23, 2019

With clothing scattered across my bed and a sudden, uncharacteristic interest in fashion, my partner watched as I packed my suitcase prior to this trip.

“You are dressing to attract a French boyfriend.” he joked.

“You don’t understand,” I replied.

And he didn’t. People in Europe—France in particular—do not dress like they do in North America. Our casual, relaxed style doesn’t cut it on the streets of Paris (in fact, I’m pretty sure wearing sweatpants in public can get one arrested there). I needed to curate clothing for this trip because I didn’t want to stand out as a tourist. I needed to take the time to accessorize and (ugh!) bring make-up because I wanted to blend in with my surroundings. I don’t do any of this back home because fuck the patriarchy but for some reason I felt compelled to here. When in Paris, you need to bring your A-game.

My A-game required gold and more gold.

On the second day of my trip though, I relaxed this policy a bit because I knew I would get dirty.

For on the second day of my trip, I realized the life I was born to live - being a professional dog walker.

I was to meet my “tour guide”, Juliette, at Bois does Vincennes, a large park on the periphery of the City of Light known historically for being a royal hunting preserve but currently infamous as a haven for prostitution. I’d heard of this prior to visiting and immediately recognized the vans and motorhomes lining the roadways of the park as the mobile brothels where (mostly) African sex workers ply their trade, which is legal in France.

It was mid-morning and at our proposed meeting spot I observed other (more wholesome) activity, mostly joggers and other walkers enjoying a leisurely stroll with their off-leash pets. One man and his dog, a large mixed breed, reminded me of the symbiotic relationship between my late father and dog Reggie. At first all I heard was an older man yelling in a manner that indicated he was greatly annoyed but not angry. At something. I had no idea who he was talking to—or what he was even saying as it went beyond my own fluency—and then, bounding out of the bush, came the dog enjoying himself way too much to go home. The master would just have to adjust his schedule to accommodate these shenanigans. Classic Reg. I always love when vignettes of past events, scenes of a previous life, come back as sweet memory.

After a short wait, Juliette arrived and I saw what was in store for the day. I would be walking, or rather herding, nine dogs of various breed, size and energy level through the lush forests of this park. Most seemed well-behaved and chill but one pooch, a young yellow lab named Pongo, seemed to require extra attention. He wasn’t neutered and at the stage where his playfulness had crossed into a desire to exert dominance over all the other dogs. This didn’t always end well for him.

I asked Juliette about the highest number of dogs she’s walked. “Twenty-three”, she replied. I couldn’t imagine. That went beyond a pack to being an army of dogs. Of the nine we were walking, one dog in particular seemed to take a liking to me. A flat-coated retriever shadowed me for nearly the entire walk, occasionally bringing me gifts in the form of a stick with me offering thanks in the form of head and belly rubs. I have since forgotten his name - he didn’t require the obedience that Pongo needed - but he was a very good boy. 14/10.

This experience was one of the highlights of my trip and I wish I would have had more time to explore Bois des Vincennes as it really is a peaceful respite from the crowds in the city proper. Juliette was amazing. The dogs were a riot. Jet lag was starting to hit though, and after a few hours of dog-walking I had to make my way back to the houseboat for a much needed nap.

After I picked up a traditional baguette and eclair of course.

I had no idea that within a few hours I would bear witness to history.

To follow the adventures of Juliette and her army of dogs, follow @dogsdehors on Instagram.

Being a professional dog walker at Bois des Vincennes, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The naughty (but nice) Pongo, at left (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Of course I bought a baguette! Eating authentic French bread again was one of the top reasons I wanted to return to Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The first indulgence during my trip - a morello cherry eclair from La Maison du Chocolat. Absolutely delicious (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

A Famous Hat

Deborah Clague May 17, 2019

Who was Napoleon Bonaparte?

Was he history’s greatest military strategist, laying the foundation for France to become a twentieth century (and beyond) world superpower of social, political and economic might?

Or was he the physical manifestation of ambition and ego in its most pungent form, a tyrant who discarded treaty and initiated concurrent conflict resulting in the immeasurable loss of life and culture through plundering and war?

The answer, of course, depends on who you ask. In France, Napoleon is revered. His monogram, visage and legend on display all around Paris, perhaps never more boldly than at Les Invalides his final resting place. You can’t escape the structure. It’s dome—covered in 14kg of gold leaf—is as much an icon of the city’s skyline as the Eiffel Tower (which is just a short walk away). I hadn’t visited this site before and thus made it my first stop, on my first day.

His many achievements outside of military conquest include creation of a Civil Code, the Council of State, the Bank of France, a national audit office, a centralized administrative system, standardized eduction for all, the metric system, and freedom of religion—all of which laid the foundations for change across Europe and eventually the world … but my first introduction to Napoleon was through Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, one of my favourite movies as a kid. It’s only over the past decade, one in which I’ve studied the French Revolution and its aftermath with great interest, that I’ve become intrigued by his person and historical significance.

The first part of Les Invalides that I visited was his tomb. This seemed to be the most popular area of the national monument, which also includes the Musee de l’Armée (the military museum). Everyone seemed in awe as they walked in near silence through the structure, admiring its sky-scraping pillars, ceiling murals, and general grandeur. It was the resting place of a king (as I’m sure he wanted)! The crypt gave an equally impressive view with twelve angelic Victory statues surrounding Napoleon’s sarcophagus, each representing a successful military campaign. I was captivated by the marble work on these figures. Their solemn faces eerily lifelike and haunting.

Afterwards, I visited part of the Musee de l’Armée. I regret not exploring the entire museum as it was quite fascinating but jet lag had started to settle in and I was looking forward to being rocked to sleep on my houseboat by the waves of passing watercraft. I did chance upon two items though that gave me pause: 1) actual clothing worn by Napoleon Bonaparte (he was as tiny as the rumours suggest); and, 2) his famous bicorne hat, weathered with time and the weight of myth.

So what is my opinion of Napoleon? In this age where we question the past through the lens of the present, it might not be socially acceptable to admit but I think Napoleon was one of the most fascinating, complex figures in history. An outsider of little persuasion who rose through the ranks to become one of the most influential beings the world has ever known is quite the life lived. Of his time, he was without peer.

He was described by one historian as “the most competent man who ever lived” and very well might have been.

Napoleon’s Tomb at Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Cannons line the courtyard at the Musee de ‘Armée , Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Napoleon’s Tomb, Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Ornamental floor, Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Each statue surrounding Napoleon’s tomb represents one of his victorious military campaigns, Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Napoleon’s final resting place, Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Statue of Napoleon in his coronation clothing, Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Room of artillery models and figurines, Musee de l’Armée, Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Napoleon’s clothing worn during the Battle of Marengo (1800), Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

One of the most iconic hats in history, the actual one Napoleon wore during the Battle of Eylau (1807), Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Napoleon’s insignia included an eagle with outspread wings (represented here from a bronze gilt from the First Squadron of the Regiment of Mounted Grenadiers of the Imperial Guard) and the saddle used on Napoleon’s horse during his coronation, Les I… — Napoleon’s insignia included an eagle with outspread wings (represented here from a bronze gilt from the First Squadron of the Regiment of Mounted Grenadiers of the Imperial Guard) and the saddle used on Napoleon’s horse during his coronation, Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Napoleon’s campaign clothing and furniture, including the cot where he slept, Les Invalides (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Terroir

Deborah Clague May 8, 2019

The main reason I yearned to return to France was to appreciate—and learn from—their culinary prowess. In my opinion, the country has the best cuisine in the world, meticulously presented and flavoured to perfection. Now that I have been learning how to properly cook, I wanted to test my evolved palette further and explore flavour pairings I might not be exposed to on the Canadian prairies. I also wanted to see the difference terroir made; how the land, nourished by a different sun, soil, rainfall and hand, influenced the taste of common ingredients compared to my end of the world. On several occasions prior to the trip, I asked my friend and travel companion to not judge me on how excited I was to try the local garlic (spoiler alert: I was really excited!).

But cooking was to follow in the days to come. Upon arrival on April 14, I needed to make my way to a houseboat I rented.

After a bumpy flight landing in which I genuinely thought I’d be exiting the craft via an inflatable slide, I made my way to central Paris via the RER train exiting at the station near my favourite site in Paris, Notre-Dame Cathedral. Notre-Dame is the most visited attraction in Paris, moreso even than the Eiffel Tower. It is a place of living history, site of both Joan of Arc’s beautification and Napoleon’s crowning as emperor amongst other prestigious events. It was also the start of holy week in Paris, a time in which the church would be extra busy. The lines outside of it certainly indicated increased activity. After marvelling at it’s familiar exterior, I took the first selfie of my trip standing in front of it. A full visit was planned later in the week:

First selfie of trip in front of Notre-Dame Cathedral on Sunday, April 14 (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The Paris Marathon was happening as I made my way towards the houseboat parked near the Louvre on the River Seine. Notre-Dame to this location was roughly a thirty-minute walk (lugging a suitcase) through some of the most scenic parts of Paris. I was surprisingly energetic; after most long-distance trips, I crash in my hotel room for the remainder of the day catching up on sleep. It always feels wasteful, even though the body desperately needs it. But not this time. Paris brings me to life. I almost don’t want to sleep at all when I visit, for fear of missing out on some of the splendour. There is no comparable place in the world.

Arriving at the boat, the Bateau Johanna de Paris, my host warmly greeted me and invited me for coffee. With brief introductions, we realized we had a lot in common; she was a British national of Indian descent married to an Englishman, while I was an English/French Canadian mutt coupled with a man from Kerala. Despite the shrinking nature of the world, it is certainly not common and conversation flowed to the challenges of this particular type of interracial courtship. “You will never understand the societal influence,” she seemed to warn, although I already understood. “It takes a strong individual to counter it.” I felt my rebellious instigator of a partner would have appreciated this. His bold nature, and desire for experience and exploration in contrast to firm (and seemingly unnegotiable) cultural boundaries, seemed to mirror hers.

Our well-rounded discussion also fell upon the ongoing Yellow Vest Movement protests that have taken place since the fall of 2018. With the goal of pressuring government to implement economic reform measures to improve the standard of living for all, the mass demonstrations have (so far) resulted in the death of twelve citizens and historical sites, like the Arc du Triomphe, being vandalized. Not fully comprehending the situation, I didn’t really have an opinion other than historical sites should remain off-limits for preservations sake. My host didn’t agree. “The only way to get their message across is through disruption. The past is the past; these people need help today.”

I love bold people.

The French spirit for revolution lives on.

Guide in hand, ready to take on the City of Light (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The Bateau Johanna de Paris, my first home base in Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Sitting room in lower deck of Bateau Johanna de Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

My bedroom in the Bateau de Johanna de Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

View of the River Seine from my bed on the Bateau de Johanna de Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

View from the lower deck sitting area on the Bateau de Johanna de Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Second bedroom on the Bateau de Johanna de Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Upper deck sitting area on the Bateau de Johanna de Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

All aboard the Bateau Johanna de Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

After Life

Deborah Clague May 1, 2019

On Saturday night, I can normally be found on my couch, in my velvet pyjama bottoms and faded Gudetama t-shirt, using my partner’s chest as a makeshift pillow as we watch nature documentaries on Netflix. The cocoon of our living room offering the solace craved by two introverts after a hectic week. A recent switch in our predictability though—at my unknowing behest—brought this splendour state to a sudden halt as I was confronted with memories that I’ve tried to keep at bay.

It was a simple change. Watching a new program listed in my recommendations list that was written, directed and starring one of my favourite comedians, Ricky Gervais. I assumed it was a comedy, and, at times, it is but ‘After Life’ is moreso an unflinching, uncomfortable, honest portrayal of grief and how it leaves those left behind to grapple uncharted emotions after losing a loved one. As we watched it on this particular Saturday night, I tried my hardest to hide the tears streaming down my face. To somehow cloak how relatable what I saw on screen was to my own reality. My partner knows … but I’ve always felt that until loss this deep happens to one personally, you don’t really understand. His parents are alive and healthy. It’s been five years since my father and best friend passed away in a matter of months after an unexpected terminal cancer diagnosis. And it’s been five years since my mother was hurled into a state of loneliness and depression that I, as an only child, have made my main duty in life to offset. It’s been a lot to shoulder and I feel the weight of it every day.

A scene in episode three really hit a nerve. In it, the main character reflects upon memories of the wife he lost while at one of their favourite places, the beach. The contrast between the love and laughter of the past with the sorrow and sadness of the present was incredibly well-acted. It made me ponder how I would feel, how I might viscerally react, during an upcoming trip to a place my father and I shared so many beautiful memories including our last adventure together just two months before he passed.

For in one week, I would be flying to Paris. It is a place forever intertwined with my own life story. A city that has provided inspiration, enchantment and hope (in addition to maternal family lineage).

I had no idea what this chapter would bring.

But I knew his ghost would be present.

Intertwined locks for both my father and I placed on Pont de l’Archevêché, near Notre-Dame Cathedral visible in background, in 2014 (©Deborah Clague).

France Gallery Updated

Deborah Clague April 26, 2019

The France Gallery has been updated with pictures of my most recent trip. Check it out in full here.

Notre-Dame Cathedral fire, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The 7th Arrondissement, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The Louvre at dusk, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Yellow Vest Movement vandalism on the Champs Elysées, Paris (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

David Blackwood

Deborah Clague April 10, 2019

I wandered an art gallery on a recent lazy Sunday afternoon, taking in a somewhat underwhelming feature on work that claimed to define the Eighties, when I chanced upon a small, almost hidden, exhibit located in a side room that showcased Canadian artist David Blackwood. Upon entering the space, I became completely enthralled by his art—the style, the intricacy of his line work, the restrained, yet impactful, use of colour, and the haunting visual narrative he shared of his home province of Newfoundland. It was spellbinding. I am absolutely in love with his craft.

I’ve never visited the Maritimes but feel I’ve gotten a glimpse into this magical world and am left truly inspired. Check out selections from David’s body of work below:

Wesleyville: Seabird Hunters Returning Home, David Blackwood (1991)

Great Mummer Unveiled, David Blackwood (2002)

Three Mummers on Winsor's Point, David Blackwood (1979)

Vigil on Braggs Island, David Blackwood (1973)

Loss of the Flora, David Blackwood (1993)

❤️

Deborah Clague April 8, 2019

Canadiana: St. Norbert

Deborah Clague March 23, 2019

I grew up in St. Norbert, a community on the southernmost edge of Winnipeg. It offered the best of both worlds for my formative years - adjacency to a multi-cultural city known for punching above weight in regards to artistic output and a landscape that invited exploration with its fields, forests and historical ruins. My imagination was constantly stimulated and inspired.

Some of my most vivid memories involve exploring this land with a faithful companion and in my three dog life, a ninety pound lab-cross named Reggie often played this role. Taking him out was never a ten minute jaunt but rather a multi-hour journey in which I patiently waited as he chased wild hares, marked every tree, and even stood ground against coyote while I nervously tried to coax him to retreat in the opposite direction. This time spent in nature on the periphery of society gave me deep appreciation for nature, wildlife and our need to conserve it.

The next piece in my Canadiana Collection pays homage to St. Norbert, as well as the magical places (and creatures) I encountered while living there.

Prints and other merchandise available at society6.com/oblada.