Thursday night off and it's been a few months since I've been to the Nelson Museum.
Knock on the neighbour's door, invite her along. She's in, agrees, and pops back in to her place to grab a sweater and takes 15 minutes and emerges asking for a zip, fully dressed for a night on the town.
I admire this, she looked at my shirt, read the situation, and adapted Pronto. She's a fine wingman.
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The artist, David Garneau, I've never heard of him but a Metis Artist out of Saskatchewan, University of Regina, his work, very good. He's done well.
His paintings, competent, resembling things I've also conceived (in the 3D, not the 2D because I'd rather find things and assemble them then render them with a talent I don't possess), and so we've this in common. While I'm not thinking from the indigenous bent or the highly politicized (rightfully) injustices done to the First Nations and Metis, we seem to have come to similar juxtapositions of the natural, literary, contemporary worlds.
I enjoyed the exhibits, the quality of the paintings - painting these things is not my goal - but his - and his renderings are fine. The accompanying poetry, political statements, well...aptly chosen, and they inspired my date to infinite weeping, but I'm at an art gallery, not a library...
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The Wingman, she enjoyed it all, and I had to tear her away, she'd have stayed long past closing reading and crying at every article. She's an interesting one, this neighbour, she's grateful for every kindness shown, makes the effort, seems to understand, and yet - well, there's something else going on entirely in her head that I can't fathom. Other minds.
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Link: David Garneau on Wikipedia