June is a launchpad for dreams of all shapes. They ride on sound waves of wedding bells, school bells, ice cream truck jingles rounding the corner and the ubiquitous applause for making the grade and moving on.
Read more »Monday 24 June 2013
Thursday 20 June 2013
A last peek at spring
Posted on 21:01 by rajrani
Summer officially arrives Friday but I need to pause and celebrate the spring that was. It looked for awhile like a series of Unfortunate Events ( burglary, sewage back up, basement storm flood) but I am toasting instead the bright spots that blot out the rest.
Check back here tomorrow for a proud moment but for today, here is the glory that was Spring 2013.
You only have one prom so announce it loud and proud! |
Vintage gold on my kid and the rain stopped just in time for our talented photographer, Caileigh Kyle, to snap these shots!
My first season as a rowing mom and I got to witness a gold medal race from my novice! |
I can pretend for a moment I have an English garden-if only in a pot at my front door! |
So happy to find crocuses pop on walks to offset the wine and wisdom from my women of book club at our annual Lake Simcoe getaway weekend! These tulips seduced us with their promise of colour to come and set the tone for the season ahead.
BRING ON SUMMER!
Wednesday 19 June 2013
In the garden with Joni
Posted on 19:56 by rajrani
I was at Woodstock last night, hands clasped, mouthing the words.
We are stardust.
We are golden
caught in the devil's bargain
And we've got to get ourselves
It was a moment but, if anything the decades have taught this writer, it is the moments that we seize upon and squeeze until gasping and spent. I was just out of diapers and unaware of any cultural touchstones but last night, I was there, at Woodstock, for a moment.
It was the Woodstock conjured and penned by Joni Mitchell, here in Toronto at Massey Hall for two nights of tributes at the annual Luminato Festival. Mitchell herself wasn't at Woodstock either but her song, sung last night with help from a collection of eclectic musicians including Rufus Wainwright, Glen Hansard and Kathleen Edwards, is surely the 1969 festival's defining hymn. There on the Massey Hall centre stage, following an evening of diverse interpretations of her vast songbook, stood the near 70 year old artist, taking us all down the road to that famed farm field, holding us captive, for a brilliant moment, in her hands.
It was those hands, at one point diving into her pocket to pull out a cigarette-Mitchell has smoked since she was nine years old-, that mesmerized me, twitching in time, strutting invisible chords, swaying and spreading over keys as someone else played in this band of hand picked musical monster talent that made lush arrangements soar. Mitchell appeared delighted to be back on stage after a ten year absence and the disciples in the sold out house cheered and roared as if she'd never left.
Of course, she's never left my household, my car, my record player, my tape cassette, my CD player, my iPod, my head.
Joni is my oldest friend, my go to medicine woman and last night, she remained a voice of truth and wonder.
Her voice has the hallmark cadences of her youth, if not the high registers, and she channelled her own long musical history as she told us she wasn't sure she could sing but she thought she should try. Here were no coy showbiz shenanigans. Could this really be unfolding in front of me? In our PhotoShop Age of Branding, was it possible to see this rare bird take flight, unencumbered by industry, creating magic there on stage ? Yes, we had heard all the others do Joni, now it was time for Joni to be Joni as she became, through a poetic recitation, Emily Carr in relentless rain in the B.C woods, or the "almost feminist" as she quipped , before singing"since I was seventeen, I've had no one over me" from "Don't Interrupt the Sorrow".
No one over her. Not even close. This is the new 70. I can't wait to see what comes next.
Well maybe it is just the time of year,
Or maybe it's the time of man.
I don't know who I am,
But you know life is for learning.
back to the garden.
It was a moment but, if anything the decades have taught this writer, it is the moments that we seize upon and squeeze until gasping and spent. I was just out of diapers and unaware of any cultural touchstones but last night, I was there, at Woodstock, for a moment.
It was the Woodstock conjured and penned by Joni Mitchell, here in Toronto at Massey Hall for two nights of tributes at the annual Luminato Festival. Mitchell herself wasn't at Woodstock either but her song, sung last night with help from a collection of eclectic musicians including Rufus Wainwright, Glen Hansard and Kathleen Edwards, is surely the 1969 festival's defining hymn. There on the Massey Hall centre stage, following an evening of diverse interpretations of her vast songbook, stood the near 70 year old artist, taking us all down the road to that famed farm field, holding us captive, for a brilliant moment, in her hands.
It was those hands, at one point diving into her pocket to pull out a cigarette-Mitchell has smoked since she was nine years old-, that mesmerized me, twitching in time, strutting invisible chords, swaying and spreading over keys as someone else played in this band of hand picked musical monster talent that made lush arrangements soar. Mitchell appeared delighted to be back on stage after a ten year absence and the disciples in the sold out house cheered and roared as if she'd never left.
Of course, she's never left my household, my car, my record player, my tape cassette, my CD player, my iPod, my head.
Joni is my oldest friend, my go to medicine woman and last night, she remained a voice of truth and wonder.
Her voice has the hallmark cadences of her youth, if not the high registers, and she channelled her own long musical history as she told us she wasn't sure she could sing but she thought she should try. Here were no coy showbiz shenanigans. Could this really be unfolding in front of me? In our PhotoShop Age of Branding, was it possible to see this rare bird take flight, unencumbered by industry, creating magic there on stage ? Yes, we had heard all the others do Joni, now it was time for Joni to be Joni as she became, through a poetic recitation, Emily Carr in relentless rain in the B.C woods, or the "almost feminist" as she quipped , before singing"since I was seventeen, I've had no one over me" from "Don't Interrupt the Sorrow".
No one over her. Not even close. This is the new 70. I can't wait to see what comes next.
Well maybe it is just the time of year,
Or maybe it's the time of man.
I don't know who I am,
But you know life is for learning.
Friday 7 June 2013
24 hours with an alluring stranger and a trilogy later...
Posted on 10:12 by rajrani
Wet and damp days are hardly the prescription for summer moods to set in but a great love affair will lend some heat anytime, anywhere.
Read more »
A Very Weird And Rare Princess Story?
Posted on 05:48 by rajrani
Imagine, when you are hungry for a funny princess story, suddenly you find yourself in a luxurious bed room belonging to an aristocrat in a mansion. This man is not like those killed in French revolution, but a sort of skinny dude whose eyes look gloomy.
He is busy and doesn't care about seeing you there look like crying for help as you get confused how come, while you are in a meeting and there's no funny princess story in your mind, you landed there. You might look up at the ceiling just try to figure out where you have been before. But to your amazement there's something more fancy there to stop you from wondering why.
A red curtain covering a huge gate is drawn open slowly and there's a silhouette on a screen and a slide: It's funny princess story, a title is being shown. While this might sound silly, but you asked for it, that's why your fancy threw you away to this mansion. Now there's nothing more comfortable than watching it.
So here is the funny princess story goes: Once upon a time, an aristocrat landed in a luxurious bed room in mansion. This man was not like those killed in French revolution, but just look like you--a sort of skinny dude whose eyes look gloomy. And amazing, there appeared a man who looked just like you too, busy and didn't care seeing him there like crying for help as he got confused how come all this come into being.
Both of you and your shadow start to get away from this hallucination during a meeting lead by a pretty stake holder, but keep wondering while yawning; is it really a funny princess story?
He is busy and doesn't care about seeing you there look like crying for help as you get confused how come, while you are in a meeting and there's no funny princess story in your mind, you landed there. You might look up at the ceiling just try to figure out where you have been before. But to your amazement there's something more fancy there to stop you from wondering why.
A red curtain covering a huge gate is drawn open slowly and there's a silhouette on a screen and a slide: It's funny princess story, a title is being shown. While this might sound silly, but you asked for it, that's why your fancy threw you away to this mansion. Now there's nothing more comfortable than watching it.
So here is the funny princess story goes: Once upon a time, an aristocrat landed in a luxurious bed room in mansion. This man was not like those killed in French revolution, but just look like you--a sort of skinny dude whose eyes look gloomy. And amazing, there appeared a man who looked just like you too, busy and didn't care seeing him there like crying for help as he got confused how come all this come into being.
Both of you and your shadow start to get away from this hallucination during a meeting lead by a pretty stake holder, but keep wondering while yawning; is it really a funny princess story?
Wednesday 5 June 2013
Taste is for phonies
Posted on 10:08 by rajrani
We sang Happy Birthday to Billy last month.
To the rest of the world he is William Shakespeare, but you could forgive Stratford Artistic Director Antoni Cimolino for using a nickname in his welcome to a crowd of enthusiasts recently gathered at Toronto's Koerner Hall.
Billy the Bard was like family to this group.
We were there for the Shakespeare Slam, the launch of the Stratford Forum, a hodge podge of debates, screenings, concerts and discussions that the festival hopes will bring in new audiences.
Getting things started was a debate: Was Shakespeare a pop artist?
Both participants emphasized labels of pop and classic are forever shifting and overlapping and in doing so, losing value. Musician and cultural commentator Torquil Campbell suggested Shakespeare was the king of the pop hook, that essential grab-the-audience moment that connects them forever to the material.
New Yorker staff writer Adam Gopnik agreed, adding Shakespeare remains demanding, a quality all great classical artists share. For some, the very mention of ART is alienating and yet, Gopnik argued, it's OK to stand in front of a painting or in a dark theatre and not get it, to be challenged. Getting teachers who can connect the dots for contemporary audiences of Shakespeare would help and yes, most English teachers don't have a clue.
Filmmaker Josh Whedon isn't fussed about labels. His adaptation of the original rom com, Much Ado about Nothing, opens next week in Toronto, and from the lengthy cheers I heard at the TIFF screening last fall, there's little issue with connection. Whedon shot the film in his own house using a familiar cadre of actors who have been gathering in his home over the years to perform Billy the Bard's plays... for kicks. Yes, the man who brought us Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Avengers, told the L.A Times, it's Shakespeare's hip qualities he loves."That’s why I love it. Because it’s still so relevant. Actually, I would say that’s exactly half of it. I love it because it’s so modern, because there’s still so much to learn and say and think through in the text, and every time you see a good production, or do a reading, or really read through it, you find something you didn’t see before. Every now and then, I’ll just memorize a little bit from something just to sort of feel it out, just to sort of live it for a little while. And then I’ll forget it, but it’s amazing how much you learn just from that one little exercise. On the one hand, yeah, it’s so accessible, and on the other hand, there is a remove. There is musicality in the language that is largely lost."
And that's precisely how the film feels-a hip and loose lark that celebrates the original text but is very much of the moment.
After I saw the film, I wanted to go back to my 10 year old self and the days of backyard theatre, where my pals and I did homemade fairy tales for tolerant neighbours on garden benches. Whedon makes art for everybody but especially for my kids and their peers who are struggling through June exams, thinking "just why am I studying this again?"
Here is your answer. It's also a gold star on the essay "How I spent my vacation". Whedon shot the film, in between projects, over 12 days. Summer's around the corner. What will you do?
Have a peek.
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