Fishing…

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© Joan Currie - Fishing

Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not the fish that they are after. – Henry David Thoreau

My father loved to fish! At least once a year he ventured into the wilds of Quebec in search of rainbow trout. He always came home with his limit and many a tall tale about the fish that got away.

Dad first taught his two daughters and son to fish in Georgian Bay, Ontario. We learned the finer points of bait selection, casting, and how to remove the hook by holding the fish firmly in one hand and carefully extracting the instrument of death with the other. Often we released the fish back into the water and then worried about the creatures swimming around with holes in their mouths – the fish equivalent of a cleft lip.

Father bought fishing rods for his grandchildren as soon as they could walk. I was amazed to see my three daughters reach for minnows to bait the hook, reel in the catch, and unhook with such confidence and more ease than I ever had.

Bonfire…

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© Joan Currie

Heat cannot be taken from fire, or beauty from the Eternal.
Dante

During the day few people stop to notice this bonfire, but at night it takes center stage for many types of gatherings. This weekend, the annual Burning Man event will take place in the Black Rock Desert, Nevada. The event notice prompted me to think about the bonfires of my youth.

My first exposure to bonfires was at a girls’ summer camp in northern Ontario, Canada. I remember the darkness of the night and being lulled into a dreamy state by the cinders dancing up and around in the hot flames – broken only by the occasional cracking sound, like that of a ringmaster’s whip. The counselors sang and played on their steel string guitars the melancholy tunes of Joni Mitchell, mostly from the Blue album. I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane was also a favorite that they played over and over again. Those sessions were pure magic and the lyrics of the songs are emblazoned in my memory forever.

Just as we are drawn to the bonfire, so are the beasts. There is a certain vulnerability when seated in a ring facing the fire with our backs exposed – an uneasiness about who or what is lurking in the shadows. Ghost storytellers know this and so did an older boy when, at a local bonfire pit, he delighted in recounting a gruesome tale about a green-eyed monster. To this day, the monster has a habit of rearing its ugly head when I am alone at night – walking along deserted streets, in the woods, or going down to the cellar. Sometimes the imagination fuels the fire even more…

Beauty & the Sea Beast…

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© Juan Zambrano

…the unexpected, the surprising, the astonishing, are essential to and characteristic of beauty. – Charles Baudelaire

There is a beauty in the grotesqueness of the octopus draped over the model’s skin – the mythological masculine form juxtaposed with the slimy, fetid mollusc. Both share a damp pallor.

Model – Oleg Galagan

Brunettes…

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© Karly Larson

It was only cool to have blond hair and be a surfer chick [in Sydney]. I could learn how to surf, but I still looked Italian. It took me a long time to realize that was a good thing. – Natalie Imbruglia

As a blond, I’ve always been fascinated by the sensuality and sultriness of the brunette stereotype. The ponytail shown above has a luxurious, almost sateen quality to it.

The image below of my brunette daughter and another blond model reminds me of the Grimm’s fairy tale of Snow White and Rose Red.

© Scott Taylor

Models – Lauren DiMarco and Taryn Christy

Sea and Sky…

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© Joan Currie

Don’t grow up too quickly, lest you forget how much you love the beach. – Michelle Held

I was captivated by the kiteboarders at Big Basin State Park – the speed, the colors, the raw energy! The closest I have come to this excitement is using a trapeze and spinnaker on an International 14 sailboat and waterskiing with a Delta Wing kite.

© Joan Currie

Tassels…

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© Joan Currie

Tassel (noun)

A tuft of loosely hanging threads or cords, bound at one end and hanging free at the other, used as an ornament on curtains or clothing.

The Laura Ashley Home Decorating books taught me how to make draperies. Using the company’s lovely cotton fabric, I sewed traditional lined curtains with valances and tie-backs, and softer Festoon blinds for my Boston home. The decor is much the same in my West Coast home, but my fabric choices now include brocade, silk, and velvet for a more luxurious look. In addition, tassels have replaced simple cotton tie-backs, and serve as inspirations for other decorative elements such as throws, pillows, and wall art.

Tutu and Tulle…

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© Joan Currie

Tutu (noun)
A short projecting skirt worn by a ballerina.

Tulle (noun)
A fine, often starched net of silk, rayon, or nylon, especially used for veils, tutus or gowns.

My parents took me to my first ballet – the National Ballet of Canada’s production of Swan Lake at the O’Keefe Center in Toronto. My love affair with the tutu began on that evening. I was drawn to the midnight black tutu of Odile more than the white tutus of Princess Odette and the corps de ballet –  Tchaikovsky’s powerful musical score may have influenced my preference.

The ballet classes of my youth were based on the Royal Academy of Dance’s rigorous curriculum and strict dress code – tutus were not worn in class. However, my daughters’ early ballet classes were quite whimsical in nature and, until the older girls started taking lessons at the Boston Ballet School, they were able to dance in pink, blue, and even purple tutus – some embellished with lines or starbursts of sequins in the many layers of tulle.

Homeward Bound…

© Joan Currie

Well, I’m going home, back to the place where I belong…

Chris Daughtry (song)

Just before sunset, north of Pyramid Lake on Interstate 5, I came upon a wildfire that had been burning for nearly four hours.

The ash in the air made for a beautiful sunset.

Photos by Joan Currie