Time has a way of...

...disappearing, it seems. One minute, the National Research Council Time Signal is beeping ten o'clock (Pacific time), the next thing I know, it's turning into afternoon.

Salvador Dali knew a thing or two about time and created so many pieces exploring its flexible nature. I felt pretty lucky to have heard about an exhibit of a few of his works -- in of all places, a mall.

The piece at the top is his interpretation of Alice in Wonderland. I love the freedom of its fluidy, dancing lines.

One kind of crazy thing I couldn't ignore was the accidental (I am sure) juxtaposition of Dali's dancing clock, and its placement just outside a shop with a clock in its name. Even their times were somewhat in sync. Something I think that Dali might have liked, might have at least winked an eye at.

The show is on at Oakridge Centre until October 1st -- better hurry, before time runs out.

Dynamite art

I'm not sure whether that's actually the name for it, though that's certainly what it is. When the side of a mountain gets turned into a sculpture, the only tool big enough is TNT.

When we arrived at the Crazy Horse monument, the fog was thick -- enough so that our vehicle (by this time we'd joined up with pals who had a car) -- was granted half-price admission and a note stating we could come back for free, provided we could do so within the next three days.

Hoping to wait out the weather, we visited the treasure-laden museum. Of the exhibits, the art that most fascinated me were works by Denise Lajimodiere. She's skilled at a technique called birchbark biting. It's a traditional method I'd never seen or heard of before. My only regret is not buying one of her pieces.

After we'd wandered through the museum, we entered the auditorium for a very informative DVD presentation, So, even though we still hadn't been able to glimpse the mountain, we felt reasonably satisfied with all that we'd learned. But then, when a hoop dancer's performance was about to start, we decided to stay a while longer.

When the dancer (and the children he'd invited to join in) was nearly finished, a beam of sunlight struck through, burning off the fog and revealing the magnificent representation of the warrior Crazy Horse.

So far, only his head is complete, but the plan for the sculpture is ambitious and will show him on his horse, pointing to his lands. There's a certain amount of irony in this monument as, by all accounts, Crazy Horse never permitted any photos of himself -- apparently owing to the belief that one's soul could be stolen by the camera.

The biggest stumbling block to completion of the monument is the fact that the project is funded only by private donations.

The sculptor who began the project, Korczak Ziolkowski, determined that no public monies would ever be used. While this may seem pig-headed, especially in light of a large amount having been offered by government (and turned down), it's an imperative that his descendants seem to be honouring.

So, when we went down the road (less than 20 miles) to Mount Rushmore, I have to admit that it seemed a bit of a letdown. Maybe because I'd already been up the noses of some of those presidents (thanks to Alfred Hitchcock's North by Northwest) or maybe because I'd just seen a similar sculpture that dwarfs the art on Rushmore, the place was less than I'd expected. And who knows, maybe it's just a lack of rah-rah US patriotism in me. That might well be what you need to be blown away by this particular example of dynamite art. But our next stop represents another kind of art -- one created strictly by nature.

A place for art

Just about everywhere I've looked the past few days has been a place where some kind of art is staring back at me. The painting, by Genevieve Pfeiffer, is a recent splurge. Some people fall for clothes or shoes or jewellery. With me, it's books and small pieces of art.


Friday was an opening at a gallery in Vancouver. Two of my closest pals compare notes on one of the photos in the show.


Saturday was supper (its own work of another-kind-of-art) at the home of an artist friend. The tour of his studio served as a second dessert. While in that very magical space, my friend and I talked about how interesting it always is to see what people hang on the walls in their homes.

What do you suppose the art in your home says about you? And really, isn't every place a place for art!