Moving to this wonderful space in 2020 was a remarkable turn of events. In this moment, I’m aging, needing coffee, working hard, and planning for naps. In another, I’m eight years old, with my family at Expo ’67 in Montreal. My destiny was sparked by seeing giant, wild trees (that in memory move like a film), and somewhere along the line, someone showed me Emily’s painting, “Grey”, and in the two connections I heard the muse.
All of it coalescing to working in her house, one she designed herself with love, her shining vision tested her to breaking being a landlady. The house is similar in layout to my home as a child, and as layered with complexity. A cedar out the back window she knew in her time. A cupboard in the basement she might have used. A bit of garden, and just beyond, on land sold and houses built on, the ghost of her kiln, her pets, their graves… and a strong sense her free spirit moving around somewhere in between.
