Objects For Conjuring

Both playful and serious, themes of the imagination, memory and the natural world are explored.
We invite you to engage, conjuring personal thoughts and meanings.

Willa Downing — Rearranged Landscape With Wayward Clouds

During the recent catastrophic floods, as inundated rivers washed away mountainsides and redirected river flow, a flood victim living in Interior BC commented that the water has suddenly rearranged the landscape. The familiar has become strange.

: Rearranged Landscape With Wayward Clouds 3

: Rearranged Landscape With Wayward Clouds 1

: Rearranged Landscape With Wayward Clouds 2

: Rearranged Landscape With Wayward Clouds 4

Lesley Garratt — Forest Pendulum

It speaks to the idea of a timepiece as an indicator of the health of a forest.

Forest Pendulum
With its vigilant stance and steadfast gaze,
It hangs in the balance of the forest ways,
It speaks of the present and rhythms to come,
The voice of the forest pendulum

tree bark, cones, mushrooms, lichen, raw wool, sticks, paint, wire, plastic mesh, lampshade frames

Cora Li-Leger

Marking the Earth – a South Surrey subdivision

But they say we cannot own land,
As the land owns us.
The map is not the territory.

Needlework

A tribute to my mother Grace Lai Tong,
Who passed away in 2016:
Mysteries I may never know
Of her early life in China.
Her patient meticulous needlework
A constant in my childhood,
Continues to inform and inspire my practice.

Memory of My Mother

: Marking the Earth – a South Surrey subdivision

: Needlework

: Memory of My Mother

Turkish fold map, acrylic on paper

thread, pins, Coulter Pine needles

deconstructed book + mixed media

Claire Moore

To conjure associations, hybridities, and hope, I have relied on heavily redacted sections of “Locksley Hall” by Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1835:

“Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range,
Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
……
Mother-Age (for mine I knew not) help me as when life begun:
Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the Sun.
O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set.
Ancient founts of inspiration well thro’ all my fancy yet
……
Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath and holt,
Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt.”

: Lichen, charcoal on vellum

: Grooves of Change

: Grooves of Change, detail

: Rift the Hills and Roll the Waters

: Rift the Hills and Roll the Waters, detail