vol. seven, :
planet of the arts p21 _ seven, issue no. two

4 . ap f. a . i
Rg ane, Plies 4 “ toe te ie 7 porvy : Py a

3

ry

wef tIIT STIVA Fru” na row ti vey ere

te gid
*

~~
ea. e
) Atlantic; blue and always rs 4
: \
4 moving, unlike the pas-
ig sive, gray-green Pacific of -
= ~e adulthood. :
‘ ; < Woods; |
nooks and crannies |
sought out to arrange and
display my collection of
treasures.
Lying on a barren hill q
behind a small, insufficient dl
bush; al
trying to protect my doll “
from the cold, ever-present |
Atlantic wind. ~
Playing ‘refugee’. ;
I was always trying to f
make it safe for my doll. é

I would collect dishes and
nicknacks that adults did
not want and I would
arrange them in my shel-

ters in the woods. ea
I spent the six most important years of my life in a fishing village on the East Coast

bec

— ee
— neg Agi cn fo) tty hain te;

ie

fe

oe

oe my ole & pol Cobh

of Sage fe :

Louisbourg, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia). :
Nort valleaboat those years much except to say that when I was 14 I moved from a town of 1400 people to a high school in Ontario of 1400 stu-

dents.

f

Fog lingers on the coast. : e
a long trip for a child; up and down a narrow, hilly, dirt road, until just when you're about to give in to car sickness, the blue sky and coast break

through, telling you your feet will soon dash through sand and surf. You only have to drive inland for 20 minutes to find the sun of
summer.

ree I A OPP

hey

photos and text Leah F. Georgia
pea ee ee eee
Ve Gked aps Aadeghe Fizz srce y Mae i tne FC i ef!
Sometimes, not as often as I wanted, we would go to Kennington Cove;
The Atlantic is heavy with salt and stings your eyes as you try to catch the small creatures swimming about.

I’ve always had the memory that they were turtles.
Can that be true?

I swam in the North Atlantic in May. Now I swim in heated pools.
I swim up and down a perfunctory number of lengths when I used to body surf til I was faint with the blue of my

skin.
I believe I took pictures then, when I was 12 and 13.
My first photos.
I can’t recall the camera or
taking film to be made into el fue fe may He
Op WI mef Lerrsyoty 2m9 9 pictures, but I do remember : :

‘ ee

holding the images in my
hand.

I would attempt to recon-
cile the image in my hand
with what I could look out
and see with my eyes and
my skin.

I would wonder.

My skin often said different
things from what my eyes
were told to see.

I don’t know what has
happened to those photos.

ft Licdok

My attempt to capture that
elusive ‘something’ has
stayed with me. I have
made coliections and their
display (altars) all my life. |
did not realise the root of
that work until this exer-
cise.

Childhood was a battlefield
I survived; the scars aching
only on rainy days. | am
comforted in that place
where my childhood
nightmare still lives. You
see, it wasn’t all bad. I still
build altars and I still take
photos.*

3
Pa

tad tab

ae ed

planet of the arts p21.

=) soe

ca,
Atlantic; blue and always
‘moving, unlike the pas-
sive, gray-green Pacific of
adulthood.

Woods;

nooks and crannies !
sought out to arrange and
display my collection of
treasures.

Lying on a barren hill
behind a small, insufficient
bush;

trying to protect my doll
from the cold, ever-present
‘Atlantic wind.

Playing ‘refugee’

I was always trying to
make it safe for my doll

I would collect dishes and
nicknacks that adults did
not want and I would
arrange them in my shel-
ay etek ade ters in the woods.

I spent the six most important years of my life in a fishing village on the East Coast

safe fe

(Louisbourg, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia).
Tort tall about those years much except to say that when I was 14 1 moved from a town of 1400 people to a high school in Ontario of 1400 stu-
dents.

Fog lingers on the coast.
along trip for a child; up and down a narrow, hilly, dirc road, until just when you're about to give in to car sickness, the blue sky and coast break

through, telling you your feet will soon dash through sand and surf. You only have to drive inland for 20 minutes to find the sun of
summer.

, NK < { — 7

MY CHILDHOOD LANDSCAPE |

~~ photos and text Leah F. Georgia
Due CMhvags had Lhe pre+rron

‘Sometimes, not as often as | wanted, we would go to Kennington Cove;

ae

boner feertle

Licy. He

‘The Atlantic is heavy with sale and stings your eyes as you try to catch the small creatures swimming about.
Ive always had the memory that they were turtles.
Can that be true?

I swam in the North Atlantic in May. Now I swim in heated pools.

{swim up and down a perfunctory numberof lengths when | used to body suri was ine with the blue of my
skin.

I believe I took pictures then, when I was 12 and 13.
My first photos.

I can't recall the camera or
taking film to be made into
pictures, but I do remember
holding the images in my
hand.

would attempt to recon-
cile the image in my hand
with what I could look out
and see with my eyes and
my skin

I would wonder.

My skin often said different
things from what my eyes
were told to see.

I don’t know what has
happened to those photos.

My atcempe to capture that
elusive ‘something’ has
stayed with me, Ihave
made collections and their
display (altars) all my life. 1
did not realise the root of
that work until this exer-
Childhood was a battlefield
1 survived; the scars aching,
: only on rainy days. Iam
Yo Caw ficlenen frm oe comforted in that place
‘where my childhood.
nightmare still lives. You
see, it wasn't all bad. 1 still
build altars and I still take
photos.*