I toured Canada’s jazz festivals in support of the first album in the summer of 2005 and the response was tremendous. I still recall the first time I played the Montreal International Jazz Festival with the crowd going nuts over each song. Or the first time I went to Japan and discovered huge posters for the record in Tokyo’s biggest stores. For a girl who wasn’t expecting any of this, to see my face on the cover of national and local papers, to be selling out venues on my first run and hearing my music on the radio was absolutely mind-blowing!
In many ways, however, I wasn’t ready. My voice was not prepared to handle an intense touring schedule. Because all of the gigs were high stakes, I pushed myself to the limit to deliver the goods night after night. That’s when the muscle-tension patterns I had struggled with for several years became entrenched thereafter.
I went on to record my sophomore album, Make Someone Happy (MSH), at the end of 2006. It was a tremendous growth experience. I was a lot more confident and assertive and felt like I had a lot of emotional energy and some experience to bring to the project.
Steve MacKinnon, my wonderful producer, agreed. The personal and emotional record resonated with people, even though when I listen to MSH now, I’m struck by how green I sound, but perhaps that was the appeal. The song “Being Green” touched upon my struggle with and acceptance of, my “otherness.” “Undun” dealt with my turbulent inner world and the title track was all about my relationship with my then boyfriend, now husband, Casey.
The album really connected with fans and critics, but when it won the Juno for best vocal jazz album in 2008, I was completely overwhelmed. All I could think about was how far I’d come from Ufa, Russia, my home until my family moved to Israel when I was seven years old.
All along, I continued touring. The audiences got bigger and the venues more prestigious. In December 2008, I was back in the studio to record my third album, Take Love Easy. Every minute felt like magic. I would get home from the studio at 2 a.m., feeling elated. I had never been more confident and creative, or sounded better. A few days after we finished recording, Casey proposed. Life couldn’t have been better.
Then, in early 2009, I lost my voice. Years of touring, improper technique and stress caught up to me and localized in the most important, most defining place in my body: My voice box. I was devastated! I went for weeks without speaking, refused to go out and had to reschedule important shows. It was a very dark chapter of my life.
Months later, I began playing again, but my mood was still pretty dark. Take Love Easy, which I was so proud of, failed to live up to expectations because I couldn’t tour or promote it. I was still living in fear of vocal distress.
I took some time off in 2010, had foot surgery and went back to school to finish my commerce degree, which had been on hold. By early 2011, I was ready to go back to music. I was hesitant, but I knew I had to jolt myself back into life!
I finished my last exam in April 2011 and was in New York, singing, by May. I had been in vocal training for four months and all the hard work had paid off. Going in, I knew I wanted to make a lush, romantic album, more interesting in texture than my previous records. The song selection reflects that as well, with In the Moonlight leaning more heavily towards ballads and mid-tempo material. I was able to record songs I’ve always wanted to, such as “Till There Was You” and “No More Blues,” as well as songs that were newer to me, such as Feist’s “So Sorry,” and Gainsbourg’s “Ces Petits Riens”—I relish any opportunity to sing in French. Everything came together so beautifully, I couldn’t believe it. I was back! The traumatic voice loss had a much weaker hold on me. I had a renewed sense of my place in music.
In April 2012, I returned to Russia to play my first public show in one of Moscow’s legendary theatres, a mere stone’s throw away from the Kremlin. It was an incredible experience to stand on that stage in front of 1,100 people, singing in English, French and my native Russian with my own band. It was also the first time my grandparents, aunts and uncles had an opportunity to see me perform. It was emotional beyond words and the only time I have ever cried onstage. Miraculously, the waterworks only came at the encore.
I felt like I had come full circle: There I was, in the country where I was born, playing music I love, with and for the people I love, including my Canadian husband, Casey, who flew there with me. My past, future and present collided in a thrilling musical moment.
May 2013, however, brought me the greatest gift of all: My first baby, Jacob Miles, and I adore motherhood. As amazing as it is to sing for fans, nothing compares to seeing my child’s face transform with an enormous smile at the sound of my voice. From the moment we brought Jacob home, we’ve been playing fantastic music for him and he really responds. I guess love for quality music is part of his makeup.
It seems as though spring is when the best things in my life take place. A few shorts days after I gave birth, Canada’s True North label put out a “Best of” collection of my work called Her Very Best… So Far.
I’m in a great place and the future couldn’t be more exciting. I’ve spent years touring the world with the best bunch of guys in the business and now I have an incredible family to ground me. I am and always will be a singer, but I am also a wife and, incredibly, a mother. There’s a lot to sing about. I just love my life.
—by Sophie Milman, Toronto, Ontario
Saving Shoebox Memories
Taking old photos trapped in dusty albums and bringing them to contemporary light
I began my art career by accident. It started when my mom provided me with my first sewing lesson, around the age of ten, and I have been exploring how to create with needle and thread ever since. I also have to credit my father with introducing me to vintage photographs. He was an amateur photographer and, one day, I was presented with this small, cloth-covered box. Hidden inside were these amazing vintage negatives, circa 1920.
This small gift started my obsession with exploring the concept of what I call “sustainable memory.” When you consider how a snapshot has many details and stories to tell, and how the photographic medium has changed so drastically in our current digital age, the preservation of memories through a tangible object has become less important than the story that is embedded in that object.
Stored away in albums, shoeboxes and scrapbooks, I have close to 100 years of family photographs. I have been tasked with being the family “Keeper of the Archives,” and this responsibility has turned into an obsession to expose the trapped memories in these pictures and incorporate them into a contemporary art piece.
Primarily self-taught, I have attended classes at New Brunswick Arts and Crafts College, George Brown College and the Stratford Festival of the Arts. I have continued to study throughout my life, including working on an art degree at the University of Guelph.
Over the years, I have tried my hand at several artistic mediums, including sculpture, painting and printmaking; I even run printmaking workshops. I am always lured back to fibre, however, and so the stitch often appears in my mixed-media work.
My hybrid art begins with scanning an old photo or its negative into my computer. I then play with software, like Photoshop, to manipulate the photo into something a little more contemporary than the original image. The image is then printed on specially treated cotton fabric, using archival inks. Finally, I apply by hand my freestyle straight stitch to add texture and colour.
My imagery challenges people to enter my debate as to what is more important to salvage—the emotional memory or the physical memory. Our memories are fragile and precious and if we don’t constantly and lovingly revive them, they soon become forgotten in an old shoebox. I’ve had great discussions with people, especially friends, about digital photography and how those photos never go anywhere beyond the camera chip; we debate the purpose of taking a photo, if not to form some physical memory of when it was taken.
I also occasionally challenge myself with installation projects where I encourage people to get up close and persona
l with—and add to—my perception of sentimentality. At a high school and later at a local library, I displayed my “Take a Memory—Leave a Memory” project. Photographs from my personal collection were displayed on a French bulletin board, a visual tool that facilitates the sharing of creative ideas. Visitors were asked to select a photo that triggered a personal memory of their own and write a letter to me describing the memory. In turn they could keep the photo printed in the size of a trading card. I was thrilled to receive almost 200 letters from the two installations.
I want viewers to know that art is both friendly and accessible; it can result in an amazing experience for all involved, from artist to gallery-goer. They are encouraged to fill in the blanks with nostalgia, emotions and memories of their own.
—by Mary Kroetsch, Guelph, Ontario
Woven in History
Barn quilts celebrate the stories of our creative and hard-working ancestors
As I biked through southern Ontario one day, a brilliant green emblem with geometrical patterns on a barn in the distance caught my eye. I wondered what the design signified—a family emblem, or a creative artist displaying his or her genius for all to enjoy? A few more kilometres down the road, I noticed another mysterious large panel of colour on the side of a church. It had a large acorn in the centre surrounded by orange and red leaves framed by a black diamond shape.
By the time I reached the hamlet of Sparta, I’d seen three more outsized geometric-design billboards. When I came upon yet another, I had to stop and take a photo of the blue, yellow and white block patterned board outside the Winter Wheat Folk Art laneway. With my curiosity piqued, I discovered that this is one of many unique, historical “barn quilts” and one of Elgin County’s original 20 designed to celebrate southwestern Ontario’s storied past.
Two four-foot-by-eight-foot plywood sheets make up one giant quilt block, each of which unfolds stories of communities, events in history and the region’s families. Part of an initiative started in 2011 by the EON (Elgin, Oxford, Norfolk) Museum Association to increase tourism, barn quilts now cover the Sand Plains Region, encompassing five counties—Elgin, Oxford, Norfolk, Middlesex and Brant. There are more than 100 quilt locations along these roads devoted to preserving, recounting and drawing attention to our rich rural heritage.
The Elgin County Barn Trail starts in West Elgin with “Peace Star,” located on the sixth-generation Ford farm. This quilt represents the story of Thomas Ford from Edinburgh, his family tartan colours and how the United States government forced him to fight against his countrymen during the War of 1812.
Travelling eastward along the trail through hamlets, historic settlements and townships offers more of these heritage-designated landmarks. One of my favourite designs is the intricate “Irish Star” on the barn at the Backus–Page House in Dutton/Dunwich. The house was built in 1850, but each point on the star represents one of the four founding families, who arrived in 1809.
“Bike Wheel,” in Malahide, epitomizes the depth and influence southern Ontario had on life in Canada. Perry Doolittle built the area’s first bicycle in Elgin County around 1860 with the help of a local blacksmith. He was a decorated racer and Trans-Canada road system advocate who also invented a widely used bicycle braking system and helped found the Canadian Automobile Association.
While following this Barn Quilt Trail, I ended up at the Sparta Church Museum and Cultural Centre, looking for a specific barn quilt called “Drunkard’s Path.” It looks like a psychedelic puzzle piece, but the noticeboard below it tells a different story. The Temperance Society used it as a symbol for sobriety after excessive drinking had become a major concern in the village of Sparta in the late 1800s. Not only did I find this barn quilt but I also found something quite extraordinary: the history of quilting laid out in an astounding array of collected artistry. The church had a temporary exhibit of 50 quilts spread out in front of me in a sea of colours, draped over large display panels, from decades of crafters and woven as early as 1850. It was as if time had stood still.
Here in Sparta, antique quilts represent a big chunk of history all the way back to the mid-1800s. These vintage quilts are much more than stitched fabric squares: They are stories of the lives and legacies of the women who poured their love into each tiny, handcrafted stitch. Their lives were not easy. They laboured to bring children into the world, struggled to keep them alive without modern medicines, and endured hardships in a world without technological conveniences; however, they still found the time to sew, often by candlelight.
Early settlers in Canada were poorly equipped and oblivious to the harsh climates that awaited them, but they had skills in piecing together any readily available fabrics. Based on warmth and survival needs, and not aesthetics, pieced quilts—or patchwork—consisted of simple geometric shapes stitched together to form a square and then sewn together to form strips. Finally, they were combined to become the finished top. There are several traditional styles of pieced quilts, including sunbursts, postage stamps, grandmother’s flower gardens, eight-pointed stars and baby’s blocks.
Quilts even united communities. In 1930, the ladies of the First Yarmouth (Plains) Baptist Church wanted to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the church by making a signature quilt. For ten cents, names were embroidered on a quilt that would be raffled off as a fundraiser for a new church roof. The names on the quilt reflect many of the families who had and still reside in the communities of Sparta, Union and Dexter—including the raffle winner’s name, Billy Bobier.
The museum also has a prize-winning quilt on display. Made in 1984 by Hattie Lawton and entered in a friendly competition at the Aylmer Fair, “Grandmother’s Basket of Flowers” won first prize. The appliquéd quilt has about 12 stitches per inch, which is remarkably fine. Hattie was a three-time provincial Canada Packers Quilt Competition champion, and the only person ever to achieve this honour. Her three winning quilts are on display at the Royal Ontario Museum.
I head next to “Garden Maze” on the Norfolk County Barn Trail. It begins at Sand Hill Park and travels along the lake on the waterfront trail up to Port Dover and then heads north to Wilsonville. The quilt block patterns in this geographical area are diverse but profoundly rich in history, denoting the War of 1812, among other things, and depicting early settler practices and stories of triumph.
As I sat and looked at “Star of Hope,” located on Front Road near Turkey Point, I thought about those who endured hardships back in the early 1800s and how powerful this symbol’s message is even now. It’s a reflection of community and hard work, created by those who strove to build memorable artwork and recapture history for us all. It is hope that exists in the shadow of the past.
—by Patricia Kuhnen-Beaver, Port Stanley, Ontario
G’zaagin: A Gallery of Love
Taking her passion for Native arts and culture and sharing it with the world
I am passionate about Native art, so creating G’zaagin, an art gallery for Native arts and artisans, had been in my thoughts for many years. After experiencing a devastating car accident in 2002, the tragedy allowed me to look at my life from a new perspective. Spending two years in a wheelchair, overcoming critical injuries, frustration, anger and grief, as well as relearning to walk, I came to a point where I realized I no longer wanted to be a victim. I wanted to make a real contribution with my life. After five years of rehabilitation, I became even more determined to make my mark on the world and live larger than life. I opened G’zaagin, which translates as “I love you” in the Ojibway language, in October 2011.
I am an Ojibway-Potawatomi woman from Wasauksing First Nation and my name is Boshdayosgaykwe, meaning, “The first ray of sunlight that comes over the horizon first thing in the morning.” My own artwork includes making quill boxes and sewing with leather, both of which my mother taught me, as well as working with fused glass.
I create abstract art with warm glass (heated in a kiln) and dichroic glass (showing two colours). Combining clear, coloured and dichroic
glass, I make pendants for necklaces, earrings, bolo ties, ornaments and unity pins of the four colours of the medicine wheel (a sacred symbol). I etch various designs, such as fans and medicine wheels, into dichroic glass that represent my culture and heritage.
The gallery has been open for a while now. With small successes over time, I have had the opportunity to move into a larger space on James Street in Parry Sound, Ontario, which includes a workshop, a lounge for artists, a supply store and, of course, the gallery. This space will not only help my own artwork get out into the world but will also be a place where artists can work and gather and perhaps do projects together. I encourage artists of different mediums to come to the gallery. I would like G’zaagin to be an exciting place to visit with a wide variety of Native art exhibited and for sale that also provides a learning experience for visitors.
Through G’zaagin gallery, it has been a goal of mine to heighten public awareness about Native art and provide a venue for everyone to witness the insights, skills and creativity of Native artists. As G’zaagin grows, I have begun to work with local schools, museums and organized groups that have an interest in Native art and culture, and request tours and learning experiences.
The artists in the gallery are asked to conduct workshops and seminars in traditional craft work. Workshop topics include making traditional porcupine quill boxes, moccasins, dream catchers, medicine pouches, beaded barrettes and hand drums. The workshops are facilitated by myself and artists who rent space in the gallery. The purpose of these events is not only to preserve Native traditional artwork but also to garner a renewed interest in Native heritage and culture. I hope for G’zaagin to be a forum for artists to meet, share and create.
Even though it’s been years since my accident, I still concentrate on managing my chronic pain, depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. I have, however, gained a sense of well-being from working on my art and on G’zaagin. I am still learning and creating opportunities daily, and I receive support and encouragement from Native communities and customers who come into G’zaagin with a willingness to learn and understand more about Native culture. It’s my time to be grateful and appreciate all that’s been given to me and I hope to leave a legacy for my children, family and community—a legacy that is filled with love.
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