in the glaze. These mugs are not so
important that they had to approach
perfection (as long as the imperfection
was still sanitary and didn't interfere
with the function—or the plainness).

Anyway. usually when one chooses to
take an object out of one's own cultural
blandness—take it out of the “fleld"—it

means that (Perla would maintain this)
when something does that, it has emo-
tional / symbolic meaning for me. There
is a personal metaphor—I'm guessing
(for me at least. and I'm wondering how
generally applicable this could be}, a
kind of existential statement, etc., etc.,
inherent in the abject. Trying to “see” is
trying to “see” other plain ordinary

_ =

things—in my childhood. Except this is
devoid of the sentimentality of nostal-
gia.

Anyway, my mind goes to this Image:

The view out of the back door of my
parent's house. ['m 12.

If you looked for a long thme, you could
see things in this uncompromising
plainness-

This area of Canada—called the Palliser
Triangle—tis an official desert, bul it isn't

really pretty, it's just plain.

I knew (intellectually) that other parts of
the planet were quite different, but] had
only personally experienced the Plains—
although from my uncle's farm you could
see the mountains, | was in high school
before we ever went to them—Godl! this
amazes me now.

The weird part, though, was that inside
the house was a bleak (emotional) envi-
ronment, too,

My mother’s fantasy of Gracious Liv-
ing—her wine glasses, her Scandanavian
furniture, cork floors, “designy” dishes
that she made. She did not like the
hotelware—it was a last resort against
our Destructiveness. She spent all sum-
mer pretty well outside gardening.

Sometimes she painted landscapes or
went bird watching or went to the Sketch
Club events.

In winter she spent a lot of time in bed
reading. I'm sure she did lots of other
things but I have almost no memory of
her in direct relation to me (black hole???)
Wid!

My father would come home fram work
and test us. My parents never once
entertained guests. My parents did not
participate in the “community” in the
town—which actually was mostly immi-
grant Italian and German factory
workers, and then some white trash and
then the town doctor and assorted
preachers. My mother was friends with
the United Church minister and the
town doctor and the school principal. It
was a jungle for me in terms of the other
kKids—I learned to handle it.

Well. I'm getting silly about it—in those
days | had only books and other kids of
the town (] allowed myself to express my

sense of being different (freak) as being
Better as a basis for comparison.

Well, they say the desert Is a good envi-
ronment for philosophers and “seers".

Hell, John Pickering is paying TOP
DOLLAR for this kind of sensory depri-
vation.

Anyway—I sure have written a lot. I
hope you find it Interesting—] guess |
could have just said that | like the
hotelware because It's ordinary and
plain, etc., ete.—maybe to me it repre-
sents my real childhood as opposed to

the family myth of our childhood {what
a saint my mother waa),

Whatever—i do think that that kind of
an environment is responsible for my
tendency to “eliminate detail” etc., etc.,
for my Intellectual abilities / faults.

Enough Gall, | say to myself.
Good night, Hank.

May, 1991

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