by Rosemary Leach
You could see Georgian Bay between the wall boards of the Belleview hotel. The ceilings of this abandoned building were lined with cedar. The mattresses on the wrought iron beds lay askew, shredded.
I never went there with an adult. I followed my older siblings and cousins around like an unknowing duckling. Sometimes we walked the shoreline of the island to get there, other times we paddled.
I don’t think it ever occurred to us that we were trespassing; it was our playhouse. My mother was probably just happy to have us out of her hair. We had each other.
There was an upright piano with many of its keys missing, and treads missing on the stairs. Ghosts were the main subject, not the more likely threat of falling through rotten floors or acquiring viruses from rodent feces, which were abundant.
Abandoned spaces have a certain magic. On a material level they contain glimpses of our history, our stories. But concretization sometimes robs us of a chance to dwell in the unspoken.
It’s the physical poetry I find juicy. Am I pining for that total openness to discovery, missing that bearing witness part of me that has no agendas?
Join me for a chat and to view recent paintings at my Open Studio this weekend.
255 Wiliam Street, Almonte ON.
Fri Nov 7, 5-7pm
Sat Nov 8, 10am-3pm
Sun Nov 9, 12pm-3pm
