A Trip to Europe... In Transit #2

Scenes from my seat... 

YEG to YHZ, and YHZ to AMS

 

A Trip to Europe... In Transit #1

From last month's two-week trip to Europe... some ubiquitous transit sketches. Inevitably, there is a proportionately high ratio of transit sketches, as with most long-haul trips involving airports. 

It's been quite some time since I've been able to draw my son while sleeping, now that he's well into being a teenager...

 

 

Local Urban Sketchers prompts...

Four sketches from a local week-long Facebook sketch-prompt group... 

May 2: "Alleys"

May 4: "Urban Flora & Fauna"

May 5: "Perspectives"

May 7: "Reflections"

All in and around my house as it's been too busy to venture anywhere!

 

Easter Sunday

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Easter Sunday:

 

A homily earlier today brought to my attention the notion that Easter is not just a celebration, but also a calling. We not only remember and praise God for what He has done for us through the Resurrection, but are called to be transformed by it, to live it, to reflect and share its message and power. 

 

As I follow Jesus' disciples this Easter season, I think of how they were transformed from fearful fugitives hiding in the darkness of guilt and oppression, to bold and adventurous messengers of the gospel message. It was the experience of Jesus' Resurrection that utterly and decisively changed them; they went on to spark a movement to reach the ends of the earth, dying for their mission and changing the course of history forever. Without the inner transformation that took place in them, we would not be here today. 

 

As I, a spiritual descendant of Jesus' disciples, continue on this journey, I pray that the Resurrection be ever more central to my faith so that I might see my call with greater clarity.

Holy Saturday

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holy Saturday, as we await the news to come:

 

The disciples, in their time of despair, and fear, had nothing to go on except the mysterious utterances of their teacher Jesus, who said something about being raised again on the third day. Those words, though unfathomable to them then, were perhaps their only source of hope.

 

As I also look towards that day when Jesus comes again to restore all things, I too cling to memories of His presence and His promises. With the disciples, I seek to respond to God's continuous encouragement to remember, and to not be afraid.

 

I pray that I might be granted hope despite a faith that sometimes feels smaller than a mustard seed, that we might see reality made new through the resurrection, each and every day.

Palm Sunday

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Palm Sunday: 

 

I came across two meditations today that made me more aware of the tensions posed by the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. 

 

Shall we, like the crowd, sing a joyous Hosanna knowing that on Friday we will mourn his death?

And as we wave our palm branches and lay down our cloaks to welcome our King, don’t we also recognize our voice in the crowd demanding that Jesus be crucified? 

 

I am grateful that this story seems to give us permission to experience and even live in this tension, as we work out our faith with Jesus in the coming week.

just hanging out...

Some recent sketches... hanging out at a local coffee shop before a site meeting, and chillin' at home...

It's been a while since last doodling at a cafe... loving the Paper Mate pen's ability to make me loosen up and be spontaneous (top 4 sketches); also a perfect pen to use alone with opportunities for quick washes with water. I'll have to buy a box of them. 

Bottom image is with my trusted Pilot fountain pen, which I've been using 95 percent of the time for four and a half years. I've learned to control it. I trust it and know its ink flow.

I realized there's an interesting dynamic between pen, paper, drawing subject, and style, in which it's not so much me solely choosing the tools based on what I think I want to achieve, but the instrument and medium and subject (and me) all meeting somewhere in the middle to produce something of a collaboration. I get to choose the tools, but those tools, in turn, change me...and even the way I see.

 

All the sketches from Burstall Pass Trail and beyond... Day 3

Sketch dump day 3:

We had an extended lunch break at Burstall Pass on the trek back to the trailhead, giving us an opportunity to explore Snow Peak and the expansive long views all around. 

Mount Leman, Leman Lake, with Sharks Fin and Mount Soderholm in the background

The view northwest from the pass (sans Mount Assiniboine...😅  )

Snow Peak, from Burstall Pass

Rock formations along Snow Peak

Pig's Tail

Mount Birdwood

All the sketches from Burstall Pass Trail and beyond... Day 2

Second day's "sketch dump": 

After the previous day's trudge up and over Burstall pass, the group takes a leisurely hike westwards to the BC border, and we hang out at Leman Lake all afternoon...with some extended time for a couple of larger panoramic sketches.

Snow Peak

Mount Leval from the camp site river

Smutwood Peak, Mount Smuts, and the lower flanks of Snow Peak from the campsite

Snow Peak... again

Mount Leval from the lake

Mount Smuts across Leman Lake

Smutwood Peak

Smutwood Peak, Mount Smuts, and a part of Snow Peak from the lake

Glacier-nursing Mount Sir Douglas, Mount Williams, Sir Douglas W2 from the campsite

Burstall Pass, Whistling Ridge, and Mount Sir Douglas from Leman Lake

Snow Peak

Smutwood Peak and lower parts of Snow Peak

The last two sketches... combined

All the sketches from Burstall Pass Trail and beyond... Day 1

I survived my first backpacking hike involving 2 nights of camping, which happened a few weeks ago on a gloriously sunny weekend. Thankfully my knees withstood the weight of extra food, clothing, and camping equipment. I might even do it again... 

Day 1 entailed a 12km hike with 11 other (mostly younger) hikers on a trail parallel to Burstall Creek in Peter Lougheed Provincial park, across Burstall Pass and into Banff National Park where we reached our camp ground...with some opportunities to quickly capture most of the major peaks along the way on a small 3.5x5.5in Moleskine sketchbook.  

Commonwealth Peak

 

Whistling Ridge

Pig's Tail

Commonwealth Peak...again

Snow Peak from the camp/Spray River

Snow Peak from the camp/Spray River... again

Mount Sir Douglas, with its glacier

Mount Leman

Smutwood Peak, from the meadows by Spray River

Maundy Thursday, and some thoughts about washing feet

Maundy Thursday

The imagery of washing one another's feet is especially strong this evening as I witnessed my wife washing an elderly friend's feet during a Maundy Thursday service a few hours ago.

As I ponder Jesus' final week before his death on the Cross, and the particular incident recorded in the Gospel when Jesus washed his disciples' feet, I can't help but reflect (again) on the death of my parents 12 years ago, for they both in their own ways showed Jesus to me. 

On the morning my father passed away, my mother, my sister and I had the opportunity to wipe my father's body in one of the most meaningful rituals I have ever experienced. I remember gently wiping his feet with a warm towel. It was probably something he wouldn't have allowed us to do while he was alive. The feet that carried the weight of seven tumultuous decades -- rough, calloused, grey-haired, wrinkly -- now seemed so incredibly frail. We knew he was no longer here, but yet the act of washing his feet gave me an overwhelming sense of closure, acceptance, and gratitude. Time moved slowly. It was a sacred, purifying moment in which I was the one being cleansed.

Less than a year later, my mother was spending her last weeks confined to a hospital bed, her feet swollen from the effects of failing cancer treatments. My sister and I spent countless hours massaging those aching, pale round feet; my hands still remember the sensation of them. Those long afternoons by her bed felt dreadful, the silence sometimes painful, but we endured them largely by taking turns rubbing and washing her feet. As an adult son, initially it took courage to even touch the feet of my own mother... it was perhaps the first time since early childhood to experience that kind of physical proximity. I realized then that it was me, the one washing and massaging her feet, that needed to become vulnerable in her presence. In doing so, in her dying moments, the act of washing brought me closer to my mother in unexpected ways. It gave her children an opportunity to be present to her without saying anything, and serving her in the most basic and intimate way. It was a way in which my my sister and I were brought together, in community and in devotion.

Exposing one's feet -- arguably the dirtiest, ugliest, roughest, most utilitarian and overused part of the body -- takes courage. Touching those of another, and allowing them to be touched and washed, takes even more courage. Today, I am struck by the wisdom in Jesus' commandment and action in washing the feet of others as a way to break barriers, form the basis of community, and be transformed.

Christmas Eve 2022

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 "Around Thee there in worship

Our choicest gifts we'll pour, 

Our gold, and myrrh, and incense, 

Thy lowly Throne before; 

And when this life is over, 

And all its clouds are riv'n, 

Thy love -- the Star we've follow'd -- 

Shall be our Sun in Heav'n."

WH Turton 1885

He is risen!

on Easter Sunday: 

"Soar we now where Christ has led, Alleluia!
Following our exalted Head, Alleluia!
Made like him, like him we rise, Alleluia!
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia!"

 Charles Wesley (1739)

Easter lilies