The radio declares what I have long suspected: Toronto has the worst pedestrian and cyclist safety record. I chance it with a Bixi bike, cycling to Boulevard Cafe. D. gets to do all the talking over Peruvian food. Once again, I try to socialize with no voice.
I ride by the ivied University College and Convocation Hall. Proud parents are all decked out to see their sons and daughters graduate. Such happy times--university days conjure up such happy memories for me. Very briefly, I toy with the idea of working towards my next degree. No, it won’t be anytime soon.
MOMA’s Abstract Expressionism exhibition is in town. I drop by AGO for the preview. Staring into Rothko’s bold blocks with their blurring borders is so calming. I learn to appreciate Barnett Newman a bit more--his ‘Voice of Fire’ in the National Gallery of Canada caused such a stir 2 decades ago. The Pollock’s and Motherwell’s. One thing tying this collection together is that each artist’s style is so different from the other. I guess that is why it is called expressionism--allowing one to express something from within.
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