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At different times we’re all aware of some boundary or other: our back yard, our street, our kitchen. These are places we have learned about physically through simple exploration by eye and foot, for they are small places and easily encompassed. By comparison the province of Alberta, a mere small portion of this country, is huge, greater than the British Isles that I came from. I’ve undergone such a compelling time in my forty years here, a whole range of feelings, from tears to sheer wonder and edges of disbelief.
It used to be that I would pay cultural homage to the places where my favorite pots and kilns came from. Japan and Korea were foremost on the list. Those places don’t play the same part in my seeking anymore. It’s time to close the circle. Probably it’s only because I’ve traveled a lot that I can reasonably say it doesn’t matter how far you go, the back door now nourished by memory and comparison is far enough.
The outline of Alberta is not pretty, nor better than other shapes, merely familiar. Sometimes it looks better on its back, or upside down. It’s a symbol, a metaphor, a device from the past and a constantly unfolding future that serves as my set of art pictographs on my own obscure rock wall. I’m content to be contained by its shape. It’s about the rise of the sun and the slant of the rain. Like a plant it’s where I grow.
– John Chalke, May 2009
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