"Some places stay with you, not because you lived there long, but because something in you recognized them. I've always felt that landscapes hold memory, something older, deeper. That's the terrain I keep returning to."
I've moved across continents, carried languages, left and found homes again. Through all of it, I've learned that connection to place isn't about PERMANENCE, it's about RESONANCE. I'd love to share a conversation about what it means to feel rooted even when life moves you, how landscapes can reflect back who we are becoming, and how memory, belonging, and identity live in the spaces between.
There's this stretch of coastline in Parksville, not particularly grand or dramatic. It's quiet, mostly. The tide comes and goes without fuss. Driftwood rests where it lands. The sand holds the marks of birds, dogs, children. I walked there often, never with a plan. Just walking.
At first, I didn't think much of it. I was new to the area, still feeling like a visitor in my own life. I didn't speak the landscape's language yet. But little by little, I started noticing things. A crooked branch that looked like it was waving. A stone that never moved. Light that changed the shape of everything.
And then one day, I realized, without meaning to, that I had started to memorize the land. Like it was starting to memorize me back. I knew where the shadows would fall. I knew when the birds would come. I knew how the wind sounded just before it rained.
That was the moment I realized I was building a kind of home with familiarity, with presence, with noticing. I wasn't looking for roots. But they found me anyway.
It made me think of all the places I've been, all the ways I've tried to belong. Sometimes it's hard to say where "home" really is. But for me, it often begins with land, with walking, listening, paying attention.
I didn't know I was gathering home. But I was.
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Federation of Canadian Artists
Art Vancouver, Vancouver Art Foundation at the end of May 2026