Apples on a Windowsill

About the Author

Shawna Lemay is the author of The Flower Can Always Be Changing (shortlisted for the 2019 Wilfred Eggleston Award for Non-Fiction) and the novel, Rumi and the Red Handbag, which made Harper’s Bazaar’s #THELIST. She has also written multiple books of poetry, a book of essays, and the experimental novel Hive. All the God-Sized Fruit, her first book, won the Stephan G. Stephansson Award and the Gerald Lampert Memorial Award. Calm Things: Essays was shortlisted for the Wilfred Eggleston Award for Non-Fiction. She lives in Edmonton.

From the Back Cover

Apples on a Windowsill is a series of meditations on still life, photography, beauty, and marriage. Full of personal reflections, charming anecdotes, and the history behind the art of still lifes, this lyrical memoir takes us from Edmonton to Rome to museums all over North America as Lemay discusses the craft of writing, the ups and downs of being married to a painter, and her focus on living a life in art and in beauty. A must read for fans of The Flower Can Always Be Changing, Everything Affects Everyone, and Rumi and the Red Handbag.

Reviews

Sun tremolos on the white table, I set the strawberries down.

These are early days in our relationship, morning in my old and rundown bachelor pad with hardwood floors, deep windowsills, a view of the gravelled parking lot, downtown Edmonton. Birdsong and the neighbours’ fighting and making up, the soundtrack. A round, white Ikea table is next to the window and right beside that, the bed. The light flutters in and I get up, make coffee, take out strawberries sliced the night before. There are three pots of African violets and a vase of gaping orange and red tulips. I make toast, set out strawberry jam amid the shadows cast by the flowers. The necklace I’d worn the night before is on the table where I happened to leave it. My Pentax MX loaded with film, 36 exposures, is on the nearby chest of drawers.

Rob gets out of bed and sees something in this scene and asks to use my camera. Sure, I say. The colors are good. The blue design on the Chinese mugs works well with the orange and purple of the flowers, which makes a nice counterpoint to the red of the strawberries. He adjusts a few things, places the knives on the edges of the plates with toast. I watch as he leans over and in, the strap of the camera hanging down, and even now I remember the satisfying sound of the shutter.

He talked about wanting to paint still lifes again, which he’d done in his student days. He’d had success painting outdoor patio scenes, and views from the Muttart Conservatory—glass pyramids housing temperate, tropical, and desert plants year-round. He began exhibiting his work right out of art school. We’d met through mutual friends at a few parties and he’d mentioned he was having a solo show. I went to it by myself one afternoon and I liked his work.

We were young then, but the feeling was that we weren’t getting any younger. And yet trying something new felt risky, heavy, and momentous. We were 23 and 27 at the time and something big had to happen. Something good. We really didn’t know anything then. The way that life can move so slowly, and the way that one object on a table shifted slightly to meet the sun can be enough.

I took the photos to be developed, a painting was made. And then it was exhibited in his next solo exhibition where it sold to the Canadian Embassy in Beijing. As far as I know, it’s still hanging there. We were dating then, but eventually, I became the wife of the artist.

Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Sun tremolos on the white table, I set the strawberries down.

These are early days in our relationship, morning in my old and rundown bachelor pad with hardwood floors, deep windowsills, a view of the gravelled parking lot, downtown Edmonton. Birdsong and the neighbours’ fighting and making up, the soundtrack. A round, white Ikea table is next to the window and right beside that, the bed. The light flutters in and I get up, make coffee, take out strawberries sliced the night before. There are three pots of African violets and a vase of gaping orange and red tulips. I make toast, set out strawberry jam amid the shadows cast by the flowers. The necklace I’d worn the night before is on the table where I happened to leave it. My Pentax MX loaded with film, 36 exposures, is on the nearby chest of drawers.

Rob gets out of bed and sees something in this scene and asks to use my camera. Sure, I say. The colors are good. The blue design on the Chinese mugs works well with the orange and purple of the flowers, which makes a nice counterpoint to the red of the strawberries. He adjusts a few things, places the knives on the edges of the plates with toast. I watch as he leans over and in, the strap of the camera hanging down, and even now I remember the satisfying sound of the shutter.

He talked about wanting to paint still lifes again, which he’d done in his student days. He’d had success painting outdoor patio scenes, and views from the Muttart Conservatory—glass pyramids housing temperate, tropical, and desert plants year-round. He began exhibiting his work right out of art school. We’d met through mutual friends at a few parties and he’d mentioned he was having a solo show. I went to it by myself one afternoon and I liked his work.

We were young then, but the feeling was that we weren’t getting any younger. And yet trying something new felt risky, heavy, and momentous. We were 23 and 27 at the time and something big had to happen. Something good. We really didn’t know anything then. The way that life can move so slowly, and the way that one object on a table shifted slightly to meet the sun can be enough.

I took the photos to be developed, a painting was made. And then it was exhibited in his next solo exhibition where it sold to the Canadian Embassy in Beijing. As far as I know, it’s still hanging there. We were dating then, but eventually, I became the wife of the artist.

Apples on a Windowsill - Softcover

Lemay, Shawna

About the Author

From the Back Cover

Reviews

Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Search results for Apples on a Windowsill

Buy Used