Emily Carr evokes the eery feeling that unexpected utter darkness evokes. The Canadian artist thought a meeting she often went to would be in its usual location in a Victoria BC theater. She liked to sit in the balcony for these meetings. That meeting didn’t happen. Here’s what she noted about the experience.
I must be very late, I thought, and crept up to my usual seat in the balcony. I got no further than the gallery entrance. Ill-ventilated black met me, a dense smothering black as if all the actors and the audience had left something there, something intangible in that black hole of a place. That deathly silence was full of crying. It made you want to get out quickly, as if you were looking at something that you should not see.
It’s such a rich entry in a journal full of amazing observations, feelings, experiences. That day — December 2, 1934– is particularly rich. Here’s the paragraph that follows the one above.
I came out quickly into the dull street, Government Street in Chinatown, with all the dirty curtained windows and the shut shops. Two little Chinese girls were licking suckers, red ones that rouged their tongues, and were comparing tongues on the mirror on an outside door.
One of Canada’s beloved Pacific Northwest artists as well as a talented author, she was such a close observer. I love having this collection of her private thoughts.
Helpful link:
Susan Palmer's Exquisite Now 
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