Pike Lake, my great-great grandfather, whom built that White House in the background (my house).

Disoriented, I lay—hands folded atop one another in an “X” on my forehead—belly down on the floor. Immediately, Jeff climbs atop - feels so good. Down he comes — head bump,
head bump.

He knows.

Eventually, my fretting turns to a well of powerful tears. Memories flood with feelings unspeakable; full bodied, rich in colours — of ancestors. The loss. So much loss. In such little time. What’s left?

Jeff

I picture:

A sauna stove perched atop the ice. Small pile of wood and birch bark beside. I haul load after load of water into the tank. Once warm, what else to do but bathe?

March 1st, 1987--2010

 And, it all makes sense.

The tears continue to deepen, pour out; “prompts pain, regret.”

And so I bathe,

Pouring warm water upon my naked body. On a brisk spring-like day (+2 degrees).

No walls to hold the heat

No roof

Forever, I warm that stove,

for all eternity

as it sinks deeper,

and deeper

into the ice

This recollection stems from the very beginning of what I now refer to as the “Preservation Project.”

For the Lakehead University Visual Arts graduate show at the Thunder Bay Art Gallery in 2010, on the gallery wall, I projected myself bathing. To complement, I installed a sauna stove door where inside a video played (with sound), documenting the “sauna” preparation.

Stove crackling,

All I could do, was bathe.

{originally published on November 10, 2021 on our previous website}