Jennifer Noxon

Painting:  Boat 215R2 by Betty Lane 1906-96

Earlier this week I responded to Canadian artist Robert Genn's e-newsletter on 'Eccentricity' with a short piece on my great aunt Betty Lane - a painter and musician who made a big impression on me as a child (see below). He published my response along with a few others. Artist Carol Wiebe read it and checked out Betty Lane's site, then wrote a blog post and a poem inspired 'Still Standing'. I hope that in turn, readers will check out her site. I understand the theory of the power of blogging and social communities but the viral aspect of it just hit closer to home.

My great Aunt Betty was a lifelong painter, musician, teacher, single mom and fiercely independent  human being whose eccentricity caught my fascination as a young girl visiting from the suburbs of Toronto. Getting to know her was like being transported into a  world that redefined the word 'possibility'.  She had lampshades made out of coffee cans punctured with patterned holes to let the light through, musical instruments hanging on her walls, tea bags hanging out to dry, a working easel in the middle of the living room, fascinating collectibles brought home from her travels, and a basement full of stacks of paintings, sketches, beads, and bobbles. Though she was not the easiest person to get along with, I returned several times to visit, staying for a prolonged period as a young artist trying to find my feet, and finally to see her off. The last time I saw her, just before her death, she commented on how beautiful my eyelashes were in silhouette (even with fluorescent lighting). It is the memories of my aunt that keep me going in times of question and doubt. Her flame continues to burn brightly. I believe she held out the flame and I, with open arms, took it.

Today, I am a teacher, musician and painter and I have no doubt that my relationship with Betty Lane had something to do with the choices I've made. In sharing our creativity and allowing our individuality to shine we pass on the flame to the children that come after us. We owe them that much.