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Apples on a Windowsill
Apples on the 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.
- GenresMemoir
252 pages, Kindle Edition
Published January 15, 2024
3 people are currently reading
16 people want to read
About the author
Shawna Lemay
14 books83 followers"A lamp and a flower pot in the center. The flower can always be changing." –Virginia Woolf.
The Flower Can Always Be Changing:
From the bestselling author of Rumi and the Red Handbag comes a new collection of brief essays about the intersection of poetry, painting, photography and beauty. Inspired by the words of Virginia Woolf, Lemay welcomes you into her home, her art and her life as a poet and photographer of the every day. Lemay shares visits to the museum with her daughter, the beauty in an average workday at the library, and encourages writers and readers to make an appointment with flowers, with life.
Rumi and the Red Handbag was shortlisted for the Alberta Readers Choice Award. 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 has an M.A. in English from the University of Alberta.
The Flower Can Always Be Changing:
From the bestselling author of Rumi and the Red Handbag comes a new collection of brief essays about the intersection of poetry, painting, photography and beauty. Inspired by the words of Virginia Woolf, Lemay welcomes you into her home, her art and her life as a poet and photographer of the every day. Lemay shares visits to the museum with her daughter, the beauty in an average workday at the library, and encourages writers and readers to make an appointment with flowers, with life.
Rumi and the Red Handbag was shortlisted for the Alberta Readers Choice Award. 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 has an M.A. in English from the University of Alberta.
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
March 23, 2024
Shawna Lemay’s book Apples on a Windowsill is a beautiful and thought-provoking collection of essays on still life, memory, art, and marriage. I’m fascinated by what she says about how a still life can both stop time and serve as a moment of suspense: “The question hovers: what happens next? And it gives us an interval to dream new possibilities.”
Shawna talks about wanting to “escape into a favourite movie where I know that the ending is a happy one,” such as “Bridget Jones’s Diary or an adaptation of Pride and Prejudice or Persuasion.” In life, she says, “we have no idea if the ending is a happy one. The thing most of us have in common is wondering what will happen next.”
Reading her words in an essay entitled “The Loophole” about how she’s “interested in the history and secrets and stories of things themselves,” I thought of what Anne of Green Gables says about how it’s easier to dream in a room where there are pretty things. Shawna writes, “I like rocks and odd china ornaments and chipped cups and smooth bowls. I like pearl earrings and old weathered chairs and water pitchers. I like fading flowers and green bottles and books. I like things. I like listening to the music and silence in things. What do they say about us, and what are they whispering to us about our lives and this world, this planet?”
“The still life can be a small world that speaks about the larger one,” Shawna writes. “It can be witness, consolation, a secret message, the arrow you launch through a narrow opening, a dream we once had or will have. A still life is in time but it also stops time, is out of time.”
Later in the same essay, she repeats these words: “A still life stops time, is out of time, occasionally offering the viewer that rupture/rapture.” Still life can bring a “moment of transcendence” that allows us to see “through to the other side,” an “opening or loophole where we drop into the sheer mystery of being.” To me, the experience sounds very much like what L.M. Montgomery describes as “the flash,” in Emily of New Moon:
“It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty. Between it and herself hung only a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside—but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond—only a glimpse—and heard a note of unearthly music.”
Like Montgomery, Shawna uses the word “realm” to describe this world of mystery and beauty, but she maintains that it is here, rather than “beyond”: “The other realm,” Shawna writes, “is not beside this one, it is this one, and we only need a little light, a sense of composition, a love of the inadvertent, an appreciation for the humble, and there it is.”
“Everyone’s home is full of still lifes,” she says. “We make still lifes inadvertently all day long”: “the cereal box on the table by the jug of milk”; “the lunch bag on the counter beside briefcase or satchel and car keys”; the book “on a side table, along with a glass of water, our spectacles.” She suggests that “the most profound function of a still life” may be “to remind us that however messed up our lives are and have been, we can find order and harmony and calm out of the at times ridiculous horridness and tawdriness of daily existence. … We can bring forward the weight and heaviness that we have carried throughout our lives and bring it into the light.”
In an essay on “Women’s Lives, Women’s Still Lifes,” Shawna raises questions about finding the confidence to create art. She quotes a couple of powerful lines from Georgia O’Keeffe:
“I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a
single thing that I wanted to do.”
“It’s not enough to be nice in life. You’ve got to have nerve.”
Shawna writes that “one of the responses to a lot of work by women is to ignore it. Historically, creative women have been trivialised, especially those who had more than one talent.” Citing an article by Jonathan Jones, she gives Charlotte Brontë as an example. Jones writes of a self-portrait by the young Charlotte that he finds “unsettling” because of “the talent it shows. Could she have been an artist as well as a great writer—and how many other talented women have found their ability to draw trivialised or suppressed through the centuries?”
Shawna says that for her, part of the appeal of literature is that “it could be hidden,” and thus “more possible” than art: “you could do this alone, with a pen and paper.” “Which is why,” she says, “reading about Jane Austen hiding her work under her blotter, the supposed creak that alerted her to another’s presence, always spoke to my heart. I wasn’t bold. Not in the least.”
She quotes from Eavan Boland’s poem “The Rooms of Other Women Poets,” in which the poet wonders about other poets at their desks, reaching for the lamp as dusk falls. “We just want to work,” Shawna says. “I in my room, you in yours. I don’t want to be in competition with you, but to send my good wishes to you so that you can send yours to me.”
There’s a kind of magic in this wondering, this sending of good wishes to other poets and writers and artists at work in other rooms, other spaces. This connection with others who are drawn to create. This curiosity about what they, and we, will create next. This belief in possibility, and in the value of dreaming “new possibilities,” even though we have “no idea if the ending is a happy one.”
(An earlier version of this review was posted on my blog.)
Shawna talks about wanting to “escape into a favourite movie where I know that the ending is a happy one,” such as “Bridget Jones’s Diary or an adaptation of Pride and Prejudice or Persuasion.” In life, she says, “we have no idea if the ending is a happy one. The thing most of us have in common is wondering what will happen next.”
Reading her words in an essay entitled “The Loophole” about how she’s “interested in the history and secrets and stories of things themselves,” I thought of what Anne of Green Gables says about how it’s easier to dream in a room where there are pretty things. Shawna writes, “I like rocks and odd china ornaments and chipped cups and smooth bowls. I like pearl earrings and old weathered chairs and water pitchers. I like fading flowers and green bottles and books. I like things. I like listening to the music and silence in things. What do they say about us, and what are they whispering to us about our lives and this world, this planet?”
“The still life can be a small world that speaks about the larger one,” Shawna writes. “It can be witness, consolation, a secret message, the arrow you launch through a narrow opening, a dream we once had or will have. A still life is in time but it also stops time, is out of time.”
Later in the same essay, she repeats these words: “A still life stops time, is out of time, occasionally offering the viewer that rupture/rapture.” Still life can bring a “moment of transcendence” that allows us to see “through to the other side,” an “opening or loophole where we drop into the sheer mystery of being.” To me, the experience sounds very much like what L.M. Montgomery describes as “the flash,” in Emily of New Moon:
“It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty. Between it and herself hung only a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside—but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond—only a glimpse—and heard a note of unearthly music.”
Like Montgomery, Shawna uses the word “realm” to describe this world of mystery and beauty, but she maintains that it is here, rather than “beyond”: “The other realm,” Shawna writes, “is not beside this one, it is this one, and we only need a little light, a sense of composition, a love of the inadvertent, an appreciation for the humble, and there it is.”
“Everyone’s home is full of still lifes,” she says. “We make still lifes inadvertently all day long”: “the cereal box on the table by the jug of milk”; “the lunch bag on the counter beside briefcase or satchel and car keys”; the book “on a side table, along with a glass of water, our spectacles.” She suggests that “the most profound function of a still life” may be “to remind us that however messed up our lives are and have been, we can find order and harmony and calm out of the at times ridiculous horridness and tawdriness of daily existence. … We can bring forward the weight and heaviness that we have carried throughout our lives and bring it into the light.”
In an essay on “Women’s Lives, Women’s Still Lifes,” Shawna raises questions about finding the confidence to create art. She quotes a couple of powerful lines from Georgia O’Keeffe:
“I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a
single thing that I wanted to do.”
“It’s not enough to be nice in life. You’ve got to have nerve.”
Shawna writes that “one of the responses to a lot of work by women is to ignore it. Historically, creative women have been trivialised, especially those who had more than one talent.” Citing an article by Jonathan Jones, she gives Charlotte Brontë as an example. Jones writes of a self-portrait by the young Charlotte that he finds “unsettling” because of “the talent it shows. Could she have been an artist as well as a great writer—and how many other talented women have found their ability to draw trivialised or suppressed through the centuries?”
Shawna says that for her, part of the appeal of literature is that “it could be hidden,” and thus “more possible” than art: “you could do this alone, with a pen and paper.” “Which is why,” she says, “reading about Jane Austen hiding her work under her blotter, the supposed creak that alerted her to another’s presence, always spoke to my heart. I wasn’t bold. Not in the least.”
She quotes from Eavan Boland’s poem “The Rooms of Other Women Poets,” in which the poet wonders about other poets at their desks, reaching for the lamp as dusk falls. “We just want to work,” Shawna says. “I in my room, you in yours. I don’t want to be in competition with you, but to send my good wishes to you so that you can send yours to me.”
There’s a kind of magic in this wondering, this sending of good wishes to other poets and writers and artists at work in other rooms, other spaces. This connection with others who are drawn to create. This curiosity about what they, and we, will create next. This belief in possibility, and in the value of dreaming “new possibilities,” even though we have “no idea if the ending is a happy one.”
(An earlier version of this review was posted on my blog.)
December 21, 2024
Reading these essays was as if I was living in her house, accompanying her to work and travel.
The still life essays would be of interest to any photographer (and artist). As a photographer myself I found inspiration in her words. As someone who has visited and loved Rome I found myself yearning to revisit this wonderful city. Great to know Shawna and I have a lot in common! For those who love to read essays as I do, or into art or photography, I highly recommend Apples on a Windowsill.
The still life essays would be of interest to any photographer (and artist). As a photographer myself I found inspiration in her words. As someone who has visited and loved Rome I found myself yearning to revisit this wonderful city. Great to know Shawna and I have a lot in common! For those who love to read essays as I do, or into art or photography, I highly recommend Apples on a Windowsill.
November 30, 2025
I published this about Shawna on my Instagram!
https://www.instagram.com/reel/DRndbm...
I have read this book twice, Apples on a Windowsill. Borrowing it from the TPL libraries has been a delight! I discovered this Canadian author through Adriana Oniță, who introduced me to her newsletter and books. From that moment, I fell in love with her captivating writing style and the wonderful literary detours she led me on. It reminds me of Julio Cortázar’s unique storytelling.
This month’s reading, Shawna, rekindled my passion for still photography. I have a deep love for capturing the beauty of flowers and the warmth of candlelight. Thank you, Shawna Lemay, for your beautiful books and the special newsletter that has become a cherished part of my everyday life!
You can read this book, Apples on a Windowsill, published by
Palimpsest Press, 2024. https://palimpsestpress.ca/books/appl... @palimpsestpressbooks
What book are you reading now? 📚recommend a book for us to read next in the comments! Thanks, 🙏🏿 Gracias, 🙏🏿 May you all have a great weekend! Blessings, love, peace and Warm chocolates! #booksrecommendation #booksbooksbooks #bookswelove #stilllifephotographer #stilllifephoto #stillifephotography #stillartphotography #coffeeandbooks ✨✨✨✨“Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.”
― Mark Twain-
January 17, 2025
A bit too long. The lengthy Covid section, written as a series of journal entries was . . . boring. Although I appreciate the author’s sensibilities regarding the character of still life compositions, repetition numbed me to her message. The book seems a collection of essays, compiled without thoughtful cohesion. An occasional poignant quote from a poet or writer was a highlight in an otherwise humdrum delivery.
June 4, 2024
There were some gems in this book in terms of ideas and language but it was way too much repetition to make it an overall enjoyable reading experience for me. I’d have liked it lots more if had been distilled into just a few essays, eliminating the repetitions and making it shorter. It seemed the author and publisher didn’t really expect people to read all the essays.
October 4, 2024
A beautiful book that examines still life. This is a very meditative book. I loved how Shawna incorporated details of her life in the book. This book made me think a lot about art, and made me want to experience more art.
I also loved how Shawna wrote about the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic.
I also loved how Shawna wrote about the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic.
December 12, 2024
Very thought-provoking and personally inspiring. I found many lines of similarity with Shawn’s experiences, especially as a young woman setting out on her own. I want to look up all the artists she references. I was surprised that I liked her section on living through the COVID-19 lockdown. It brought back my own memories that I had forgotten, maybe on purpose. A very worthwhile read.
April 9, 2024
Shawna Lemay’s engrossing collection of essays, Apples on a Windowsill, should be required reading for anyone with an interest in creating art and being human in challenging times. Throughout these twenty pieces, Lemay’s discussion ranges far and wide. Her subject repeatedly changes shape. But her argument always returns to the search for beauty in the everyday, the confluence of art and life. Or—to put it another way—the transformation of ordinary life into art. Without declaring it as such, Lemay describes her own life as one that is committed to art: making it, loving it, living with it. Her husband Rob is also an artist, a painter of no small repute, and, as we see, they support one another in their interests. Many of the essays here describe their joint ventures to galleries, in Rome and other cultural centres, where they might plant themselves in front of a painting and stay there for as long as it takes for them to reach some kind of understanding of how the work affects them. Lemay has done a lot of reading and talks lucidly about time-honoured techniques of making art—painting and photography—building an historical context for what she and Rob are doing. She wants us to understand her own artistic process, why she does what she does, why she’s passionate about it, why it matters. As a photographer her chief obsession is still life, and she goes into lengthy and fascinating detail regarding the everyday found objects that make their way into her photographs, describing rummaging through drawers and closets for neglected or forgotten items, visits to the florist, forays into supermarkets hunting for fruits and vegetables that she will bring home and arrange into a tableau worth preserving, textures and surfaces that make all the difference, the spray of sunlight that she rushes to capture because it will last for only a few precious seconds. Lemay often speaks in terms of transcendence: “In the place where poetry and still life meet there is a radiance.” But a good portion of the book is given over to the mundanities of life in the time of Covid-19. Something of an artistic manifesto, Apples on a Windowsill also functions as a journal or memoir, with Lemay recording her coping mechanisms for surviving a pandemic. And though beauty is clearly her passion, she does not shy away from the ugliness she sees in the world and forces that conspire to discourage the artistic enterprise, forces she’s continually striving to overcome, the chief one being self-doubt. From the first page, Shawna Lemay’s voice is candid and thoughtful, charmingly self-deprecating and alive with wonder at the splendour to be found right before our eyes, even in the most unpromising circumstances. The book entertains and informs, but most of all it inspires. Apples on a Windowsill is an intimate act of sharing for which we can and should be grateful.
February 6, 2024
Absolutely love, love, LOVED everything about this beautiful book!
http://tamara.tedzplace.ca/?p=4827
http://tamara.tedzplace.ca/?p=4827
December 21, 2024
A collection of beautiful and thoughtful essays from one of my favourite writers, Shawna Lemay — who is also the publisher of Transactions With Beauty. The essays in Apples on a Windowsill cover topics such as still lifes, Springsteen, creativity, marriage, photography and so much more. The subjects are all deeply personal to Lemay but at the same time thoughtful meditations on art - process, history, motivation and even technique. Lemay’s writing is so powerful and transcendent that you’ll find your own life reflected in these essays over and over again — I feel like I’m sitting at the kitchen table with her or walking the streets of Venice with her and her husband (the incredibly talent artist Rob Lemay). A warning, though: read each essay slowly as they are like sinking into a warm bath made of words. Savour the moment.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews