Stomach bug flattened me so I scanned photos instead

Advil. Check. Headache gone. Check. Tea. Breakfast. Check. I can do this. Check. What a difference a "down" week makes. Even if I was sick the entire week, I still got some good scanning time in.

Some Facebook collections of my newly scanned photos include:
Chris Caswell
Utah Phillips and Doc Watson, Rosalee Sorrells
Jack Mueller, national poetry week
Boschka Layton, SSU reading
Paul Mariah
Glenn Ingersoll
Lucille Clifton, Elizabeth Herron
Michael Daley
Poetry Flash event QR Hand, Sharon Doubiago
CPITS retreat Noyo River 1985
Edwin Drummond
Peter Capp
Cal Davis
Brownie Mary, Tony Serra
My family, Feather River 
Kitty Ward funeral 
Wake
My 30th birthday
My grandmother

Visiting Boschka Layton's friend, Kat WIlliams

On Monday, we visited Boschka's old friend, Kat Williams in the hills above Guerneville to take photos of Boschka's work. I had no idea what I was in for when I agreed to do this as a favor to Max. I didn't know Kat had moved to a remote homestead, so the previously scheduled meeting had to be cancelled as there was no way I could even get to Guerneville in the time that I had.

We arrived on a high mountain top facing south, and could see all the way to Mt. Tam, and Mt. Diablo. We were up that high. It had taken us 2.5 hours to get there and we were fast losing light but Kat had to settle in to this break in routine and she gave us a tour of the house, and garden, and a catch-up visit as we caught up on the past 41 years! We visited Boz's grave, he died 5 years ago.

We ate warm tomatoes from the garden with basil leaves and mozzarella cheese with balsamic vinegar. The BV wine I had brought was chilled, and we drank chardonnay under the well-endowed kiwi vine trellis. It was hotter than Hades. The cat told us so. We shared stories of the past, and our own journeys to time present. An extraordinary day. We got back to the city long after dark, tired from such a journey back into time.

Looking for lost artwork of painter-poet, Boschka (Betty) Layton

Montreal/California Canadian painter-poet, Boschka (Betty) Layton, former wife of Canadian poet Irving Layton, friend of Leonard Cohen, sister to Donald Sutherland, was a dear friend of mine in Guereville during the 1980s.

Her son, Max Layton is searching for his mother, (Betty) Layton's lost work: specifically paintings, drawings, literary mags, etc. Max Layton is working on a project to create a collection of her work online. If you, or someone you may know, have any of her artwork, especially her paintings, he'd love to obtain high quality photos of her work. He was also wondering if you had any photos, memorabilia, or memories to share?

There is very little on the internet about Boschka, so any little bit would help. Betty was an art student at St. John Vocational School in Nova Scotia during the 1940s, and moved to Montreal to found Canada's first avant garde modern poetry magazine, First Statement, with her brother John (Jamie) Sutherland.

Boschka Layton lived near the Peewee Golf Course, on the Russian River, in Guerneville, California until 1983, then moved to Goat Rock, near Jenner, and passed away from pancreatic cancer on Valentine's Day in 1984.

 Apparently her daughter, Naomi Layton lives in Santa Rosa. Her friends, Kat & Boz Williams of Sebastopol have one painting.

 If you know of an artist, or an art collector, or poet, who lived on the River from 1970 to 1984, please feel free to tag them too.  Any information you might have would be most appreciated.

You may leave me a message here, or you can post stories on my artist Facebook page. —Thanks, Maureen Hurley


Boschka Layton (Betty Sutherland) 1921 - 1984
Guerneville Poet Boschka Layton to Read at Copperfield's

MoHurley's Amazon Book Reviews 2016

I began writing Amazon Reviews in 2013 after reading a Kindle ebook that was so awful, I was distraught. My cousin suggested that I write an Amazon Review. And so I did. I'm over a hundred reviews, total. I haven't written many reviews this year. My goal was a minimum of 25 reviews, I got 24 done; the last one didn't make the midnight cutoff date.

It takes considerable time and thought to write (and rewrite) reviews. I don't take the process lightly. I look for a believable plot, good storyline, and figurative language that doesn't intrude, and subtle intellect. Novels stem from the oral tradition. They should entertain (as well as enlighten). It's not all about the escape fiction part.

Unfortunately many reviews are viewed as a popularity contest. Not. It is my hope that some authors will take the time to correct their typos and upload revised books so that we all benefit. Hey, free copy editing! 

Unfortunately, negative reviews also garner a lot of negative points. Please mosey on over and LIKE some of my reviews. Amazon's all about Like, just like LIKE on Facebook. Except, like, the buttons are, like, different.

My older reviews are buried deep. So I tried to include the direct links whenever possible here as well. Go to MoHurley's Amazon Reviews click on the comments section under my review and that will take you to the review where you can like it.

TO READ MORE REVIEWS, PLEASE VISIT:

MoHurley's Amazon Book Reviews 2017 
MoHurley's Amazon Book Reviews 2016
MoHurley's Amazon Book Reviews 2015

My Amazon Book Reviews 2014
My Amazon Book Reviews 2013

Boschka Layton (Betty Sutherland) 1921 - 1984

Boschka Layton (nee Betty Sutherland) 14 May 1921 - 14 Feb. 1984 ©Maureen Hurley

A dear friend, Boschka Layton, who left us far too soon—is being discovered in Canada. I can't say "re-discovered," because she was largely ignored during her lifetime—especially during her Canada years with her husband, Canadian Poet Laureate and Nobel Prize nominee, Irving Layton. (Wiki) They had two children Max, and Naomi.

Boschka (nee Betty Sutherland), half-sister of actor Donald Sutherland, and second wife of Irving Layton, left Canada to raise her daughter in California—in an anarchist commune on the bohemian shores of Big Sur during the 1960s. Then she moved to the Russian River in the 1970s. (I think). Somewhere along the way, she made a pilgrimage to India and got hepatitis.

When Betty left Irving for good, she had previously changed her name from Bashka (the Rusisan-Jewish equivalent to Elizabeth—as she had converted to Judaism when she married Irving). But when she left Irving,  shechanged the spelling to Boschka—after the painter, Hieronymus Bosch.

After what she described as the sheer hell of living in Montreál with Irving Layton, a formidable debater, who bombastically described himself as "a quiet madman, never far from tears", for Boschka, her escape to California was the promised land—a garden of earthly delights. She never let us call her anything but Boschka. Betty/Baschka was dead and buried in Montreál.

Boschka suffered from an enlarged heart, a result of having had rheumatic fever as a child in Nova Scotia, and when she gave birth to her daughter Naomi in 1950 in Montreál, she had heart trouble, the valves of her heart were damaged—followed by a bacterial infection, or virus (when? ca. 1970s?), which left her stricken with Bell's Palsy.

Boschka had a funny poem, Is There Hope for the Future, Cry the Loud Bells of Palsy? in her first, and only book of poems, stories, and drawings, The Prodigal Sun (1982), about scaring all the small children half to death whenever she smiled at them.

If I don't survive the next San Francisco earthquake
don't live to see the second coming of Christ in two thousand and twenty
I may be remembered for a line in Layton's poem to this third wife… 

             —Boschka Layton, The Prodigal Sun, from Is There Hope for the Future, Cry the Loud Bells of Palsy? 

It was almost impossible to find any information on Betty-Boschka on the internet. In the notoriety of Irving's wake, she's been reduced to a footmark, a modernist muse, a second wife.

Someone described Betty as statuesque—she wasn't tall. Irivng's sister-in-law Eckie, who worked with Betty at Gallagher's Grill in Montreál, and introduced her to Irving in November of 1942, described Betty as crazy as a loon, always drawing, and having movie star looks: "a cross between Ingrid Bergman and Greer Garson." Maybe, but I never saw photos of her when she was young. She had great cheekbones. But most people only saw how Bell's Palsy had ravaged her looks.

Boschka was a gentle, kind person, both quiet and unassuming. She moved carefully, almost shuffling to conserve energy because she had heart trouble. But she had a razor sharp intellect—and wit—to match.

Naomi came to California with Boschka, Max stayed with his father. Naomi was a brilliant guitarist, and like her older brother Max, she learned chords at the knee of Leonard Cohen, and she later studied with Segovia. We kept in touch for a few years after Boschka died. But we lost touch. Naomi was a fragile being. I know Boshcka worried about her. I would also love to know how she is as well.

Boschka lived in Guerneville, CA, in a basement flat/studio by the PeeWee Golfcourse sign. Just before she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, she moved to an amazing cabin at Goat Rock, near Jenner-by-the-Sea, a lifelong dream, but she didn't live there long. Several of us took turns caring for her in a hospice situation in Santa Rosa. She kept insisting that her jaundice was a relapse of hepatitis. At any rate, she was very orange—which made her grey-green eyes startling to see. Like an orange Celtic Krishna come alive.

A misdiagnosis—but from what I understand of pancreatic cancer, it's swift. Steve Jobs managed to live several years with his diagnosis. Boschka was gone within two months. On Valentines Day, I had strange prophetic dreams with metaphors of horses, and hearts beating like a drum just before she died—as if I was with her on the journey to that country from which no traveler returns. I also was running a high fever—bronchitis. She died of a heart attack.

We all said Boschka died of a big heart. And her heart was big, she was an amazing, generous, witty multi-talented woman.

I hand-calligraphed posters—cheaper than typesetting. 1980

Boschka was a poet-painter, like me and we were great friends. I produced many events at Sonoma State, and curated gallery shows there for the Student Union and the InterCultural Center. Her art show was the first time she had a retrospective with sculptures, paintings, drawings, poetry reading, etc., together—Naomi played guitar. It was a wonderful event.

Pre-desktop publishing, black mimeograph 8.5 x12" 11/1980

We belonged to a weekly writing group, the Russian River Women Writers. But I was kicked out of the group because I hand-calligraphed Margaret Ellingson's very long name on one line for a poetry poster for the Russian RIver Writers' Guild, so it was smaller than the other names. This was during the pre-desktop publishing days, hand-calligraphed because no one could afford typesetting. I was the default (free) calligrapher because no one else wanted to do it. I was a sitting duck.

Barbara Baer and Peggy Ellingson were the ringleaders, they were bullies out for blood, the others were sheep: with Mary Ellen O'Banion, Laura del Fuego—even my friend Marianne Ware—taking sides. Grown women acting like a gang of vicious schoolgirls. I was devastated. Only Boschka stood up for me. But that was later. I was supposed to accompany Boschka to Nova Scotia to visit her father, their petty brouhaha nearly cost us our friendship.

Boschka took a perverse delight hearing of my tales of love gone bad, it cemented our friendship. She likened her relationship with Irving Layton to that of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. For both of us, at one point or another, the siren call of a (dirty) oven beckoned. What probably saved us was that we were both casual housekeepers. Was Sylvia's oven spotlessly clean, I wonder?

“WHERE IS SYLVIA?” 

Sticking your head
in the oven
you thought you were terribly clever—
guest editor from Mademoiselle
brilliant author of first novel
up to your neck in poems 

In my dream you rolled
all over the bed with me.
Put one long dark
cloth red leg over mine.
We flashed together
under yellow silk
of sari, red
dotted 

If you didn’t make it
how can i?
You outwrote me
ten times over
before thirty 

In the long evening
I piece together
a novel
like crocheting
or knitting twenty rows
before bed-time. 

Boschka Layton, The Prodigal Sun

Boschka spent the remainder of her years processing that once-in-a-lifetime relationship that gave her joy, two children, whom she loved deeply—and ended with a lifetime of pain. Boschka's stories of day-to-day living with Irving for 15 years, left me shaken—I never could read his work, except with a jaundiced eye. After all that he had done to her. Left her to starve. Literally.

But when I finally met him after hearing horror stories for five years, I understood the attraction, his leonine charisma was still evident—even after all those years.

A poem I remember Boschka reading at one of our poetry workshops: 

BRIEF TO IRVING

I open your latest book

of eighty-two poems

another blitzkreig

and see you're taking up the cudgels

against another wife:

I wonder how she's taking it?

I see. She's leaking headaches

trembling in corners

already

and she's only had two years of you.

The reason, perhaps, appears on page 75

you squirm over your neighbour's crotch. . . .

After twenty years I am still angry

I will say it for us all

Faye, Aviva, Harriet, myself:

We're not, Irving, merely strumpets

for your pleasure;

we're almost numerous enough

your wives

to unionize, vote you out

if you think that makes poetry

you've got another wife coming....

                 Boschka Layton, ca 1983

The irony is, that Irving had cast Boschka aside for Aviva, Wife No. 3, but when Boschka had an affair with one of their friends, Irving instinctively knew of her infidelity. Boschka said he reached up under her dress, felt her wetness, and began to beat his head against the wall, raging and crying. The old double standard. The cock at half-mast. And yet, decades later, Irving sent Boschka a copy of his latest book. I think this poem was in response to The Gucci Bag. The publication date's right—1983. I remember the cover. And I clearly remember her outrage.

In Waiting for the Messiah, Irving Layton wrote:

I was attracted to Betty, but not only physically. There was something about her personality that I knew with certainty fated me to know her beyond this brief moment…her light brown hair blowing wildly in all directions. Now a strange thing impelled me. I stepped over to her and took her in my arms as if we were going to start a dance. We did in fact do a few steps, then I embraced her more closely. "Betty," I said softly, "you and I are going to have beautiful children."

That part was at least true. I hear Boschka repeat it more than once.

Layton remained legally married to Betty during his 20-year relationship with Aviva. Layton finally divorced Boschka to marry a former student, Harriet Bernstein, only to divorce her too. But Boschka kept his name to the very end.

We held Boschka's wake and memorial at her snug house overlooking Goat Rock. Irving, Naomi, Max and Donny—that's what Boschka called her famous actor brother—all came to the event. Plus the poetry community of Sonoma County.

At her memorial service at Goat Rock, I remember Irving read:

BOSCHKA LAYTON: 1921*-1984

Because each act of creation is a miracle

that happens again and again

until it becomes familiar as an autumn leaf

or a ripening apple tree in full sail 

I shall remember you not as charred bone and ash

to be given to earth's mad alchemy

but as the full-bosomed women whose lips

mouthed my awed whisper "We shall make handsome children." 

Your heart's vital joy in the eyes of friends,

in children's smiles and the smiles of old women,

it is presumptuous to speak now of your crazy defiance

idlde to praise the harsh devotions of your life 

Ordinary miracles to pry open the eyes of the blind

happen every day. Yet my deep faith holds:

sun, wind, rain, and the dark nights will change

my Boschka's cinders to deathless apples and poems. 

     Irving Layton

     Santa Rosa,

     Feb 17, 1984

"Everything except writing poems and making love ends up by finally boring me." Irving said goodbye to one love of his life, the muse that brought him to the knees of poetry, and then, like Diana, escaped the ruthless hunter.

And yes, we did spread Boschka's ashes under apple trees in a Sebastopol orchard. And yes, we did eat them in the form of pies the following fall. Only I wasn't invited.

*Differing birthdates 1919, 1920, 1921—Irving wasn't beyond changing facts.


A drawing I made of Boschka as she lay dying.
In Memoriam Boschka Layton, Valentine's Day, 1984

Hard to believe that it's been 30 years since Boschka died on Valentine's Day, and harder still to believe that I never wrote a blog about her. Even after three decades, her passing is still raw, I can remember snippets, but no stories. It's as if I hermetically sealed it all away, never to return.

And then there was the family to consider, but Irving is dead (2006), and I found Max's website online—I had no idea Max could sing. Boschka would be so proud to hear his CD. A first CD at the age of 60, when he found his eyesight failing. Max's candor about the relationship was liberating. Maybe now, thirty years after her death, I can finally write about her.

Boschka Layton (Betty Sutherland) 14 May 1921 - 14 Feb. 1984 ©Maureen Hurley

Boschka Layton on Glenn Gould

I remember Boschka Layton talking of Glenn Gould, she recalled the brilliance of his conversations. The way he played Bach. He must've been a family, or childhood friend, for when he died, she was devastated. 

I remember Boschka's poem for Glenn Gould. I wish I had a copy of it.

Her family was quite extraordinary to draw so many interesting people to its bosom, Leonard Cohen, Irving Layton, and of course, her half-brother, Donald Sutherland's fame comes from that same bosom as well. 

In the character who played Glenn Gould, I heard Donald Sutherland's accent, his voice trilled in the ear, but it was not him. It serve to spark this memory of Boschka, or Betty Sutherland, as she was known then, and Glenn Gould.

Funny how memory works like that, and I was wanting more information, but she is dead these past 14 years. She would've enjoyed this movie, and I watched it for her, remembering all the silly things we used to talk about.

Irving must've gotten ahold of some of my old letters to Boschka, or did they send her papers to him later? I recently received a form letter from McGill University wanting to put my letters to Boschka into Irving's archives, into his literary estate. I had to laugh. And I am such a very minor footnote.

GLENN GOULD'S MUSIC IN DEEP SPACE

Sometimes it feels like that,

the sound of footsteps receding in snow,

and one forgets the loneliness of leaves in autumn. 

My mother madly painted while I was in the womb, 

the colors permeated, and crossed the membrane, 

and later I would be nostalgic for places 

I had never been to before. 

What accounts for a life of miracles? 

Early memories, or of things yet to come? 

Stacking wood, I think of how art 

has always been present in my life. 

Coming up with answers was always harder. 

Poets are always on the verge of tears, 

we could fill lakes haunted by music. 

Voyager has left our solar system,

carrying a gold record of Bach,
with Glenn Gould at the keyboard,
crooning into the folds of deep space.

Nov 3, 1995

added 11/17 minor revisions

BLUEBERRIES

— for Boschka Layton

From the ivory piano keys comes an ache

that cannot fill the cavity of this room;

the desire for slim youthful bodies,

love, and chocolate at midnight.

I am a guilty house guest rummaging through drawers,

and in the overabundant cabinets filled with canned food;

prune/apricot soup and small pyramids of jars

filled with seven kinds of mustard.

In the freezer, diet meals sleep in cybernetic suspension.

From this feast of dark chocolate and blueberries

my cheek numbs and swells like a beesting. Allergy.

Small, opaque stones; pills glistening in my hand

to push the darkness back into its corners.

I have trouble breathing & I'm afraid

of dying in the intimacy of a stranger's house

like my friend Boschka, with her wild drooping cheek,

and aslant smile which provoked

occasional screams from unsuspecting infants

and even the most seasoned of friends.

The melodious Bell's Palsey resounds in my ear

and my face takes on the same shape as hers.

She died in a bed not her own

and her ashes under the gravenstein tree,

were made into apple pies as she wished

but something in her hungers for this world.

I feel like the outside cat, close to death,

desperate to come into the forbidden house

one last time.

7/28/1987
Dave Evans died in right after the conference. I never went back.
rev. 11/88
Napa
Steve Kowit's workshop

1989 Outerbridge

Broadside: Homage to Ken Poff, by David Fisher

April is the cruelest month. A broadside found in Donna Champion’s copy of Boschka Layton’s book, Prodigal Son, published in 1982. So, I suspect we were having a memorial reading for Boschka at the Russian River Writers’ Guild or perhaps a memorial at Paul Mariah’s place in Sonoma—some time in April of 1984, and David Fisher must’ve showed up to read as well. Hence the broadside in her book, marking the title poem of the book. Manroot Press’s Love Poems: Homage to Houseman by Samuel M Steward. So, though I found this in 2018, on somewhat of a pilgrimage of remembrance, I’m posting it on the date of Ken’s death. I remember Ken as a slight, grey sort of man. Dear friend and lover of Paul Mariah. And Paul’s guilt, of course. And the certainty he lived with that he too would follow Ken, so every day he survived the dread disease was filled with grace and guilt. Those who survived the longest shouldered that burden of grief unto the next decade. Or century. I'm not sure when Ken died, but he was still alive and kicking at Helen Luster's memorial in March ofo 1985. His big, beautiful grin shedding light.

Ironically, Paul didn't contract AIDS, He refused to get tested for years, but died of pneumonia in January 1996.




Posted 10/24/18




See Letter to David Fisher

At Peter Nabakov's cabin in the Carmel Highlands

John says that I sat up last night in my sleep and I said an eloquent, polished paragraph on why I was afraid. I do remember sitting up and what I said as being lucid and clear, but I can't remember what I said. John doesn't tell me.

I remember seeing the orange juice container in the semi darkness under the full moon and the color, like the edge of an oil pastel stick, seem to float right off the bottle and come out past me. That's when I leapt up and discoursed theories on this deep subconscious fear that I have. But what is it?

I remember talking about the universe, traveling to constellations, well etherized. John asked me if this fear had anything to do with relationships. I said yes and no.

Yes, a deep fear is surfacing, and yes I'm afraid of the outcome, because of my mother's madness. Logically, I know her insanity is not congenital, not inherited, but tell my psyche that. 

Was it because I wore pearls to bed? Ah, the moonlight on the trees. Distant sigh of the ocean.

The last time I was in Monterey I was with sweet old Bob, an ex-boyfriend. Being here again with John has loosened some of those fears from their moorings. 

January 24, 1986

RRWG memorial reading for Boschka Layton, with Steve Petty, Michael Morey, Hunce Voelcker, Gerrye Payne, Mary Hoffman, Mary Ellen O’Banion, Laura del Fuego, Barbara Baer, Peggy Ellingson, Donna Champion, Zara Altair, Paul Mariah, Bonnie Olsen, Maureen Hurley, Jane Flood,

Obligatory Hug, Apr. 1984, Russian River Writers' Guild

In Memoriam Boschka Layton, Valentine's Day, 1984 (drawing)

River poet, painter dies (Boschka Layton photo)

TENDING THE GARDEN (Merry Christmas Boschka)

TENDING THE GARDEN

My grandmother sends her love

She says you should try more carrot juice
made fresh. 30 carats a day.

Sounds excessive to me
but then grandmothers usually are.

That's why we love them so.
Their wisdom, prairie flowers of thought.
The buffalo robe is spread
on the ample laps of grandmothers.

This robe is your robe, my robe, our laps part.
She wants to know
how the gooseberry bush is doing,
do you need another?

She tends the garden like a robe

The garden is spread before us
like a lamb of hope, of love.

You're the mother-friend I never had

You are the love of grandmothers,
of mothers, of daughters.
Merry Christmas Boschka,
I love you.

She tends to the garden
she tends the garden
she tends the garden.

12/25/1983?
added 11/16

RRWG reading at the Burbank Activity Center with Donna Champion, Marianne Ware, Lee Perron, Pat Nolan, Gail King, Zara Altair, Bonnie Olsen, Boschka Layton, Maureen Hurley,

Guerneville Poet Boschka Layton to Read at Copperfield's Books Jan 10. (need tear sheet)

Canadian poet and Guerneville resident Boschka Layton's first book, The Prodigal Sun, by Mosaic Press, Toronto, Canada, has been released in Canada, the US, and abroad. A poetry reading and book party will be held at Copperfield's Books in Sebastopol on January 10 at 8 PM.

The book, a collection of poems, stories, and drawings, all by the author, reflect the style as diversified as the life of Boschka Layton. She has managed to fit in a full-time career as a painter, an editor, graphic designer, mother, and writer all within a 62-year period.

Winner of the Santa Rosa Junior College Fred Minelli Award for creative writing, recipient of an Ontario Arts Council grant, and a Canada Council grant applicant, Layton claims she wrote her first novel at the age of six, and at seven, her second novel, which apparently contained controversial material.

Her second novel was a how-to book for South Sea Islanders in need of instruction on the assembly of codpieces—which was promptly confiscated and burned by her grandmother. She gave up writing for the next 40 years, became an artist and established herself in Montréal, and later, in California.

Born in Liverpool, Nova Scotia, Boschka Layton, then Betty Sutherland, spent the next 12 years traveling across Canada with her family before her mother died. Her father remarried, and added three more brothers and sisters to the Sutherland clan.

Escaping her wicked stepmother, Betty studied art at a vocational school at St. John's, in New Brunswick. Layton remembers when she first became interested in art. Her brother John was sitting at the kitchen table trying to draw an apple. She helped them and in the process, became hooked. John gave up art and took up writing, and she became the artist.

Her brother John, founded an avant garde literary magazine, First Statement, which eventually merged with another periodical to become the illustrious Northern Review.

Betty who was in charge of layout and book design of First Statement, was also a member of the editorial board. In 1941, she met an unknown writer who wanted to publish his work, and three days later they were madly in love.

The tempestuous relationship lasted nearly 20 years and produced two children. Betty later married Irving Layton after the birth of their son, Max. Irving became a well-known poet, who was later "discovered" by the Black Mountain School poet Robert Creeley. But Betty and her brother "discovered" Irving first.

Irving eventually became Canada's premier poet and received numerous awards and grants. Betty continued designing his books, and she painted. She said, "I painted all my life. I didn't stop painting—even when I had my kids."

Betty finally had had enough of Irving's philandering ways, and left him for good, smuggling her small daughter Naomi out of Canada with an underground passport. But she had to leave her son Max behind. In Canada, a child can't obtain a passport without both parents' signatures—and Irving wouldn't sign.

Betty arrived in San Francisco expecting to find work in the publishing business but was unable to find work. She reverted to menial jobs, working at department stores, restaurants, and provided domestic services. Layton remembers, "Working as a char woman, scrubbing floors for an old lady, was rock-bottom."

Betty took up an itinerant life with a man named Price, and the three of them traveled all over the US, living a few weeks in one town or another, while Price looked for work. Layton, fed up with Price's unsuccessful search for work, sold her house in Big Sur, and left for India with her daughter in tow.

Living abroad for two years, Layton said, "India change my whole life. It cleared all the shit out, and it centered me. For the first time, I began to write again. Obviously, I couldn't write while I was with Irving. He was the writer and I was the painter."

Layton compares her India journals to that of DH Lawrence. Layton said, "After India I never lived with a man again. I'm not saying a woman can't paint or write and live with the man at the same time, but for me, that's when the change occurred."

She added, "I began to concentrate more on my own work. At the age of 50, it was about time. "After India, Layton settled in Sonoma County, in 1971, but continued to make yearly sojourns back to Nova Scotia to visit her father. She said, "I started young traveling across the continent. In my work I'm always trying to bring the two coasts together."

When asked why she didn't revert back to her maiden name of Sutherland after her divorce from Layton—she still signs all are her paintings as Sutherland—Boschka commented "my half-brother Donny was becoming well known as an actor then and I didn't want to be smothered by the association."

Actor Donald Sutherland made his first big break in The Dirty Dozen, and started movies such as Luke, Day of the Locust, and the Academy award-winning movie Ordinary People.

Layton, reminisced about her famous half-brother, and said, "Donny was the most extraordinary kid. There was nothing ordinary about him, even though he starred in the movie Ordinary People. I remember when he was three years old and a beautiful woman came to visit. He came running out across the lawn without a stitch on, and presented himself to her at her feet."

Writing under the nom de plume of Boschka Layton, Layton draws heavily upon her life experiences. She has one semi-autobiographical novel finished, and another novel three quarters completed.

She explained the origin of her name. When Betty married Irving, she converted to Judaism and took the name, Bashka, which in Russian Jewish, is a diminutive of Betty. But when she left Irving, she took on the name Bosch from the painter Hieronymus Bosch. The diminutive -ka ending means "little Bosch."

Boschka's poems and short stories have appeared in several local publications including First Leaves, Sonoma Mandala, Sonoma County Stump, and The Red Book. 

As far as future prospects go, Layton said, "I'd like to get a novel out, some poems out, a book of short stories out, so I can go on writing." She concluded, "sending stuff out is the worst part of writing. It takes up too much time. I think I need an agent."

Layton's book, The Prodigal Sun, will be available at Book and Brush, Copperfield's Books, and Eeyore's Books. Reading with Boschka at Copperfield's book party will be Ina Scrocco. The reading will begin at 8 PM, with one dollar admission at the door.

NO TEARSHEET
A shorter version of this story appeared in Rural Arts Services' ARC, a monthly periodical serving rural California. Boschka Layton, ARC article (tearsheet)

Boschka Layton (Betty Sutherland) 1921 - 1984

Boschka Layton, ARC article (tearsheet)

She has lead a colorful life. In 62 years, Guerneville resident Boschka Layton has had a full-time career as a painter, editor, graphic designer, mother and writer. Her first book, The Prodigal Sun, reflects a style as diverse as her life. The Prodigal Sun, a collection of prose, poetry and drawings by Layton, has been released in the US, Canada, and abroad, and was published by Mozaic Press, Toronto.

Winner of the Santa Rosa Junior College’s Fred Mannelli award for creative writing, Ontario Arts Council grant recipient, and Canada Council grant applicant, Layton wrote her first novel at the age of six. At seven, her second novel appeared, containing controversy all material—a how-to book for South Sea Islanders on the assembly of cod pieces—which was promptly confiscated and burned by her grandmother. She gave up writing for the next 40 years and became a painter, establishing herself in Montréal, and later, in California.

Born in Liverpool, Nova Scotia, Layton, Boschka, then Betty Sutherland, spent the next 12 years traveling across Canada with her family. She later studied art at a vocational school, St. John’s, in New Brunswick.

Layton remembers the moment when she first became interested in art. Her brother John was sitting at the kitchen table trying to draw an apple. In the process of helping him, Layton became caught up in the process. John, who was an invalid, gave up art and took up writing, Betty became an artist.

In Montréal, John (Jamie) founded an avant garde literary magazine, entitled First Statement, which merged with another periodical to become the illustrious Northern Review. Layton was in charge of book design.

In 1941, she met an unknown writer who wanted to publish his work. Three days later they were madly in love. She married poet Irving Layton after the birth of their son. Their tempestuous relationship lasted nearly 20 years and produced two children, Max and Naomi.

Irving went on to become Canada’s premier poet, receiving numerous awards and grants while Betty continued designing his books, and painting. She said, “I painted all my life. I didn’t stop painting—even when I had my kids.”

Tired of Irving's megalomania, Betty finally left him, smuggling young Naomi out of Canada with an underground passport, but she had to leave her son Max, behind. In Canada, a child can’t obtain a passport without both parents’ signatures and Irving wouldn’t sign.

Arriving in San Francisco, and unable to find work in the publishing business, Layton resorted to menial jobs at department stores, restaurants, and a stint in the domestic services. She reminisces, “being a charwoman scrubbing floors for an old lady was rock-bottom.”

Betty took up an itinerant life with a man named Price, and the three of them traveled all over the US, living a few weeks in one town or another, while Price looked for work. Wanting stability, somehow, she was able to buy a small cabin on the Big Sur coast. And settled down. But Price was a wanderlust. Layton, fed up with Price's unsuccessful attempts searching for work, eventually sold her house in Big Sur, and left for India with her daughter in tow.

Layton lived in India for two years. “India changed my whole life,”  she said. “It centered me. For the first time I began to write. Obviously, I couldn’t write while I was with Irving. He was the writer and I was the painter.” She added, “I became my own person, an individual. I suddenly knew who I was.”

After Price, she never lived with a man again. “I’m not saying a woman can’t paint or write and live with the man at the same time, but for me, that’s when the change occurred.” She added, “I began to concentrate on my own work. At the age of 50, it was about time.”

Layton settled in Sonoma County in 1971, but continues to make yearly so sojourns to visit her father in Nova Scotia. She said, “I started young, traveling across the continent. In my work I’m always trying to bring the two coasts together. ”

Although she signs her paintings with her maiden name, Sutherland, Layton retained her married name for writing. When she married Irving, she had to convert to Judism. She said that Bashka was a Russian Jewish diminutive of Betty, and the spelling of Boschka was taken from the painter Bosch. (The “ka” meaning little Bosch.)

When I asked Boschka why she didn’t take back her maiden name, she said, “My half brother Donnie was becoming well-known as an actor, and I didn’t want to be smothered by that association.”

Donald Sutherland made his first big break in The Dirty Dozen, and starred in several movies such as M*A*S*H, Klute, Day of the Locust, and the Academy award-winning Ordinary People.

Layton, reminiscing about her famous half-brother, said “Donnie was the most extraordinary child. I remember when he was three years old and a beautiful woman came to visit. He came running out across the lawn without a stitch on and presented himself to her at her feet.” 

In in her writing, Layton draws heavily from her life. She has one semi-autobiographical novel finished, another 3/4 completed. Her poems and short stories have appeared in several local publications including First Leaves, Sonoma Mandala, the Sonoma County Stump, and The Red Book.

As far as future prospects go, Layton said, “I’d like to get a novel out, some poems, and a book of short stories so I can go on writing.” She concluded, “sending stuff out is the worst part of it. It takes up too much time. I think I need an agent.”

A longer version of this article first appeared in The Paper, a Russian River weekly. Guerneville Poet Boschka Layton to Read at Copperfield's Books Jan 10.

Word Art, Women’s Art Month, Lincoln Art Center Gallery

Petaluma Argus Courier Sonoma Arts Council, Word Art