These are toubled times. The stresses and strains of isolation and fera in the riegns of a world pandemic can be a little overwhelmning to say the least. I am the kind of person who doesn’t mind a little isolation, in fact its instrumental in my creative process. Balance is important as well and isolation can be overwhelming at times. In my case just a walk in the woods can calm the feelings associtaed with isolation, the Japanese call it Forest Bathing. I don’t see anyone on my forest walks, but my sense of isolation becomes one of belonging. The forest offers me so much life. I rarely see animals or even birds but I get the feeling of belonging to the great big world. Read More
Some of us are deep into our isolation. We are about to break free from the chrysalis of our time alone. Our world begins to open up after quarentine. My life has had self isolation as a theme for many years. I moved into a boarding house while I was in high school. I kept a lot to myself. I got through art school by scrimping and saving. I have lived in the country since 1979, most of my adult life. I do well being alone, expecially now. I have had great mentors for it and have taken my cues from them and how they coped. It is my creativity that saves me. We all may have internal dialogue and I have always revelled in what i call ‘head painting’. I carefully imagine a scene, or use the one in front of me. I begin to imagine painting it, lay down the initial colours. I then define the colours, add strength and character, light and dark…its an internal activity that then gets acted out when the canvas/paper and paint are within reach. Here is one of my stones watercolours. I have spent many hours watching water… What we do in […] Read More
People often ask me how long a piece takes to create. these days I tell them almost 50 years, as long as I have been practicing my art. There is no clock in my studio. time takes on a different value here. It moves to its own drummer. I often put an album on repeat when I am here. That way no change in atmosphere can break my paint spell. Sometimes the day passes in a flash- other times each second is experienced, recorded, with full awareness. The scratching of the brush whilst laying on a scumble often attracts my attention. The sound tells me something I need to know about the paint. The tug or the pull or glide of the brush tells me a tale that I, as the artist, only knows. Read More
“Stones” This long-term series, done in watercolours is one of the mainstays of my art practice. There are endless permutations of the imagery I see when at watersides in my Ontario home. I strive to bring to you, the magic of these river and lakesides. I could go on and on…but just take a look…. Read More
The train rattles and rocks it’s way eastward, bringing me back to my studio, to my commitments and the solitary life I lead there. The water rushes and defines the sky by way of reflection. The fields are marginally greener since my trip west only a few days ago. I’m struggling with choices I must soon make and the train offers me time to think. Life is shifting for me, it’s partly the time of life and partly serendipity, that is offering these divergent paths. Only patiently waiting for the right answer to be obvious is the answer to the questions posed. Life is a continuum and I’ll put one foot in front of the other and ask the questions that need to be asked and all will be what will be. Save Save Save Read More
The smell of ice is still in the air. The nearby stream rustles and rumbles, as water passes from place to place, not unlike my thoughts. It feels like spring, but it is only a teaser. What else is spring, but a teaser? She shows her face beside a winters day, flashing her warm smile on our expectant faces, then she disappears behind a bank of new fallen snow. Then one day, some green appears. A group of small leaves appear, who have had their heads resting under the whorls of dead grasses that lay recumbent. The weight of winter lay upon their collective shoulders and they fell to embrace the earth in a bruised dance. But crocus and snowdrops, trout lilies, and my favourite, scilla, all vy for their showplace in the forest floor. One at a time and in scattered groups they open their tiny flower faces to the spring show. A gentle wave of birdsong accompanies their appearance, calling out “its spring” in no uncertain terms. A chorus will soon join the chicadees, the distinct scree of the red winged blackbird alongside the distant honk of incoming geese while careening towards the wet fields. More will follow in […] Read More
0 comments