Sunday 11 November 2018

Closing one door & opening another

I started writing this while minding at my booth at The Mane Event – an annual equine extravaganza that has been an anchor of my fall show schedule every year for the past decade or more. I was surrounded by my art and working on a little coloured pencil demo project in between conversations with customers and neighbouring vendors. When the day was done I packed up my display for what feels like could be the last time.

My booth at The Mane Event (Chilliwack, 2018)

My demo drawing of my good friend Hugo

Throughout my career as an artist, I’ve been involved with events where participants bring their wares and set up for a few days to engage with the public. I’ve been part of big events and small ones – from back-yard gatherings of a handful of artists and artisans, to nationally renowned festivals that attract vendors and visitors from across the country, to regional trade shows where art is just a small part of what’s featured. I’ve lugged more stuff, travelled more miles, and set up and taken down displays more times than I can even recall.

A key component to participating in this type of event is figuring out a display system. Mine evolved gradually from a humble handful of scruffy home-made easels to my current slickly professional show booth. Many events have taken place outdoors, and so I have transitioned from covering things up with plastic sheets to erecting my sturdy canopy tent and setting up within its cozy space. My “mobile gallery” is now a tidy affair that feels like home in any location.

My "mobile gallery" at the Filberg Festival, 2017

The weather has not always been perfect. Sometimes I’ve been forced to batten down my tent with ropes, shield my art from driving rain, or shelter it from the sun. A time or two I’ve looked on in horror as paintings were blown from easels or drenched by downpours. I’ve driven through storms and endured heat waves. I’ve been hot, cold, dusty and damp, but in equal measure quite often the conditions have been just right – at least that’s what I remember.

And when I reflect on these experiences, I think of the people. I have met countless clients – some who purchase an art card, others who have become collectors of my originals, and still others who have participated in my classes, or commissioned a custom piece of art – as well as artist colleagues, vendors of all sorts of other wares, show organizers, and random passers-by. I’ve had fascinating conversations, been puzzled by weird comments, learned valuable lessons, and made firm friendships. Because art-making is, for me, most often a solitary pastime I will miss these opportunities to connect. However, the lure of spending more time in my studios – particularly my cozy Mayne Island space but also my more urban mainland location – and pursuing the ideas I have for new work is undeniable. 

Inside my South Surrey studio
Inside my Mayne Island studio
Maybe some time in the future I’ll be coaxed out to take part in a street festival, or art pop-up, or trade show, but for now I’m easing the door closed on that chapter of my artistic career and flinging open the door to my studio(s). I’m going to head inside and make art, and that’s where you’ll find me. You’ll also be able to see my work on line, and you’ll find it in galleries, gift shops and other venues.

As I finish writing this, I'm in my snug little Mayne Island studio on Day Three of the island's annual fall Art Studio Tour. I've chatted with visitors, sold a few things, made some new connections, and begun work on a new drawing. So far, so good!

Saturday 15 September 2018

Slippery as silk

Those familiar with the art I make know I work in two quite diverse media: I make detailed drawings in coloured pencil and also lively paintings on silk. My subject matter is consistently animals and birds, but what I produce in coloured pencil is stylistically different from my silk paintings. New viewers sometimes think two different artists are involved. 

Coloured pencil has been a favourite of mine since those long-ago days when they were a staple in every public school classroom in Canada. If you are of my vintage, you will remember the Laurentian brand of pencil crayon that was on our supply lists every fall. I never outgrew them, I just discovered better brands, learned new techniques, and kept going. They've been a staple of my art-making practice my entire life.

For that reason silk painting still feels like the new kid on the block in my studio. However, when chatting about my art the other day I came to the shocking realization that as of 2018 I've been working with silk for 30 years! Time, like silk, is a slippery thing. Not only am I older than I care to think about, I'm a veritable veteran when it comes to silk painting!

I became interested in silk painting while I was working in a small art gallery doing custom picture framing, soon after graduating from art school. Several silk pieces came across my table and I was fascinated - captivated by the vivid colours, the luminous nature of the fabric, and the freshness of the designs. I found a one-day workshop on the topic and immediately enrolled so I could find out first-hand what it was all about.

The workshop introduced me to the serti method of silk painting - one that involves drawing outlines with "resist" (a liquid, wax-based product) to define shapes, and then the colour comes from water-based dyes that are applied by brush. It appealed to me on several levels: 1) it involved drawing, and drawing is my "thing"; 2) the colours were luscious and vivid beyond anything I'd experienced with other media; and 3) the dyes flowed gorgeously and somewhat unpredictably through the silk, forcing me to loosen up and providing an excellent contrast to my detailed coloured pencil drawings. After spending just one day learning about silk painting, I was hooked!

It's not the simplest medium to master. There are a number of steps and significant technical challenges. Since this was back in the days before Google, I read books, experimented, and made mistakes. I've heard it takes 10,000 hours to master a new skill. I'd add that it takes an equally great number of mistakes. I certainly made my share but eventually I figured it out.

Since then I've made countless paintings and from the get-go they were well received. This painting called I've Never Seen a Purple Horse was one of my first back in 1988.

The original hangs on my wall and I continue to sell prints of this popular image. It was even featured in US Equestrian magazine profiling artists with unique approaches to depicting the equine form.

I've created some ionic pieces that many will recognize....

Walking the Dog - October

Waiting for Walk Time

I've had the good fortune of having created paintings that won awards, including these two...
The Transients: Snow Geese
Envison Masters Award, Oil & Water 2014, South Delta Artist's Guild

First Prize (water media), Arts 2011, Surrey Art Gallery

Some of them have travelled the world to buyers in far-away places...

Quiet Reflection: Sandhill Crane
resides in in Malta
Treasure of Nariva
(Blue & Gold Macaws)

resides in Trinidad
I've taught workshops to eager learners wanting to give silk painting a try, and have had students join me from across Canada and as far away as Brazil!

I illustrated a children's book with silk-painted images...

And I've created some very personal works, such as these...

Three Red RaincoatsMy dogs Riley and Ginger Snap, both gone now,
with their buddy Roxy who remains alive and well.

Couch PotatoMy cat Jasper, now deceased.

The Talisman
(Read its story by clicking here.)

It's been a thirty-year labour of love - a journey that's involved countless hours of creative exploration and generated emotions ranging from elation to crushing disappointment, as is the way with any artistic endeavour.

These days I find myself focussing mainly on my coloured pencils. However, I know the lure of shimmering silk and vibrant, flowing colour will, at some point, cause me to break out my supplies and turn my studio over to silk painting once again. I will lose track of the minutes and hours while exploring its colourful, slippery universe. 

Perhaps I'll even lose track of another decade or two!

Sunday 8 July 2018

A Day at the Dog Show

Written by Lily the cocker spaniel

It started out as an ordinary day here on Mayne Island - one of those summer days when I get up, go outside to play ball, then I have breakfast, and a nap, and then usually I play more ball, and more ball, and more ball - just about as much ball as possible, all day long. 

But on this day things were different. After breakfast I had to have.... a BATH! And I hadn't even rolled on any stinky dead crabs at the beach so I couldn't figure out what was going on.

After the horrible bath, instead of going outside to play ball I had to stay in the house because Deb said, "You have to stay clean for the Dog Show". I was pretty sad about that.

I didn't know what a Dog Show was. However, I figured it might be fun.

And it was! We went down to the park and hung out in the sunshine and visited with lots of other people and their dogs... big dogs, small dogs, older dogs and puppies. I got lots of cuddles and pats from people who thought I was cute (without sounding like I'm bragging, that actually that happens to me a lot but even more on this day). Then we lined up for the Dog Show.

First we entered "Obedience". I was supposed to sit, stay, and then run to Deb when she called me. I sat really nicely, and I stayed... 

... but when Deb walked away I got distracted by some people sitting behind me who wanted to pat me. They gave me some nice tummy-rubs! Then when Deb called me I ran towards her lickety-split, but there were more people behind her who wanted to pat me so I ran right past her for more tummy-rubs! Turns out the judges thought the winning dog should run to their person, not to other nice people, so I didn't get a trophy.

We also entered "Dogs and Owners Who Look Alike". Deb said it was A Long Shot. It turns out that another dog got that trophy too so I guess that's what A Long Shot means.

But then we entered my favourite category: "Jumping". Was that ever fun! There were a bunch of little dogs around my size.

We all took turns jumping over a little fence. At first it was really easy...

Then the fence got higher....

... and higher...

.... and even higher..

...and then really high ...

...and then even higher!

 And guess what? I jumped higher than any other little dog and I got a trophy!

I am now officially Mayne Island's "Best Small Jumper"! Am I ever proud. I can't wait for next year even though it means I'll have to have another horrible bath. I guess I'll probably end up having a few more baths before then anyway, especially if I find stinky dead crabs on the beach.

I was pretty tired after the Dog Show but that's OK, at least I got to go back home and play ball.


Some photos courtesy of Stephen Cropper and Toby Snelgrove. More pictures of the show are available online at Toby Snelgrove Photography

Sunday 27 May 2018

The Art of Collecting

Collectors and their collections come in many forms. 

Artists are typically overjoyed when their work captures the attention of someone who likes it enough to buy it. We're even more excited when that person comes back for more and becomes what's known as a Collector. Some Collectors have homes full of original art, others may 
have only a couple of precious pieces, but whichever the case their enthusiasm and appreciation for our work is one of the driving forces that keep us busy in our studios.

Artists are often Collectors themselves. It's an occupational hazard. Our appreciation for and ongoing exposure to the work of other artists makes us prime candidates for stretching our limited budgets so we can surround ourselves with works of art that bring us joy and satisfaction.

There's also another type of collecting that we artists are also susceptible to, and that's the impulse to acquire objects that spark our creativity. Anyone who's been around me for long knows I have a particular weakness for feathers, and also for shells, rocks and, most recently, bits of wood. In my living spaces and studios there are pots and piles of feathers, assortments of shells from sea-side rambles, and handfuls of pebbles deemed special enough to be slipped into a pocket or backpack.

I have created my own beach inside my urban townhouse.

Shells and pebbles fill bowls and adorn shelves and window ledges.

Feather "bouquets" can be found in both my city and island studios.

And then there are the sticks. My selections are often bits of driftwood but I also particularly like arbutus branches.

I think I have developed this affinity for wood from my four-legged companion Lily who rarely comes home from a walk without bringing a stick. 

Some are big...

... and some are small...

...but just about every day a stick finds its way home with us. There's a growing pile of her sticks at the end of my Mayne Island driveway, most of which were acquired during our evening rambles to the nearby beach. I sometimes find one of her sticks carefully tucked away in a cranny in back seat of my car. I have observed her burying the most special of her sticks in carefully chosen locations around the yard. Lily, who comes from a line of dogs bred to retrieve and carry, is a dedicated Collector.

The act of collecting is integral to the life of an artist given we produce artwork for our clients to collect and we collect items for our own inspiration. 

And sometimes we simply hang out with others for whom collecting is in their DNA.

Friday 23 March 2018


A few days ago the equinox marked the onset of spring - a time when the earth comes into bloom, birds announce the arrival of dawn, and frogs awaken from hibernation and commence their evening chorus. Spring is also the time when the Federation of Canadian Artists (FCA) convenes a jury of its Senior members to review the portfolios of artists applying for advancement within the organization. This year I was one of those applicants.

For those not familiar with the FCA, it's a national organization dating back more than 75 years. It counts Lawren Harris and AY Jackson among its founders, and Emily Carr as an early member. Its mission is "to advance the knowledge and appreciation of art and culture to all Canadians, offering education, exhibition and communication in the Visual Arts, and to support and promote emerging to professional member artists". There are three levels of FCA membership, all of which require artists to complete a jurying process to determine eligibility. It starts with "Active" status that offers the opportunity submit work for FCA exhibitions. Active members who are accepted into enough exhibitions over a defined time frame can then apply for Signature status, either as an "Associate" or "Senior". (Complete information about the FCA can be found at

Applying for Signature status is a nerve-wracking process that involves submitting a selection of carefully chosen artwork for review by the jury. As most artists know, jurying of any kind generates a significant level of anxiety as we expose ourselves and our work to critical review. When we're successful, our angst is transformed into euphoria. The standards for the "Associate" level are high, and for "Senior" they're even higher, so when I received the call to tell me I had succeeded in my bid for Senior status I felt absolutely elated.

In celebration of my success, I'd like to share my portfolio. All 10 of these coloured pencil drawings were submitted on line as digital images, and three of them (Wild Muscovy, Master Builders and Butterflies & Goosebumps) subsequently delivered to the gallery for "live" viewing and inclusion in the Success! show in the gallery once jurying is complete.

Wild Muscovy

Master Builders (Bushtits)

Butterflies & Goosebumps
(Chinese Geese & Cabbage Moths)
Out from the Shadows
(Great Grey Owl)

Canadian Icon (Grey Jays)

Yellow-rumped Warbler

Scrub Jay

Summer's End (Bushtit)
Stickleback's Misfortune
(Great Blue Heron)

I can now proudly use the initials SFCA after my name and count myself among the artists who have worked to make the Federation of Canadian Artists recognized for the standards it maintains for its members and for its ongoing commitment to the Visual Arts. 

Monday 5 February 2018

The Talisman

I often find myself contemplating ravens. I always thought they were interesting birds - highly intelligent and resourceful, known as The Trickster by First Nations cultures, and in other cultures as a symbol of good or evil, life or death, depending on who's doing the labeling. However, it's only in recent years I've given them much consideration and I now find I have developed some very personal feelings about them. In fact, the raven has taken on the quality of a talisman for me.

On a terrible February day not so long ago - a day of loss and sorrow - one of the few things I recall clearly is the sound of ravens calling in the tree tops. In the months and now years that have passed since then I have been acutely aware of these iconic black birds. 

I often hear and glimpse them in the high trees around my Mayne Island cottage, giving me an appreciation for their vast and varied vocabulary and for the soft whooshing sound made by their wings as they move about the neighbourhood. From eavesdropping on their conversations and spying on their interactions I have come to understand just how social they are, how they form relationships, how they care for one another. In many ways, they are not unlike we humans.

I have had dozens of up-close encounters with them, including high in the Rocky Mountains...

...deep down in the Grand Canyon...

... on the vast, sandy beaches of Vancouver Island's wild west coast...

...and on the picturesque gravelly beach that's a stone's throw from my Mayne Island cottage; a place where I like to watch the sun rise (the ravens appear to like to do that too).

These smart, social, statuesque birds are with me, it seems, wherever I go. I have collected stray feathers and greatly admire the iridescent blackness of them. When I see a raven, I acknowledge it and like to pause to appreciate its presence.

It seems only fitting that a raven should feature in my art. In particular, a silk painting I call The Talisman.

I gave it this title for a handful of reasons. While working on it, I found myself reflecting on my life's learnings and experiences. The dark plumage with its intricate patterns is an apt metaphor for a sorrowful time shrouded in grief and the somber journey out from that shadowy place. The bird's bright eye reflects wisdom gleaned from those experiences, and its sharp, sturdy beak points the way forward. The cherry represents the sweetness life may yet have to offer. Shades of purple and magenta resonate for reasons I can't articulate. 

It's an important, personal piece - a milestone of sorts - invested with emotion. While I completed the painting some time ago it wasn't till now that I felt right about sharing its story here.

With a few notable exceptions, I rarely keep much of the art I make. However The Talisman is one of those exceptions. This painting will stay with me and help guide my onward journey as well as serve as a reminder of where I've been.

Dedicated to Thomas Kalpatoo, December 21, 1948 - February 17, 2015