My new friends

For the past several months, a group of new friends has invaded my studio and, indeed, my life. It started with an email I received last winter while I was out of the country:  a woman I met at a trade show wanted me to create a portrait of her three horses. We corresponded and concurred that we should wait till spring, when the horses shed their shaggy winter coats, to work on getting some photos of them for reference material. She also requested I make a farm visit so I could meet the horses and collect my own photographs.

Spring rolled around and the day came for me to visit the small farm named after the resident senior horse. The setting was gorgeous - a rural valley with a dramatic backdrop of mountains - and to my delight there were goldfinches EVERYWHERE! The place was alive with stunning bright-yellow flashes of colour. My camera was out and in action within moments of my arrival.

At the farm gate I was met by the resident dogs - two Weimeraners and a cheerful terrier pup - and after an enthusiastic greeting by the farm’s owner, I was introduced to the horses.

The elder horse is what I would call a real Southern gentleman - a senior Tennesee Walker, jet black, perfectly mannered, and oh-so elegant despite his advanced age (30+) and failed eyesight. He spent most of his life with his current owner and as a result has never had a care in the world. The big black horse is a local icon, his gentle nature makes him a favourite of children, and he reminded me very much of my own horse Duke, not so much in appearance but in his way of being (Duke, long gone now, was part American Saddlebred, a breed closely related to Tennesee Walkers). I recognized the relationship between this horse and his owner as a partnership built on years of caring for one another, of mutual friendship and of complete trust - an intimate, personal bond. The portrait was to be a tribute to him and would reflect his very special place in his owner’s heart.

Then there was the little guy – a darling pony who greeted me by putting his head under my arm for a hug. The newest equine member of the family, he came to the farm via a local horse rescue group and is definitely home to stay. He has a leg that shows evidence of an old injury and therefore he’s best suited to life as a companion horse, a job he takes to heart and excels at. He may be small, but he’s spunky and unlike so many ponies I have known who can be pushy and even nippy, his manners are perfect. I would have sneaked him into my car and spirited him away if I thought I could have gotten away with it! I’m sure he’d have been totally happy living in my suburban back yard (not! Nor would the local authorities have been too pleased about it.)

The pony’s best friend is another stunningly beautiful Tennesee Walker with flashy pinto markings and just about the most beautiful eyes a horse can have. He and his pony buddy could almost be twins in terms of colouration and markings. But compared with the warm greeting I received from everyone else at the farm, I was surprised at how reserved this horse was, eyeing me and my camera with obvious suspicion and keeping his distance. Then I heard his story: a long history of abandonment and abuse that brought tears to my eyes. The scars on his face and the damage to his psyche are evidence of his hard life. Although still young, a string of neglectful owners and violent treatment have made him wary of strangers and ill-at-ease with the world in general. Thankfully he has his trusty sidekick pony to comfort him, the confident leadership of his elder horse companion, and now, at long last, a committed owner who will stop at nothing to ensure he overcomes his troubled past as much as possible. He will never again be ill-treated but nor will he ever recover completely, having simply endured too much hardship at the hands of humans. It breaks my heart to know that people can be so cruel, but balancing that are the people like his current owner who care so deeply they will do anything in their power to right past wrongs. And so this beautiful, damaged horse has a safe and loving home for the rest of his life. 

After getting to know the horses, hearing their stories, taking about a million photographs of them, and then watching them gallop joyfully out into the hayfield together, it was time to sit down and talk more about the portrait.

In the house I was shown the spot where the portrait would hang over the fireplace mantel, giving me a sense of size and scale. Then my client and I sat down to chat on a shady porch overlooking the hayfield, with mountains forming a majestic backdrop, swallows darting in and out of nesting boxes, and finches and blackbirds fluttering at feeding stations.

The horses soon came to the fence to mooch carrots with the Weimeraners standing by in case any carrot crumbs came their way. The pup, in the way of terriers, explored the hayfield.

An idea was already forming as to how I would like to compose the portrait. I mused about it on the drive home while recalling my day’s experiences. After some more contemplation, I developed a sketch, sent it off to my client, and was delighted to learn that my vision very much matched hers. It was a perfect!

I have been glad to be able to take my time working on this portrait, and to slowly and carefully develop the elements. My client has checked in periodically by text or email, and visited me in person at a fall trade show. But all the while she has reminded me that there is no rush, that I should take my time and enjoy the process. And so I have.

I reflected on each horse and his story as I worked, remembered the sleek Weimeraners, and the bright yellow finches, and the beauty of the farm with its guardian mountains.

I have diligently worked away at the portrait – quietly, carefully and joyfully – and here is the result:

I'm actually still tinkering with minor adjustments and there's a little bit of work still to do on the background, but it's nearly complete. Feeling "finished" can be an elusive thing when working on a complex, detailed piece like this, but I'm confident it's almost there and happy that my client is thrilled with the previews she's seen. It's been quite a journey. One that won't be complete until the portrait fulfils its destiny and is hanging in that pre-ordained spot over the fireplace mantel.

In my years of creating portraits of people’s beloved animals, there is a handful that really stands out in my memory. This will be one of them. Art making is always an emotional process and the connection an artist forms with her/his subject is an intimate one. After working on this portrait, living with it, and getting to know the subjects, I now count these animals and their human guardian among my friends.
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Update: The finished portrait!

 

Hot and cold

It's now been a couple of weeks since I left the Caribbean and journeyed back home to western Canada. In not much more than the blink of an eye, I went from this:

... to this:

And from this...
  

... to this:

 My bird-watching subjects have gone from these:

A wind-blown royal tern.

A purple honeycreeper sipping flower nectar.



My coloured pencil rendition of a honeycreeper.



... to these:

A flock of busy bushtits gobbling seed.

A true snowbird! Juncos always held that
title during my childhood.

My coloured pencil rendition of a junco.

And I no longer need to befriend carefree beach dogs ...

 

... because I've been reunited with my old furry friend - one who would rather be snoozing by the fireplace than out taking her daily constitutional in the snow.

"Can we please go in now?
I have snow stuck between my toes."

It's all a bit of a shock to the system. While it's true there's no place like home and I'm always glad to be back on my own turf no matter where I've been, I found that in the days following my return I was pining for the palm trees, beaches and seemingly carefree climate of the Caribbean. Then, to my shock and sorrow, I learned that tragedy struck there in the form of an out-of-season tropical storm which tore through the region on Christmas Day. The island of Grenada, where I spent such a blissful, relaxing time, was thankfully spared the worst. However, nearby St. Vincent and St. Lucia, both of which I've had the good fortune to visit in the past, as well as Dominica were hard-hit with a total of 18 lives lost at last count and more still missing. Many perished when houses were washed away in rain-induced landslides, others are suffering devastating losses of their homes and livelihoods due to flooding and other storm damage. From thousands of miles away, my heart goes out to those affected and to the families who have lost so much. 

I am reminded that nothing in life should be taken for granted, to be thankful for each day, to appreciate each moment, and to be grateful for my comfortable home and the safe haven of my art studio, even though the location is more northerly than I would, at times, ideally wish for.

Winter is fickle in this part of Canada. The blanket of snow that covered the ground a week ago has disappeared and today, in a sheltered corner of my garden, I discovered this: 

Its blossoms may be scruffy but nonetheless this intrepid little primula holds the promise of spring and the new year that's about to unfold.

It's a tough life (not!)

For the past couple of weeks I've been fortunate to escape the chilly Canadian west coast winter (in fact I hear it's been downright COLD with below-normal temperatures of -10 C). I'm once again in the southern Caribbean, basking in the steamy, nearly-equatorial heat of Trinidad and taking in the breezy trade winds of neighbouring Grenada. Both islands are equally beautiful in their own right.



Maracas waterfall, Trinidad.

 

Sunset view from Grand Anse beach, Grenada

In this part of the world, with a fertile combination of volcanic soil, ample rain and no shortage of sunshine, lush plant life abounds, including exotic fruits and gorgeous flowers. 


Cocoa bean pods and the tiny flowers from which they form.



Orchids blooming among coconut husks.

Colourful bougainvillea gracing an old stone wall.

But it's the smaller things - the lively ones - that never fail to capture my attention. There are bright green lizards scaling walls...

 

... and bats hanging from the rafters of old buildings, napping in the noon-day heat...

 

... and turtles poking up their noses for a breath of tropical air.

 

And of course it's the birds that really captivate me. From noisy flocks of orange-winged Amazon parrots perched high in trees just outside my apartment window in Trinidad...

  ...to drunken hummingbirds sipping carambola (star fruit) nectar...

 

...to cheeky bananaquits squabbling among the foliage just about everywhere I go. They're as common as sparrows or chickadees back home.



A typical bananaquit with bright yellow breast feathers.

A more unusual jet-black bananaquit, found in Grenada and also neighbouring St. Vincent. 

Among my favourites are the tropical mockingbirds whose warbling song awakens me each morning:

My blog readers will remember that last winter I captured the image of a mockingbird in an urban Trinidad setting in this drawing "Song of the Tropics: Mockingbird".


To my delight, just next door to my apartment in Grenada there's a resident juvenile Yellow Crowned Night Heron who defies his (or her) name and can be seen most mornings hunting for small crabs. He/she is not at all shy about posing for my camera:

 

One thrilling morning I was able to observe a handsome adult on the same quest for a crab breakfast.

 

 

It's hard to imagine that the night herons' range on the Pacific coast of North America extends from the tropics as far north as British Columbia. The Reifel Bird Sanctuary plays host to a handful of Black Crowned Night Herons each fall/winter, although this one that I observed last year appears to be longing for more balmy temperatures while huddled among cold, bare branches:

 

 

Below my balcony hummingbirds make regular visits to some pretty pink flowers that grow on a latticed arbour, waging territorial wars with the bananaquits and bees who compete for the flowers' nectar.

 

 

While I haven't yet used my time here to make any art, inspiration is everywhere! And although I may not have done much art making over the past couple of weeks, it's never far from my thoughts.

I recently listened to an interview with portrait artist Phil Richards (he was commissioned by the government of Canada to paint a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II) speaking about his life as an artist and his artistic process. I can't remember his exact words, but the gist of something he said truly resonated with me: he described being an artist as being an observer of the world rather than an active participant; that artists always have a certain detachment as we continually contemplate how to depict our vision the world around us on our canvas, or sketchbook, or whatever our chosen medium may be. We're on the outside looking in, so to speak.

Even though I'm here in this lush, gorgeous part of the world, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin and the grit of sand between my toes as cool blue waves lap at my ankles, lulled by the rhythm of the surf, the warbling of mockingbirds, and perhaps the notes of lively human music drifting in from a distance, my mind is often completely absorbed by the interplay of colour, light and form. I'm captivated by the antics of seabirds diving for fish, lizards scampering among the undergrowth, or beach dogs dozing in the shade. I can get completely caught up observing something as ordinary as a preening pigeon perched on a telephone wire while others in my party enjoy drinks and lunch in a local waterfront bar.

 

On an ongoing basis, potential compositions are mentally constructed, reframed, edited and assessed; some are found wanting and are discarded but the sound ideas are filed away for future reference. And sometimes some scrawled notes and a quick sketch, backed up by a string of photos, ensure the idea remains solid.

I don't feel that being an observer of the world means the experiences life has to offer are any less rich, or enjoyable, or that I don't fully appreciate them. However, it does mean that I'm always, always, always "working".

Such is my life as an artist - and a lucky one, at that!