Where does the time go?

I recently realized the last time I blogged was about three months ago. When I first started blogging I thought I'd write every week. So much for that! Time has simply flown by so this post will be a quick catch-up of some of the the goings-on in this particular artist's life.

Travelling
I was fortunate enough to take a trip to the United Kingdom where a week of walking on the Hampshire coast was on the agenda. One marvellous part of it was the birds and animals encountered along the way.

I and my party walked through bird sanctuaries where shorebirds abound, such as this lapwing...

In the New Forest we were treated to encounters with curious pony foals...

 

And herds of inquisitive heifers...

There were families of swans...

And we were fortunate to glimpse a timid and rather moth-eaten looking deer...

And on a later day trip, there was the wonder of seeing feral parakeets dwelling in the big trees of urban London. They may be considered "invasive" but they are darned cute!

Long-distance walking in the UK is a stark contrast to hiking in the Grand Canyon where I spent a couple of weeks last year sleeping in a tent and lugging a hefty back pack full of supplies. In England each day ended with a comfy bed & breakfast and a meal at a local pub. It's all quite civilized by comparison with sleeping on the ground, eating dehydrated food, and drinking water filtered from frog ponds. However, each adventure has its own kind of charm.

Exhibitions
As many of my readers know, I now divide my time between British Columbia's Lower Mainland and Mayne Island, and as I establish my art practice on Mayne I've been starting to show my work there. I have participated in a couple of excellent group exhibitions in the historic Agricultural Hall and had a solo show in the Mayne Island Community Library, all courtesy of the Southern Gulf Islands Arts Council. I'm enjoying getting to know the art community on the island and finding my own niche. My art cards and prints can now be found on the island at EnVision Gallery.

Studio construction
My little studio on Mayne Island is almost finished! The furniture is in, the hanging system installed, and all that's left now is the installation of a problematic custom window. In the mean time, with sturdy plastic covering the empty window cavity, I've been able to make good use of the space and have found it to be every bit the perfect creative zone I had envisioned. Outside my studio door the birds call to one another in the tall trees and deer wander through the sunny meadow. There are few distractions apart from Lily requesting I throw her ball, and the lure of a walk along the nearby beach. I hope to have the studio open to the public when the finishing touches are complete so stay tuned!

New Artwork
I've been busy creating some new work and there's more in the planning stages. Among my most recent pieces is "Canadian Icon: Grey Jays" (coloured pencil), an appropriate subject in this year of Canada's 150th birthday celebration.

When I'm on Mayne Island nuthatches abound in the trees - often visiting my birdbath - so it's only fitting that one of the first pieces I produced in my new studio is this little one I call "The Acrobat" (also coloured pencil):

And I even broke out my soft pastels - a medium I haven't done much with in years, and created this piece featuring a flock of sleepy Oystercatchers resting on the rocks at Bennett Bay, a half-hour's walk from my studio. The loose quality of pastels was a welcome break from the fine detail of coloured pencil.

Fans of my silk paintings will be happy to know that I have some new silk pieces in the works, to be unveiled soon!

Upcoming
My next event is the annual Filberg Festival on Vancouver Island - always a favourite and one I recommend to anyone who is able to attend. I'm currently hunkered down in my mainland studio preparing, with the able assistance of Lily and her friend Roxy who is currently visiting. It's obviously exhausting work!

I'm not making any promises but hopefully it won't be quite as long before the next blog post. Till next time...

The Art of Gratitude

For much of my life, I had a particular dream. That dream was to devote myself to making art - not as a hobby, nor even as a part-time vocation worked around the fringes of a job, but as a full-time occupation. However, life has a way of forging its own path, with its various obligations and commitments and responsibilities, and years went by. I brought in a regular paycheque and was able to make art part-time. I felt reasonably content but never fully satisfied with that arrangement. Finally it seemed the moment was right and I took the plunge – leapt off the proverbial cliff by leaving my day job and giving art-making my full-on attention. It took a while but I figured out how to make a go of it. Art teaching helped pay the bills, my productivity increased, my art evolved, and – happily – sales grew. Although I never worked harder in my life, I was (and am) grateful to be pursuing that dream, and for those whose unflagging support helped make it possible.

I had another dream, one I shared with my husband. That dream was to have a little place on an island – a place we’d be able to go for much-needed breaks from our busy lives. For me, an art studio was part of that idyllic picture. In 2014 our island dream also became reality when after more than a decade of on-again-off-again searching we managed to purchase a dilapidated little yellow cottage in the woods on Mayne Island. Grateful doesn’t do justice to how that felt – it was like a miracle. We could hardly believe we’d done it!

I’m grateful my husband was able to taste that dream given just a few short months later his life suddenly ended.

A black year of solid grief was followed by a grey year of re-grouping as I struggled to figure out my solo path. My gratitude for those who helped me through those times is beyond measure. The same goes for the constant presence of my four-legged companions who got me out of bed each morning and curled up with me at night. And when life on the mainland was too hard to bear, the little yellow cottage provided refuge, a place where I could find solace among the trees, listening to the wind and birds ...

 

... or wander to the nearby beach, perhaps to observe a summer moon reflected on pink water ...

 

... or get going on some of the therapeutic physical tasks of fixing and maintenance.

Being there helped me in ways I can’t put into words. Even during the darkest times I understood that despite everything that had happened, I was lucky to have such a place and I was grateful.

And now phase two of the island dream is becoming reality:

When we first purchased the property, we dreamt of building a modest house and turning the somewhat scruffy little cottage into an art studio. That dream was shattered but instead a re-worked version of it is now coming together. The cottage has benefitted from some TLC, and just across the driveway a tiny art studio will soon be complete. It’s not much bigger than a glorified garden shed but it’s snug and it has windows that take in the view of the big trees to the east and the sunny meadow to the south.
 

Looking at it, I feel a shiver of contentment. And sometimes I can almost feel my husband beside me, squeezing my hand in approval, helping me remember to be grateful not only for what I have, but for what I had.

Brainy Birds

This is my newest coloured pencil drawing which recently made its debut on line and also  at a local exhibition. I call it "Master Builders (Bushtits)".

Many who have seen it have been intrigued because the nest looks like something from a TV nature program about birds in some distant land. They had no idea there were such elaborate nests to be found right here in our local woodlands. But there are!

If you know what you're looking for it's not difficult to spot these sock-like constructions dangling among branches, particularly from late fall through early spring when there are no leaves to obscure the view. I observed and photographed this one (below), which served as the reference for my "Master Builders" drawing, at the Reifel Bird Sanctuary a couple of springs ago. At first glance it might look like just a hunk of moss but there's something artful about it that makes it more than just an accident of nature.

Even more intriguing is the fact that these intricate structures are built by one of the tiniest songbirds - plain-old ordinary bushtits which are often seen at birdfeeders. In particular, they have a fondness for suet cakes. The neighbourhood gang drops by regularly at my feeder to sample my offerings.

It's hard to imagine that these intrepid little creatures can, with just their beaks to work with, weave such large, magnificent homes. But they can! Guided only by instinct, they select the materials which they collect and transport to their building site, and then - one twig, one shred of moss, one strand of spider silk at a time - they create something amazing. Somehow they know exactly what to do and how to do it.

So the next time you see a flock of twittering bushtits consider their abilities and ponder the amount of energy and dedication it takes for them to construct their intricate nests. If you spot a nest during the spring when the birds are intent on building a home where they will brood their eggs and (providing everything goes according to plan) rear their babies, please observe from a distance. Bushtits can be put off by the presence of too much human activity nearby and can't afford to abandon construction and expend extra energy on another nest in a new location.

There are lessons to be learned in nature. Ordinary little bushtits are master builders who are pre-programmed with nest-building know-how, who have boundless perseverance, and who are undaunted by a seemingly insurmountable task.

Personally, I think they give the term "birdbrain" a whole new meaning.

Trouble in paradise

I recently took out a membership with the Mayne Island Conservancy - a dedicated group with a mandate to protect the island's delicate habitat. They educate the public, they raise and sell native plants, they count birds - in general they encourage thoughtful stewardship of the land and sea. The organization is currently working to preserve an ecologically rich tract of waterfront which, if they are successful, will then be safeguarded from future development. I admire and support the work of individuals such as these committed volunteers who recognize the precious nature of island habitats.

Last month I was able to make a trip south to another island - this one in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

It had been 20 years since I last visited Maui and I remembered it fondly. During this visit, as much as I enjoyed the sunshine and the beaches and the welcome break from winter, it served as a strong reminder about just how precarious island habitats are.

I saw and photographed lots of birds. I even had the good fortune to glimpse an owl (always a thrill). But of the many species I encountered, perilously few were native to the island. The cooing doves, kooky shrieking Frankolins (kind of like a partridge), the mobs of mynahs, the myriad twittering finches, charming lovebirds and stealthy egrets - all of them introduced from Asia, or Africa, or India, or other places with similar climates. Pets gone wild, game birds, or simply by human whim, these birds thrive.

Brazilian cardinal

Cattle egret

Lovebirds

Mynahs

 

Not so the native Hawai'ian birds. Dozens of species are gone, others hang on by only a thread. Habitat loss, aggressive introduced species (mongoose, feral cats and many others), and diseases to which the native birds had no immunity have taken a massive toll. The only native species I was able to observe were shorebirds, both migratory and year-round residents.

 

Black crowned night heron

Golden plover

Many find sanctuary in the Kealia Pond National Wildlife Refuge - a place not unlike the Reifel Bird Sanctuary back home.

Hawai'ian stilt



Hawai'ian coot

The island was a breadbasket after Western colonization, producing fruit, sugar cane, cattle and more. What were once productive cane fields are now fallow. There's not a pineapple in sight. Vast acres of former grazing lands are overgrown with an aggressive type of vine that was planted as fodder for cattle and now, without hungry mouths to keep it in check, spreads wildly and engulfs everything in its path in a thick green layer of choking foliage like something out of a sci-fi movie. Plants introduced in the interest of food production or simply for decoration thrive and run amok. Traces of the original habitat are long gone.

I found this visit to Hawai'i to be instructive. On one hand there are success stories - scores of sea turtles and plentiful humpback whales could be viewed from the shore at leisure.

And there are, of course, land areas that have been protected. The silversword plant, once virtually extinct due to overgrazing and found nowhere else in the world, has made a comeback at Haleakala National Park.

 

However, the losses are shocking. Dozens of the bird species who called the Hawai'ian Islands home - birds that were found nowhere else on earth - are now extinct, many during my own lifetime and some, like the po'ouli (a type of honeycreeper), since my last visit to the island. I hope the valiant efforts being made to preserve the remaining small populations of threatened bird species will work. It's a situation not unlike the Northern Spotted Owls I wrote about recently - one where human intervention and Herculean long-term conservation efforts offer the only hope.

Islands are microcosms for what's happening to our planet which is in itself an island in the Universe. We would do well to pay attention. Thankfully there are groups, such as the Mayne Island Conservancy, who already are.

Predator vs Alien

I love owls. I have kind of a thing for them. Seeing one always gives me a thrill, as I described in my very first blog post Day of the Owls some years back. I have photographed them whenever possible, I've drawn them, and I have plans for more artwork featuring them. 


Barred owl (coloured pencil)

Short-eared owl (coloured pencil)

Great horned owl (coloured pencil)

That's why when I heard that the Northern Spotted Owl Breeding Program was opening its doors to public visits, I jumped at the chance. I never expected I'd ever see one of these elusive birds. After all, in BC they are critically endangered to the point where there might be a dozen of them still existing in the wild, and to the south US populations are also under severe threat. 

This program's mission is to re-establish a viable wild population in BC by breeding owls in captivity, rearing and then releasing the offspring into protected habitat that's been set aside for them. It's slow going for a number of reasons, primarily that nobody ever tried to do this before so there's been a lot to learn. The staff, whose enthusiasm and level of commitment for their work is nothing short of awe-inspiring, are confident that the program will yield significant results soon. They've learned a lot over the past years of the program and with 17 of the precious birds on site, some of whom are now second generation, they're convinced that the steady production of releasable owl-lets can't be far off.
 
Spotted owls are medium-sized as owls go (smaller than I expected) with softly speckled brown plumage, deep dark eyes and a quiet demeanor. As visitors, we were allowed to see and photograph this handsome retiree from the breeding program.
 

 

I once read that the haunting calls of spotted owls could bring tears to the eyes of the Europeans who first visited our western forests. These birds are are shy, reclusive, and have very specific needs that can be met only among old growth trees - that is, forests more than 150 years old. They require big dead trees to provide nest cavities, their diet consists primarily of northern flying squirrels, and they require large territories in which to make their living. They are specialized denizens of the deep woods.

However, deforestation is only one of the primary threats to these owls' existence. Despite thousands of protected acres allocated as owl habitat in southwestern BC, their numbers continue to decline. A big problem is this alien invader:

 
I admit that I love barred owls (even after watching this one rip a thankfully-already-dead mouse to pieces). I hear them hooting softly in the trees at night and they're the species I see most often. But there's a reason for that: they are opportunists who eat anything they can catch, breed readily, and are basically great at adapting to whatever circumstances come their way. They have gradually spread across the continent, taking advantage of human development, and have over-run what used to be northern spotted owl territory. They look a bit like spotted owls but they're bigger and far more aggressive. They are an invasive species that the spotted owls cannot combat and their take-over is almost complete.
 
Without human intervention, the northern spotted owl will disappear from our forests forever. Barred owls are now captured when they invade spotted owl territories and are moved elsewhere. The tiny population of aging wild northern spotted owls will (fingers crossed) soon be bolstered by the release of captive-bred youngsters.

There is hope we won't lose this shy predator to the alien occupation - the first wave being the humans who cut down most of their forests, followed by the interloping barred owls who arrived in our wake and stole what remained. It's ironic that it's now up to us to save them.

To find out more about the Northern Spotted Owl Breeding Program visit their Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/nsobreedingprogram/?hc_ref=SEARCH&fref=nf

West coast winter wonders

The waning days of the old year are often a hurried time of excitement and excess. For me, they provided a time to slow down and appreciate the quiet wonder of this part of the world. I had my own rush of activity as I wrapped up workshops and commissioned artworks with Christmas delivery dates, this coloured pencil drawing of a warbler among them:

I then slipped away from the frigid mainland into the embrace of that most wonderful of places: the west coast of Vancouver Island. A funky beach-front house, open stretches of sand, and glorious vistas of surf and shoreline were mine to enjoy, with the good company of my sister and her family, for a blissful week of long walks and awe-inspiring moments when the beauty of the place simply becomes too much for words.

As always, the local wildlife provided picture-perfect moments:

 

 

And a certain small black cocker spaniel simply couldn't get enough time on the beach chasing her beloved ball!

 

Over the course of a week, weather conditions ran the gamut. Sub-zero temperatures on arrival were blown away by a frantic gale with 100km-per-hour winds, making beach walking a challenge! Rising temperatures brought gentle rain after which the clouds cleared to reveal the glorious winter sun. There were moments when sitting on the deck in the sunshine with a cup of tea was the best thing in the world; a rare mid-winter treat. 

At nightfall, Venus could be observed shining brightly and stars twinkled with a clarity that can only be observed in places remote from city lights. My sleeping quarters were a glass-roofed solarium and one morning I awoke to a gift: the sight of a bald eagle soaring above me against the backdrop of clear blue sky. That image will stay with me forever without the aid of a photograph. 

This winter on the west coast is truly a time of quiet wonders, abundant gifts that don't come from any store.