A Nutty Experience

After a busy day at my studio, greeting the visitors dropping by for the Langley Art Studio Tour, my husband and I decided to take Riley (a.k.a. the collie princess) and head to Campbell Valley Park for a relaxing evening walk around a favourite trail known as the Little River Loop. This picturesque two-kilometre trail winds through woodlands and meadows, and across the boardwalks and bridges spanning the Little Campbell River and associated wetland. The immediate area is alive with birds, particularly chickadees, as well as a healthy population of squirrels - both the native red squirrels, European grey (and black) squirrels, plus the occasional chipmunk. Most are freeloaders, taking full advantage of the generosity of human visitors bearing gifts of seed and peanuts. The chickadees will even perch on willing hands when sunflower seeds are offered.

A trio of native red squirrels gobbling seed on the boardwalk.

Cute as a button, a red squirrel poses for my camera.

Riley observing a park denizen.

Today, as we neared the end of our walk, a strange thing happened. A small grey squirrel - a juvenile - came racing up to us. But unlike most park squirrels, it didn't pause a safe distance away to see if we'd toss a peanut, it ran right up to Riley (much to her excitement) then under her, only to arrive at my feet and then climb up my leg like a tree. It kept going till it reached my shoulder where it perched for a while before heading for my pocket. I didn't quite know what to do! The wee thing seemed to be in search of food so I fished out a Charlie Bear (a thumbnail-sized, cheese-flavoured dog treat). It was happily accepted and the fuzzy little rodent crept into the crook of my arm to enjoy the snack. When it was finished, I put the squirrel on the ground and attempted part ways but it then headed straight for my husband's leg and began to again ascend skyward. Not being quite the squirrel lover I am, he didn't enjoy this experience so I grabbed the squirrel, placed it back into the crook of my arm and offered it another Charlie Bear. It was content.

By this time, passers by were marvelling at this unusual squirrel behaviour. General consensus was it must have been hand-reared by some well meaning human who then left it in the park to fend for itself (it nipped me twice, so perhaps had outworn its welcome with its foster humans). Whatever the case, the little thing had absolutely no life skills other than figuring humans were the ticket to shelter and food. Being the softie I am, there was no way I could leave it in the cold, dark park to be killed by the first predator or less amenable dog that happened along, so I stuffed the squirrel into my camera bag, we headed to the car and then made a bee line for the Critter Care Wildlife Shelter.

Critter Care is located just a few kilometers away on the other side of the park. We had our fingers crossed there would be someone on site that late in the day willing to accept the little foundling. Happily a few personnel were still there, and though they wearily me advised me that I should probably have left the squirrel where I found it, they took pity and whisked my camera bag, complete with squirrel, into a back room. They had me sign a form and said they'd keep the youngster for observation (they determined that the squirrel was indeed a girl, and that she was a bit undersized to be out on her own) then they'd release her, ideally in a more appropriate location where proper wild squirrel behaviour could be learned. As I departed, the young woman who had assisted me said, "thank you for caring". The folks at Critter Care are good people who are very committed to the welfare of the animals who come their way, even a physically healthy but behaviourally inept young squirrel.

Today I'm hoping Nutkin, as I casually named her in honour of my childhood favourite author/illustrator Beatrix Potter, is safe at the shelter and that the Critter Care staff and volunteers will do their best to ensure her needs are met. A word to the wise: if you find a baby squirrel, please don't take it home and try to raise it as a pet and then later abandon it when it grows too feisty to be fun any more. Leave it with its parent or, if you know that isn't possible, consult a local wildlife shelter for advice. There are appropriate ways to help wild creatures without having them become so dependent on humans that they can't survive on their own. Sadly, I'm doubtful that Nutkin's prospects are good. At this time of year she should be storing food for winter and figuring out how to survive, and she simply doesn't have the skills nor much time to learn. However, I am hopeful that with a bit of luck Nutkin will be OK.
If you wish to do something positive for the wild animals in your region, consider making a donation to your local wildlife rehabilitation centre. They exist on shoestring budgets and are always in need of support to continue their work of assiting injured/orphaned wild creatures. A few years ago I donated my time to illustrate a children's book called A Day By the River for Critter Care to use as a fundraiser. I still have a few copies left and if you'd like to buy one ($15) I will forward 100% of the funds to the shelter. Visit my website for more information: www.catnmousedesigns.com (go to the "shop" page). To learn more about Critter Care, visit their website: www.crittercarewildlife.org.

Good luck, Nutkin. I wish you well.

Putting Art on the Map

Bring together a beautiful, rural community, an enthusiastic group of artists with interesting studio spaces, plus a few willing volunteers, and what do you have? Why, an Art Studio Tour, of course! Sounds simple, right? Well let me tell you: although it may not be rocket science, it's a lot of work to put together an event like this. For one thing, organizing a bunch of independent-minded artists is kind of like herding cats. It's do-able but there's a fair bit of effort involved. For another, there are a lot of details to figure out and execute - a list that's so long I won't bore you with it here but it includes basically everything but the proverbial kitchen sink.

This is the fourth year I've been a coordinator of the Langley Art Studio Tour, which was the brainchild of myself and fellow Langley artist Vivian Harder, and while we've learned a lot over past years, getting a firm handle on all the elements of organizing the event continues to be a work in progress. Every year it gets better, more polished, and draws more visitors, and this year we expect that positive trend to continue. Thankfully our organizing committee has grown from two to four with the addition of local artist Donna Leavens and Jeanette Parkes of the Loafing Shed Glass Studio and we have been grateful to share the load with them.

One of the best things about participating in the tour is having the opportunity to welcome visitors to my home studio. Some have come specifically to see me and my art (or my guest artist who is, this year, oil painter and jeweller Reet Herder), some are working their way systematically through the list of studios on the map (they treat it as kind of a scavenger hunt), while others have happened to see the signs on the road and simply wandered in. Having the opportunity to meet and talk to people about my art, and to do so in the place where I make it, is as gratifying for me as it is for them. For those who are really interested, I can show them a quick demonstration of silk painting or coloured pencil drawing, and even offer them a chance to try it for themselves. It's a golden opportunity for people to learn about artists and art making, and perhaps increase their appreciation for what we do and how we do it. For us artists, we get to make great new connections with the public and raise our profiles in the local community.

My art studio: Where it all happens!

 

My adjoining display room, complete with resident cat.

 

Another positive thing about the tour is the connections we artists are able to form with one another. Art making is often an isolating practice: we tend to work quietly away, hunkered down in our individual studios. An event like this brings us together in a unique manner as we present our work to the community. My only regret is that, as a participant, I'm unable to take the tour myself!

For details about the Langley Art Studio Tour, which is coming up on September 22-23 and 29-30, visit www.langleyartstudiotour.ca. My studio is Number 16 on the map and if you're in the area I hope you'll drop by for a visit.

The aging princess

Over the past months I've been introducing blog readers to my family of furry companions. I started with the two cats, Rascally Rupert and then Archie, the Cat Who Could Fly, and now I think it's only fitting that I tell you a bit about my dog Riley, aka the Collie Princess.

HRH Princess Riley

Just looking at Riley's photo tells you why she's known as "the princess". Regal and dignified, she is a gorgeous purebred rough collie who celebrated her 11th birthday earlier this month. That means she's been with me for over nine years, arriving via the kind folks at Okanagan Collie Rescue (don't let the name fool you; they intervene on behalf of unwanted collies, and sometimes other breeds, in a large area of western Canada and even the northwestern United States). At the time it amazed me that this wonderful animal could end up homeless, but a digestive problem soon surfaced - one that took considerable time and effort to resolve - and I have spent more than a few sleepless nights caring for an unwell dog. No doubt previous owners did not have the energy or commitment to deal with this problem. Happily, it eventually turned out to be no more than a food sensitivity which has been controlled nicely through dietary restrictions.

Riley in her younger, more energetic days.

Today Riley a happy and healthy geriatric princess who rules her domain with benevolent grace. She and the cats get along well as long as they don't wake her up when she's sleeping. Such an intrusion will result in an angry snarl (I'm kind of the same when someone wakes me up). I have observed them tip-toe oh-so-carefully around her when she chooses to sleep, as dogs so often do, in the middle of a doorway. At other times I have watched them wind around her legs and even under her belly, and then rub their faces on her muzzle - an indignity she endures stoically with an expression of royally bored indifference.



Riley and Archie sharing some quality time. Riley has squeezed herself
into (or onto) a cat bed identical to the one Archie's curled up in.


Over the years, beautiful Riley has, naturally, inspired my art a number of times, from classic portraits to whimsical paintings:

The coloured pencil portrait of Riley that hangs by my front entrance.

 



Riley posing by her portrait at an Artist's Open House I held a few summers ago.

 

"Three's Company" - an oil pastel painting of Riley on the sofa, surrounded by cats.

"Running Free" - a silk painting inspired at a get-together for adopted collies and their people.
The dogs obviously enjoyed one anothers' company, as did the people.

Riley is now coping with arthritis and in the last year I have observed her slow down significantly. She remains a happy girl who always greets me with a gentle tail wag and a long-nosed collie grin, who comes to my bedside for a goodnight scratch then sleeps on the floor beside me, and who guards the property against squirrels, wandering cats and the seemingly innocent black lab who lives down the road (for some reason known only to her she has a strong dislike for this particular dog). She welcomes all human visitors warmly, confident that they have all come specifically to see her. She is the source of some amazingly large collie-fur dust-bunnies that I find below the furniture. In her younger days, she destroyed a number of cordless phones and TV remotes (she had a penchant for electronic devices and the humans in our household had a hard time learning to place them beyond her reach) but now limits her chewing activities to her rubber bone.

Over our time together she has accompanied me on countless walks in all kinds of weather, tolerating with good grace my habit of suddenly stopping in my tracks to observe and/or photograph a bird. I have to reciprocate when she is suddenly captivated by an interesting smell and stops equally suddenly to investigate. Campbell Valley Park has always been a favourite haunt of ours, and we know all the best places for both birds and smells. However, our walks are now much more limited in duration and speed, and so sometimes I sneak away from the house while she's sleeping so I can get in a farther/faster hike. She always forgives me and later we go for a gentle walk around the neighbourhood.
 

Observing wildlife at the park.

 

Deep down I know my time with Riley is drawing to a close. I try not to think about it and instead focus on enjoying each and every day with her. She is the first dog I have owned as an adult and she has taught me much about the ways of dogs, and about the ways dogs can enrich our lives through their unwavering loyalty, easy companionship and exceptional listening skills. They motivate us to get more exercise, they teach us patience, and they show us how to enjoy the most simple pleasures life offers. During the time she has been with me, I have created dozens of commissioned portraits of beloved dogs - each with a story of love, loyalty and in many cases loss - and my relationship with Riley has given me insight into what the owners of these dogs are feeling. It's a bond that is so uniquely special it defies description.

 

Today I think I'll take my own special dog for a meandering walk at the park. We'll stop frequently, feel the sun on our faces, and listen to the wind rustling the late summer leaves. And I'll be thankful every minute for this day spent with her.

 

"Waiting for Walk Time"

 

Art vs Sport

It's been a while since my last entry. As you may recall, a few weeks ago I was fully immersed in preparing for the Filberg Festival which turned out, as it has in the past, to be a wonderful event. While I was at the festival, the Summer Olympics were in full swing so each evening, after an exausting day, I'd sit in front of the television and catch up on the latest goings-on in London.

When I started this blog, I intended it to be a way to share my life as an artist. I pledged to myself that I'd never write anything controversial; I would just stick to the good stuff, the warm and fuzzy aspects of my experiences. However watching the Olympics while I was myself in the throes of what felt like an epic art event brought an irritating little thought to surface of my mind and it just wouldn't go away: Why do humans, at this time and place in history, have such a huge appreciation for sports achievements—so much so that we hold an incredibly expensive, wildly popular, massive international event to celebrate it—and yet when it comes to art, the level of public energy expended is, well, far less than Olympian standards? In my mind, the discipline and dedication of artist and athelete are comparable. I seem, however, to be in the minority. I've been mulling this over and here are my thoughts about the popularity of sport over art, in no particular order of significance:

1) Art is considered by many to be simply a pleasant pastime or hobby.
When I left my 9-5 job to pursue art full-time, many said "Oh, how nice that you can devote yourself to your hobby! But aren't you too young to retire?" My life as an artist resembles anything but a hobby or retirement. I have never worked harder. I spend long hours in my studio and I'm obsessed with art all the time. It's pretty much all I think about. I'm content with this state of affairs, actually happy! I may not be tirelessly training my body to be able to run the fastest or farthest, or swim, jump, dive, wrestle or cycle better than anyone else, or to take part in any other of those gruelling sports we watched with enthusiasm over the past couple of weeks. I do, however, work extremely hard honing my skills. I am completely dedicated to it.

2) People do not trust themselves to know good from bad when it comes to art; they are confused as to who the "winner" is and why. Unlike a race where there's a clear winner or a sport where there are goals scored or points deducted for certain wrong moves, figuring out what is "good" art is a mystery to most. Why does a seemingly simple painting of a red stripe (referring to a certain abstract painting acquired by the National Gallery of Canada some years ago at what many saw as an exhorbitant price) demand such high regard over the best efforts of a minor painter who toils tirelessly to perfect his/her craft, and whose work can be fully appreciated by even the most casual viewier? (Here I'm referring to any one of a number of artists I know.) It's hard for people to appreciate things they don't "get". And the art people often like best is viewed by the art establishment as insignificant. It seems that when the average person likes it, it's no good. Small wonder people are suspicious of it and, in general, lack enthusiasm.


3) Artists are often quiet loners who avoid the limelight. While this isn't always true, it's pretty common that artists have introspective personalities and can be more-than-a-bit reclusive (says I, who loves nothing more than a day alone in my studio). I can't for a moment imagine myself being interviewed for TV, Olympic athelete style, and chit-chatting away about all my hard work, my family's sacrifices, and my drive to be a winner. I'm just not that kind of person and art, somehow, isn't that kind of activity. It's far too personal. A few days ago, I had my own sort-of Olympic moment. A courier truck pulled up and signed over a box. What was in it? My first ever art trophy and accompanying prize (go to the Coloured Pencil Society of Canada website for more details). I sat on a bench in front of my house to open the package with my husband and collie as the only witnesses. It was perfect.


So what could an international Olympic-style arts event look like? I'm talking about the kind of event the average person could get enthusiastic about and root for their favourite artist in his/her chosen discipline. There could be plein air painting marathons, high-speed life-drawing, pot throwing, precision carving... all manner of interesting possibilities! Not too many team competitions, though, given the loner aspect of the vocation. And maybe instead of a medal ceremony we could recieve some sort of quiet accolades and then quickly get back to making more art which is, in and of itself, it's own reward.

Creativity equals chaos

Many people seem to think that an artist's life is a serene one, that we drift through peaceful days in our studios, making art, sipping tea, contemplating the universe and pondering creative matters beyond the scope of "normal" folk. While this may be true for some, my life as an artist is anything but contemplative, particularly given all the elements involved in not only making art, but making it into a viable business. At the best of times there's some measure of chaos in my studio, but during this particular month as I gear up for a major art festival and juggle a heaping-handful of other projects, the notion of serenity is truly laughable!

Visitors to my studio nearly always find it in some degree of disarray unless I've managed to tidy up in preparation for a workshop, or a meeting, or an open studio event. That's just how I work. If things are too organized, I don't seem to be able to function. However, the state of affairs here right now is downright chaotic! And in the final days of preparation for the Filberg Festival the chaos is starting to overflow from my downstairs studio into the rest of the house.

Out in the foyer are boxes of my newly-printed 2013 calendar. Next to the boxes is a pile of plastic sleeves in which each calendar will be packaged.

 

Also in the foyer are baskets of newly-made bookmarks and fridge magnets bearing images of my art. An unsuspecting friend who over-nighted with me on the weekend was pressed into service running the laminating machine. As a result, the laminating machine and other related equipment/materials are currently set up upstairs in my kitchen.



My mobile art table has also found its way upstairs, and on it is a new drawing of a trio of tiny chickadees still in need of finishing touches.

Back downstairs in the studio itself is a rack of newly-painted silk scarves which will be soon be going into the steamer to "fix" the dyes and make them permanent.

On another rack are several new silk paintings, also awaiting the steamer. If all goes according to schedule, they will be framed, as will the chickadee trio, during the coming days. (I was fortunate to work as a professional picture framer earlier on in my life, so in addition to making the art I also frame it and therefore have yet another designated area of the house where that part of the process takes place.)

 
My silk painting table, where I've just finished up these projects, is littered with my palettes of dye, tubes of resist, pots of water, brushes, towels and other related items.

Meanwhile, over on my drawing table is a newly finished portrait of a lovely, appaloosa mare with beautiful dark eyes. I will be framing the portrait and then it will be claimed by its owner next month.

Sharing my drawing table are sketches for the book illustration project I'm working on. These sketches will be transformed into finished art pieces very soon.

And then there is my desk. It's challenging to describe this but I will try because I can't bring myself to show you a photo of it. It's a jumble of stuff: this morning's coffee cup, yesterday's bottle of water, applications for the upcoming Langley Art Studio Tour (I'm a founder/organizer of this event), pens, pencils, piles of paper, rolls of tape, a ball of string, a measuring tape, a couple of printer ink cartridges, my camera, notebooks, magazines, sticky notes I wrote to myself and which now make little sense... all manner of flotsam and jetsam that has ended up beached on my desk till I'm able to sort it out and either put it away or throw it away. In the midst of it is the brains of the organization: my computer whose monitor is adorned with still more sticky notes. Forming a backdrop is my jam-packed (and I do mean jam-packed) bulletin board. It's all actually kind of embarrassing. However, it's who I am and this is how I work, and as people who know me can attest, everything always gets done with reasonable efficiency. Some insightful person once said long ago, "out of chaos, comes order" and that's how it is with me.

Once the festival's past, projects are completed, and life returns to a more moderate pace, the chaos will also recede to a less "lively" level...that is, until the next crunch time rolls around. But until then I'd better get back to work in the organized chaos of my life as an artist.

And despite what's going on in my life, some members of the household manage to maintain their serenity and stay oblivious to it all.

The cat who could fly

This is Archie. At one-an-a-half years of age and he is the newest member of our family, having come to us from the good folks at the Katie's Place cat shelter last year. It goes without saying he's been a lively and entertaining addition.



Archie is a very interesting guy for several reasons:

• He's an unusual colour. A bit of Internet research revealed that it's called "fawn" - a dilute brown/grey which, depending on the light, can take on a reddish undertone or even a lavender hue. It's quite remarkable. However, while his colouring is that of fawn, his temperament is anything but that of a timid forest creature.



Archie and Rupert "playing", back when
Rupert still had a size/weight advantage.

• He's a confident little character. He greets human guests, bosses his elder buddy Rupert around, and even torments the dog sometimes. Perhaps because he's a "teenager", he views the world as his oyster and is quite confident that he's invincible. 
• He is the most athletic cat I've known. I suspect his heritage includes Siamese or some other exotic breed because of his long-limbed build and loooooong fluffy tail that he waives like a flag. He can climb just about anywhere and leap great distances with fairly good precision.

Archie's traits makes things a wee bit challenging at my house where cats live indoors and do not roam free. I'm a stickler about this for several reasons: indoor cats live much longer lives without the hazards of being run over by a car or eaten by a coyote, or facing a range of diseases and minor injuries; they don't irritate the neighbours by pooping in their gardens (something I personally don't enjoy dealing with); and they don't kill songbirds whose numbers are shrinking for variety of reasons, free-roaming domestic cat populations being one of them. However, containing a lively, athletic, fearless young cat has proved to be daunting.

"Toy mice are for babies! Let me at the real thing!!"

Archie has demonstrated that sometimes cats can fly. My cats have access to the second floor sundeck to bask in the sun, birdwatch (not catch) and enjoy the sights and smells of the big, wide world. No previous cat has had the will or expertise to move beyond this limitation. Then came Archie! From the time he was a tiny kitten he scrambled from the sundeck up onto the roof via a handy grape arbour, doing an acrobatic act as he precariously navigated the arbour's narrow beams. When he was about eight months old, I discovered him roaming around outside the house a couple of times. I was mystified. Then one day I witnessed him leap from the sundeck, spread his little body out in the shape of a parachute, and glide gracefully to the ground. My neighbour saw it too: his comment was "wow"! Unharmed, Archie greeted me cheerfully when I ran to scoop him up.

My sundeck now resembles a large bird cage. Wire mesh is installed strategically to contain the little feline, who rather than being named Archie should have been Houdini or maybe Orville or Wilbur (as in the famous flying Wright brothers). I am hoping this fortification is a temporary measure and that as Archie becomes older, fatter, and hopefully lazier, the mesh barrier can be reduced if not eliminated. But for the time being, my reluctant housecat has been more-or-less contained (he still gives me the slip occasionally) and is learning to live within the limitations of the household.

Archie at rest. Life as a housecat isn't so bad.

I find it interesting that Archie has not yet found his way into my artwork. Perhaps it's because his personality is still developing or because his colour is elusive and difficult to pinpoint, or maybe because he's often zooming past me too quickly for the eye to see. However, I was inspired while writing this to draw a little doodle of Archie, the Amazing Flying Cat.

Portrait of a best friend

Dogs are, in many ways, a lot like people. No doubt that's why we like them so much. They're social animals who sometimes meet other dogs who become their friends. I expect that canine behaviour specialists would say it's all about instinct, and dominance, and pack formation, but I have my own simplistic point of view. Just as sometimes I meet a person I gel with, in my mind so it is with dogs. In one particular case, both my dog and I have the same good friend: a little black cocker spaniel named Roxy.

I met Roxy when she joined the family of some good human friends. She was a guinea pig sized ball of black fluff that could fit in the palm of your hand. Of course, when I laid eyes on her it was love at first sight! She was adorably cute and it soon became apparent she was also smart and oh-so-very sweet. Who wouldn't love her? We bonded... just like that.

Baby Roxy
(photo courtesy K. Enns)

When she and my collie Riley met, it was kind of the same reaction. They were firm friends pretty much from the get-go. Riley's a bit dominant and Roxy isn't, so Riley's the boss and Roxy's fine with it, deferring to her larger friend at all times. They're a good team. It's also a respectful friendship. Sometimes they play polite chasing games that never involve nipping or rough-housing (at least they did before Riley, now 11, developed arthritis).


Riley and Roxy playing "snow tag".


They often exchange beds and blankets or snooze peacefully side-by-side on the floor.



Who's sleeping in my bed?

(photos courtesy K. Enns)



Sometimes they team up to beg for treats by demonstrating who is best at sitting. They are both equally accomplished at this particular skill.

As time has passed our friendships, both canine and human, have strengthened.

An exuberant character, Roxy's humans have only to mention my name, or Riley's name, and the little black cocker is absolutely beside herself. I have only to mention Roxy's name and Riley's ears perk up and she goes to the window to watch for her friend. I'm told that when Roxy's humans drive with her to our house for a visit, she recognizes the neighbourhood as they draw near and once again, she is beside herself. And when we finally meet in person, she is absolutely over the moon, shrieking with delight! She can't decide whether it's me or Riley she wants to greet first and to shower with cocker-kisses. And Riley, whose personality is much more reserved, breaks into one of her long-snouted collie grins, wags her tail, and without embarassing herself, makes evident her great pleasure at seeing her little buddy.

Roxy is now six years old, and her humans recently decided it was time for a portrait. It's not the first time Roxy has been a painting subject for me. She was one of the rainy-day pack a few years ago in my silk painting "Three Red Raincoats".

"Three Red Raincoats" featuring Roxy, Riley
and wee Ginger Snap (sadly, now deceased)

When faced with the prospect of capturing Roxy's likeness in a portrait, there was one thing that was absolutley certain: it had to include her ball! Roxy is practically inseparable from her favourite red ball - sometimes she even sleeps with it in her mouth - and so no portrait of Roxy would be complete without it. For her expression, I tried to capture a demeanor that is sort-of calm but with a little underlying tension because in real life she is usually waiting for something - anything - to happen and is ever-hopeful someone will throw the ball. The result was this:



Thanks, Roxy — from me and from Riley for being good friend to each of us! I hope your human family enjoys this portrait for many years to come.




A Father's Day Gift

Over the past few weeks, I have had the infinite pleasure of creating this portrait of a strikingly handsome yellow Labrador retriever. I did not have the opportunity to meet this beautiful boy as he had passed away some time ago, but I was provided with a series of photos and a heart-felt description of him. He was a good dog, a kind and wise companion who travelled with his family to many interesting places. He enjoyed games, and grandchildren, and lying at his master's feet. He was an excellent listener. He is very sadly missed, particularly so by his master who was the family member with whom his bond was the tightest.

The timeline for completion of the portrait was very specific as it was to be a Father's Day gift. In an interesting coincidence, this dog had himself been a Father's Day gift many years earlier as a wee puppy. While I wouldn't normally advocate that pets be given as gifts (too many end up unwanted in the end), in this particular situation it was a match made in heaven. His master, who had never previously had a dog in his life, was smitten with the yellow pup and the pup loved him equally well. Throughout their many years together I understand they were an inseparable team. It was a great honour for me to have the responsibility of creating this portrait which holds much meaning for the dog's master and his family, and which will become a memorable and valued part of that family's history.

Working on this portrait caused me to think about Father's Day, something I haven't done in many years. You might say I haven't had good luck with fathers. I lost the first one in a tragic accident when I was just an infant, then the grandfather who raised me, who I called Dad, passed away before I reached adulthood. Thus for majority of my years I have been fatherless and subsequently Father's Day hasn't held a lot of significance. However, when I was working on the portrait of this sweet yellow dog, something about it twigged a memory. I went to the family photo stash, and found this:

This is Dad (my grandfather), gone now for many, many years. He was what you'd call in days-gone-by a "man's man". He was an outdoorsman, a farmer, a bit of an adventurer, and even a pioneer. It's from him I learned about the outdoors and animals, particularly horses, and with whom I spent countless hours helping mend fences, dig in the garden, harvest hay crops, even shingle a roof - all the many chores that our small farm required. And who is that with him in the photo? Why, it's a yellow dog - doubless a mutt but very reminiscent of a yellow lab! I remember this dog only vaguely. I don't even recall his name. He was a farm dog and, as was the way at that time, he lived as such: he came and went as he pleased and one day he simply didn't come home. I do remember phone calls being made to the local pound but the nameless yellow dog was never seen again. All these years later here he is in this old photo, sporting a big grin and accompanying Dad who was no doubt out checking the fences or the ditches or inspecting the livestock. Thankfully someone had the where-with-all to take a picture of that moment. It's clear there was a bond between this nameless dog and Dad, and as I was working on the portrait of the well-loved Labrador, my fond memories of Dad came flooding back to me.

So in the end, I too have received a Father's Day gift in the form of childhood memories of a man who helped mould me into the person I am today, memories that have been renewed thanks to a small, yellow puppy who joined another family on Father's Day so many years ago.

Pardon me while I brag just a little...

This past Saturday I was having a horribly busy day on top of what had been an equally hectic week (or two, or three) leading up to it. What with meetings, project deadlines, another project undergoing complications, and a variety of obligations both personal and otherwise, I felt like I was being run positively ragged! Something had to give - it was not humanly possible to accomplish everything on my list that day.

To preserve my sanity, I decided that the opening of the "Just Birds" exhibition at the Newton Cultural Centre in Surrey, while something I was very much looking forward to attending, was the one thing I could forego that day. The exhibition runs till the end of the month so there would be other times to see it. I knew my silk painting Quiet Reflection: Sandhill Crane, pictured below, had been juried into the show, and a little bird (no pun intended) had informed me that it had won a prize. However, given my seemingly insurmountable task list and factoring the time it would take to drive to and from the gallery, I didn't attend the opening of "Just Birds". Instead I chose to hunker down in my studio.

I was immensely relieved to come to that decision. I made good headway on all the many things I had on my plate without the stress of feeling completely overwhelmed. It was glorious! I felt I had made a wonderful choice.

Then... late that evening... I received a congratulatory email from another artist: my painting had won Best of Show! Wow!! In order to save my sanity that day I had missed my moment in the spotlight. However, I'm beyond pleased to receive this honour and am looking forward to seeing the exhibition later in the month. I invite you to view "Just Birds" at the Newton Cultural Centre, 13530 - 72nd Avenue, Surrey. The gallery is open 10am-3:30pm daily and the show runs till June 30th.

And for those of you who would like to see a sandhill crane in person, visit the Reifel Bird Sanctuary in Ladner. I stopped there recently and was delighted to see two adults with two youngsters roaming the grounds near the entrance.

Jays, Jays and more Jays!

Last Saturday, I had the pleasure of having six enthusiastic artists join me in my studio for a day of coloured pencil drawing. Our subject was this Steller's jay:

Each of them worked diligently throughout the day on their projects, assisted by my input and guidance:

After practicing a few techniques, they started with this outline:

... which gradually transformed into this:

... and eventually resulted in this:

We were visited part-way through the day by the family of Steller's jays that lives in my neighbourhood (you may remember my blog about them a few weeks back entitled Year of the Jay). Happily all five of them are still together - the babies have survived and are flourishing! That day, mom, dad and the three now almost-adult youngsters came squawking and flapping up to the bird feeder right outside my studio window. Unfortunately I didn't have the wherewithall to grab my camera, but it was a delightful moment for all of us to see these lively, colourful birds up close as we worked to capture their likeness on paper.

I'd like to thank all the workshop participants for joining me for a pleasurable day of learning and creating in my studio. I hope each of them went away with some new knowledge and skills, an appreciation for that day's colourful subject, and the inspiration to continue making bird-related art. (I'll be organizing some new workshops in the fall, so anyone interested in participating should keep an eye on my website, or get in touch with me to be placed on my email list for notification.)

I was pleased to see - and hear - the jay family in my yard again this morning, the youngsters still begging for tidbits from mom and dad and squabbling, as siblings often do, over treasures they happened to find themseves. I did manage to quickly snap one photo through my front patio door when one of the youngsters paused on the railing:

It's wonderful to live in a place where these wild creatures can be observed literally right ouside my door. Unlike some wildlife, they're not particularly exotic, or only to be found in remote wilderness, or considered unusual or uniqe by any stretch of the imagination. However, these common birds are captivating creatures who have managed to adapt to life in the suburbs. Their presence certainly enriches my life and they enhanced the experience of the participants in my workshop last weekend. My cat happens to think they're interesting too.