The trouble with dogs...

... is that their lives are too short. Earlier this week I said goodbye to my dear old dog - my collie Riley who provided me with more than a decade of loving companionship, artistic inspiration, joy and laughter, and now the deepest of sorrow. 

Having animals in my life is, to me, essential. I simply love the presence of a four-legged critter (or two, or three) by my feet, or in my lap, or accompanying me on a walk. Over the years there have been cats, dogs and horses, as well as smaller beings like gerbils, guinea pigs, fish, and even a hermit crab named Buster. Each contributed to my understanding of the ways of their species, their physical nature, and their individual personalities. They have been part of my growth and development as an artist and have shaped me as a person. 

Sadly, I also understand all-too-well the heartache that comes when it's time to say that last goodbye, particularly to an animal who shared my life as intimately as Riley. I've heard people state they won't have a dog out of fear of the emotional pain they know is to come. However, I view it as the price to be paid for a dog's all-too-brief lifetime of love and devotion. At the moment, I'm acutely aware of just how hefty that price is.

The pain of losing Riley is deep. My sorrow is triggered by moments of the day that bear her signature: our before-breakfast walk, the nudge she'd give my arm at lunchtime when she wanted her biscuit, our afternoon rambles around the neighbourhood or through the woods, her sigh of contentment as she settled down to sleep beside my bed. It will take time before my sadness over her death no longer overshadows my happy memories of our life together. I know that eventually the art she inspired me to make will bring smiles instead of tears. The hole she left in my heart will heal but the mark she made on me is indelible.

"I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?" - Sir Walter Scott

 

Goodbye Riley. Good dog.

I've written about Riley before, most notably The Aging Princess and The Dog Days of Summer. My friend Jean, who cared for Riley during many of my travels, has also blogged about her, including her recent eloquent post Farewell to a Friend Well Loved (I advise having a box of tissues handy).

A walk in the park

Winter has been making a last gasp here in southwestern BC with a couple of recent snowstorms. Some winters we get no snow at all, but this year we seem to be making up for it and doing so quite late in the season. 

One day last week I found myself feeling quite cabin-feverish. I was craving the outdoors, and not just a walk around the block or some tidying in the garden but rather some full-on face-time with the forest. I could sense my old dog Riley was feeling it too and decided to bundle her into the car and take her along. It's not often I think she's up for a long-ish walk but she was obviously feeling pretty perky and had no objections to the plan.

It felt soooooo good to feel the sun and breathe the crisp, fragrant air of Campbell Valley Park. I could tell Riley was just as happy as I was to be there. 

Ahhh.... we're at the park! Hooray!

But what's all this white stuff doing here? 

Our favourite trail welcomed us with a patchy blanket of soggy, half-melted snow, and the usual park denizens - the birds and squrrels - were eagerly watching to see what kind of handouts might be coming their way. I was curious to see if Riley could manage the two-kilometre Little River Loop trail, so off we went to find out.

Got nuts?

Got seeds?

I had packed a pocket-full of birdseed to share with the freeloading chickadees, sparrows and towhees who frequent the trail-side knowing that kindly humans are a good source of seeds and nuts. They weren't disappointed by what I had to offer.

Near a sunny stretch of trail that crosses the Little Campbell River via a boardwalk, I spied a pair of elusive wood ducks. 

My coloured pencil drawing of a Wood Duck drake.
Their exotic, colourful plumage is truly an artist's dream!

Re-crossing the river at a later point, I observed this beautiful Goldeneye hob-nobbing with a flock of Mallards.

My silk painting Spring Mallard, based on a sighting in
Campbell Valley Park at just about this same time of year.

Perhaps best of all, signs of spring were everywhere, reminding me that very soon I'll be looking for my favourite early spring wildflowers, the trilliums.

All-in-all it was an uneventful walk except that, to my surprise and pleasure, Riley easily managed the whole 2-kilometer distance, requiring only a little coaxing and a couple of small dog biscuits along the way to keep up her strength and enthusiasm. It appears there's life in the old dog yet, although what's normally a 30-minute walk took us nearly three times that. However, it wasn't a race and we were both happy just to be out in the forest on a sunny winter afternoon, enjoying a leisurely stroll. It's the kind of thing that replenishes the spirit and soothes the soul.

We were both refreshed by the outing, although one of us did require a nap afterwards.

Sweet dreams, Riley.

The joy of an old book

Books have always been an important part of my life. I love to read, and while I sometimes dabble with e-books, it's paper that I truly love. I'm never without a novel on the go and I have shelves of books in my home. My studio is no exception and it houses a collection of art-related books. There are books on art techniques, the art business, and books about artists: Escher, Stubbs and DaVinci are represented alongside more modern favourites like Bateman and Landsdowne. Every so often I pull one off the shelf and muse through it. And from time to time I add another book to the collection.

The first art books I collected were Birds of the West Coast, Volumes I and II (1980) - beautiful, hard-cover, coffee-table books of paintings by J. F. Lansdowne. This B.C. based artist, who passed away in 2008, portrayed Canada's birds in exquisite detail. His books have and will always be among my favourites. Lately when I found myself hankering to add to my book collection, I did some Internet research and decided to order another of Lansdowne's books: Birds of the Northern Forest, published in 1966. Finding out-of-print books is ridiculously easy online and I had no trouble tracking down a copy.

When I opened the package and saw the jacketless, slightly tattered book inside I have to admit I felt a pang of disappointment.

However when I started leafing through the book and found Lansdowne's signature on the title page, I felt much better. It pleased me to think that the hands which had created such beautiful paintings had touched the pages of this book .

It also pleased me to learn that this was an ex-library book - a public servant of sorts which had been enjoyed and admired by many. As I practically swooned over page after page of exquisite paintings, each accompanied by a sketch or two, I knew I'd made an excellent purchase. However, it was when I settled down and began to read the descriptive text for each species of bird that I realized what gem I held in my hands.

The writer, John A. Livingston, was a Canadian broadcaster, author, staunch environmentalist, and unfortunately a dedicated smoker who succumbed to ailments related to that bad habit nearly a decade ago. While Lansdowne's paintings are, as expected, brilliant, the writing is equally gorgeous. It's richly descriptive - almost poetic! At times it's humorous, making the factual information about each bird all the more entertaining. Plus there are occasional notes about the challenges faced by bird species in the 1960s, such as the use of pesticides and poisons, over-hunting, and habitat loss - problems that are not unfamiliar to us today.

I've had the book lying around in my kitchen since it arrived, so it has yet to make its way into the studio collection. Every day I randomly open it to admire one or two paintings and read the accompanying text. It's be come part of my routine.

To give you a taste, here are a couple of my favourite passages from the book, and they just happen to be about one of my all-time favourite birds, the winter wren. The description fits so aptly it's as though I stood alongside Mr. Livingston in the woods and together we observed the bird:

"With its very stubby tail and dark plumage, and its reluctance to leave the tangled down-timber and mosses of the forest floor, it often resembles a mouse as it darts and scurries about in the security of its almost impenetrable surroundings. Were it not for its song, most times one would never see it."

"The song of the winter wren is one of the marvels of the northern forest. It has no characteristic phrase, no definable structure; it is a glorious welter of pure, crystal notes, a formless babble of tinkling expressions so attenuated as to seem endless."

The next passage taught me something new; it also made me chuckle:

"The male winter wren may build several nests, only one of which may be used. Or, if opportunity arises, he will cheerfully turn polygamist; the extra nests are available for such an eventuality."

Imagine my delight when I walked through my favourite stretch of forest the other day and heard, for the first time this year, the winter wren's signature song. A bout of mild weather must have made him feel that spring was just around the corner, but sub-zero temperatures since then will have reminded him that winter is still very much here. I will never listen to the wren's song again without thinking of Livingston's colourful description.

I've written about my love of wrens before (Something about wrens, Good things in small feathered packages). They frequently appear in my art, including the chair I painted for Critter Care Wildlife Society's fundraiser (A forest grows... in a chair). With inspiration fortified by a nearly-50-year-old book, I'm confident these marvellous little birds will continue to be featured in drawings and paintings yet to come. 

A recent study I made of a winter wren,
painted with dyes on silk.

This book has made me feel like I am, in my own small way, part of the legacy of creative individuals whose passion for birds, animals and the natural world lives through the art they produce and at some point leave behind.

I will treasure Birds of the Northern Forest, keep it safe while it's in my hands, and hope that it will be equally loved by its next owner. I might even share some more passages on this blog at a future date. And given there are more beloved books on my studio shelves, I suspect some time I'll be writing about the joy of another old book.

If you'd like to see and hear a winter wren in action, here's a link to a delightful Youtube video.

When success can be measured by tears

Over the years I've created countless portraits of people's beloved animals - the dogs, horses and cats who enriched the lives of their humans. I started as a teenager when I ran a classified ad in the local paper and for $25 or so would make a pastel or pencil portrait from a photograph. 

During that period, I made this oil pastel drawing of a collie from a photo I found in an old book. Remind you of anyone?

An unknown collie I drew in 1975.
A premonition perhaps?

A photo of my collie Riley
 taken a few years ago.

That was just the beginning. Here are a couple of portraits I created in the 1980s (with apologies for the image quality; photography technology - not to mention my photography skills - has made remarkable improvements since then):

My career as an artist has evolved and matured but commissioned portraits are still an important part of my art practice. I know many artists who don’t much like working on a commission basis and I understand why. It’s the kind of work that contradicts the typical artistic temperament. For one thing, it involves creating a piece of art about a subject that’s not of the artist’s own choosing. For another, there are often deadlines involved – particularly when the portrait is destined to be a gift – and that can generate the kind of stress that's not conducive to creativity. And thirdly, the artwork has to measure up to the client’s expectations as well as satisfying the artist. It's not the ideal scenario for highly individualistic artist-types who prefer to do things their own way, in their own time, on their own terms! But I feel like I’ve developed strategies that have helped me flourish as a commission artist.

First off, I stick with what I know: animals. In the portrait business that usually means dogs, horses or cats, and these are all critters with which I’ve had lots of personal experience. I believe each and every one of them is special, unique and interesting – beautiful in their own way even when they’re missing an eye or an ear, or when the signs of advancing age or a difficult life are clearly visible. If they pose a particular challenge I embrace it, knowing it will push me to expand my boundaries and encourage artistic growth.

This little Boston Terrier pup was one such project. He had been very, very special but his life, during which he had lost an eye, had been brief. Only a handful of grainy Polaroid photos were available. Sometimes an old-fashioned magnifying glass sure comes in handy!

But you might wonder how I generate a personal connection with animals I don't meet in person. After all, I have talked before about my firm conviction that creating a meaningful piece of art requires an emotional investment on the part of the artist.

In a perfect scenario, I certainly prefer to meet my animal portrait subjects. When that’s not possible, the next best thing is to hear the animal’s story as told by his/her devoted human. I can form an emotional attachment to an animal in the blink of an eye (I’m not sure if that’s a gift or simply a bizarre personality quirk) and when I hear their story I have little trouble making a personal connection. I envision what they were like and what it would have been like to be around them. I can almost smell them and feel the warmth of their bodies! 

A portrait for a long-distance client.
From what I was told about this horse,
I felt like I knew him!

I truly appreciate what each and every one of these animals means to their human(s) and I feel empathy for that bond. Even if my client can only supply a handful of not-so-great photos, I jump in with both feet with the goal of making a perfect portrait. 

From this particular selection of photos...

...and from what I learned from my client about each cat, his/her personality, and their lives together, I created this portrait:

Listening to the stories also helps me get to know my human client and what their expectations might be. If they’ve come to me for a portrait, I know they’ve seen my work and appreciate what I do, so we’re already half-way there! It’s up to me to help iron out the details and also to figure out how to make the portrait perfect. Collaboration is important – both I and my client must be satisfied with the end result. They’ve come to me for my expertise but their input is crucial. After all, I’m making art for them.

The last issue, the one of deadlines, can be challenging. I find the best thing is to be transparent about what’s possible and what’s not, to reorganize schedules as needed, and devote some late-night hours when necessary. Creativity under time constraints is not ideal but it’s a reality of the work. I’m never averse to working hard.

I’m always just a little nervous when it’s time to unveil the finished artwork. Even though I am an emotional person when it comes to animals, I’m often surprised at the depth of feeling my clients display when they first see their animal’s portrait. Very often there are tears. This makes total sense to me when it's a portrait of a dear, departed companion or one who's nearing the end of his/her life’s journey, but when the critters are alive and well with many happy years ahead, I never fail to be caught off guard. However, tears are a sure sign I’ve done a good job! I always keep a box of tissues handy.

It’s not always easy, but art-making has got to be among the most satisfying work there is. When I can bring tears of joy to the eyes of a fellow animal lover, it’s particularly so.

This little cutie is my next subject.
You'll be able to see her portrait in a few weeks' time.

If you'd like to learn more about the portraits I create, visit the portraits page of my website. Over time some of them have been featured in my blog and you'll see them if you read back through the archive of postings. Most notable are Evolution of a Portrait, A Father's Day Gift, Portrait of a Best Friend, and recently My New Friends.

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.
_____________________________________________________________

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.