"Clothesline, Fogo Island"

"..in great souls I sail before the wind without a watch,

and never reach the shore."~Henry David Thoreau

There are few places as evocative as Newfoundland. I have waxed romantic about this province before and I must take a moment to do it again. "Clothesline, Fogo Island", oil on panel, 30"x40", brings me once again back to that windy day driving around this small island on the northeastern coast of Newfoundland. Here is a link so you can see where it lies.

There is unique character to Newfoundland that makes it instantly recognizable. Certain destinations that we have had the good fortune to experience and explore remain within us while others fall away. Why is that? I believe it is because those places hit us like tuning forks with a resonance that we almost cannot explain. And it is okay not to be able to explain them. Perhaps when words fail us we are not meant to have them anyway. We simply must be held captive by Newfoundland, or Alaska, or Patagonia or wherever calls to you.

I am working on a painting currently, that a good friend saw (keep in mind I had only worked about eight hours on it) and he said "I think I've been there!" He was correct. We talked about it and he had. That is the power of landscape, to have set an indelible print within your mind that you are instantly taken back there when you even see a hint of its final rendering. Here is the painting to which he referred:

I am planning on doing a time-lapse video of this painting with the help of a friend. I will post it here when the piece is completed.

In "Clothesline, Fogo Island", I rendered the clothes in a more detailed way, while keeping with a more expressive rendering of the landscape behind them. Similar to the other clothesline I painted years ago, I wanted the clothes to almost want to fly off of the canvas and out over the water. The painting is now available at Abbozzo Gallery, where I will be having a solo exhibition of my work this coming autumn.

In other news I will be giving a lecture at the Burlington Art Centre for the Burlington Fine Art Association this month. I am excited to talk with other artists about the creative process. Also, this spring I will be a guest lecturer at the Western Kentucky University. I will give a talk, participate in artist critiques and have a small exhibition of my paintings at the university over the course of my visit. What a great opportunity! I have never been to Kentucky and look forward to an exciting road trip.

Here is a painting that I recently completed for a friend. Cats' eyes really are windows to their souls...our furry friends make life beautiful, don't you think?

I hope that 2012 is off to a great start for you. Wishing you happiness in your art and life and thanks for reading!

If you are inclined, please follow my art on Facebook and Twitter!

"What Frida Taught Me"

I want quiet feet on quiet floors and quiet fears behind quiet doors.

"What Frida Taught Me", oil on panel, 36"x24", was inspired by Frida Kahlo's famous 1938 painting "What The Water Gave Me". "What Frida Taught Me" began in Whitehorse, in the Yukon Territory last autumn. I have painted my legs in a bathtub before, but this time, like every time, is different.

There are many reasons as to why artists have painted themselves in bathtubs. These are places where we are cleansed and they are also places of refuge. They are receptacles for our fears and concerns. There is peace to be found here. I began this painting with an idea of revisiting the theme of the previous piece, Quietus, seen here, from years ago:

I enjoy painting the natural world as well as things which cover us. Whether it be fabric or water, anything that surrounds us can serve as a metaphor. It can provide protection and can also wash away layers to reveal important truths. The water in my painting is symbolic of how our minds and bodies are able to have time to heal and reflect (no pun intended) in that place. The quiet drip of the faucet, the occasional creak of the house, these simple sounds become the backdrop for our thoughts as we sculpt our theories, weigh opinions, develop plans and dwell on sentiments. Quite simply, places where we are cleansed are crucibles for all that goes on in our minds.

Perhaps the composition of "What Frida Taught Me" is a bit strange to the casual observer. It makes sense to me though. Haven't we all sat in a similar places and looked down at our legs, faithful friends who have helped us through the world and not questioned why, but simply took us where our minds told them to go? They trust us, and we them.

I had gone on a long hike up Mount White with the Yukon Outdoors Club on the day "What Frida Taught Me" was conceived. I had fallen at the end of the hike but did not paint my injury into the painting. It felt strange to do so. I went with my gut and omitted the gore. I did paint the tan lines from my sandals which seem permanently etched on my feet from hours of hiking and exploring in the sun. This painting was the end of a beautiful, strenuous day. It was the opposite of the previous six hours of ascending and descending the mountain...

 Halfway up the mountain..

Walking along the top of Mount White..glorious:)

Two of my greatest loves are painting and traveling. "What Frida Taught Me" is a representation of many things, and those things change from day to day. Like Frida, I place my life into my painting. It is there to see, but less obviously as the direct symbolism in Frida's work. No my story is more subtle. Like Frida I believe our paintings are places to tell our stories, the painful ones and the pleasurable ones. She lived her life intensely and followed her passion. She "painted her own reality" as she once said. I agree with her. Paint what you know. Listen to that quiet voice, that inner child and and let that voice have the final word on your canvas.

"Feet, why do I need them if I have wings to fly?"~Frida Kahlo

My handmaiden named Anxiety.

Light filtering into the studio recently..

"A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety."~Aesop

Sometimes I wonder if it is better to be frayed as an artist, or to seek the stitch.


I am a type 'A' personality where 'A' = anxiety. T.S. Eliot once wrote: "Anxiety is the handmaiden of creativity". What a wise man he was. Yes, anxiety can be a huge hindrance to creative flow, output and inspiration. If you are naturally predisposed to anxiety it can be a regular guest in the studio with you. A few years ago I was having some health struggles and remember being so anxious that I couldn't even paint at times. So, how do you work through anxiety with regards to your work?


Fortunately my anxiety rarely centers around my paintings but other thoughts that drift in and out of my mind while I work. Ideally your creative space should be a refuge, a crucible of energy that you can distill you work into, unfettered by anxiety and worry. However this is rarely so. Thus we must make the best effort we can. I like to listen to music, television shows or movies that I know well. I can paint away while enjoying a film and this serves to dissipate anxiety while providing entertainment too. 


Also, if you can mix exercise into your workday I think you will notice an improvement in anxiety/mood and certainly fitness level. Exercise is a panacea. It is better than any medication in my opinion. It is natural and your body doing what it was meant to do. I wish I had mountains within reach every day but I enjoy a good jog along Lake Ontario as well. Everywhere has its own unique beauty.

Here is a photograph of some flesh tones I was mixing on my palate recently. There are so many variations of colour and value that go into anything, let alone skin. When I first started to paint many years ago, I used about three variations of the same colour for the skin of my subject. Now there are innumerable ones. It is all a part of learning. It is evolution. It is not a fast process...but with time it will happen and your work will blossom. When I am painting, I strive for a subtle edge. This can refer to creases or areas that recede from the eye. If you mix a colour just a value or two away from the one adjacent to it, you can effectively "mix" the colours but in a more segmented way. Yet when you step away and move back your eye will naturally blend them together. See Lucian Freud's work for the best example of this ever (RIP Lucian).

Yes, this is a photograph of the isolated chaos that is my palate and paint tubes. Are you one of those artists where paint flies everywhere? If so, let me know. I'm a very "quiet" painter. I've wondered about how many artists are really "Pollocky" out there...a hurricane of paint etc. In fact I'd love to know or see photographs of other artists' studios...feel free to send them to me if you wish. I work in a VERY small space which is a part of the larger space where I live. One day I will have a room devoted just to painting/work. I can't wait :) Until then I realize I could probably paint in a linen closet if I had to.

And finally here is a photograph of a section from a larger piece that I recently completed. It will be featured in my upcoming solo exhibition at Abbozzo Gallery in less than a year's time (it takes a long time to paint a full show!). I hope to see you there! This show is an exploration of the theme of waiting and the human condition (two favourite topics). In this painting above, you can see the work of applying different tones and values with minimal blending on the panel. Skin is one of the trickiest things to render I find, and therefore quite  intriguing. 


I hope this day finds you well, anxiety-free and smiling....:)


Heather

"Montana Mountain I"

"To live for some future goal is shallow.

 It's the sides of the mountain that sustain life, not the top.

~Robert M. Pirsig

"Hiking Montana Mountain I", oil on panel, 30"x40", is based on a hike that my friend Ian and I did near Whitehorse, in the Yukon Territory recently. The North is beautiful any time of the year, but in the crisp days of autumn its beauty is particularly bewitching. 

We did this hike on August 26th and had to turn back eventually because of blowing snow up on the mountain ridge. Two years ago I was in the Yukon on May 1st, driving to Skagway, Alaska for the day to hike. At one point I drove through snow driving over a pass in Northern British Columbia and encountered a family cross-country skiing. On May 1st. This place is always keeping you on your toes. It can change its mind in an instant. It does not suffer fools gladly. These are just a few of the reasons that I love it. 

The deep crimson foliage was abundant as we ascended the mountain. A hundred years ago there was a mine based here, and the trail we followed ran below a steel cable that helped move ore up and down the mountain. Our path was steeped in a hardscrabble history, filled with the sweat and effort of many dreams. We passed ancient pots, the remains of cabins for the men working in the area, and different tower structures made of dry, groaning wood. 

The great thing about being an artist is that you are able to relive your memories, good and bad, every day you come to the easel. Not only must you mix paint, apply it and observe the technical requirements to render your piece, but you can also experience the joy of watching a painting develop into reality from your past reality, to live permanently in the world. 

The air is so clear and clean up there that there is no impediment to seeing the far off mountain tops except atmosphere and any weather that rolls in. I could hardly wait to work on pushing those mountains back to that far ridge where they belong. I wanted to delve into the blues, as blues help cool things off and push them away from you. The blue of the earth as seen from all of those photographs taken from space, is everywhere, even in the humblest of paintings. 

I used smaller brushes as I moved further away into the mountains on the horizon, while keeping brush strokes looser and more painterly up in the foreground to show the texture of the foliage. The sky is bleak and white because of the snow that day, but other days it would be as blue as the sea. We hiked over to the far ridge that you can see in the painting, and then headed back. Further on there are alpine lakes and even an abandoned monastery! I want to return there to see the evidence of what sheer tenacity it took to live up there on a permanent basis. Fortune favours the bold. Despite the stark and unforgiving climate, there is plenty of fortune to be had here. 

On a side note, I blogged a while ago about painting a portrait of my friend Joe, who helped me out by letting me stay at his wonderful place in Chicago this past summer while I was on my way to the Midwest. I painted this little portrait for him as a thank-you. He received it yesterday! Great friends are a great treasure. 

Flight 134

I crane my neck to see the moon rising like a rusty gourd outside the airplane window. 

My stomach is turning, spinning in the opposite direction that my head is listing to.

 I hear the staccato, constant cellophane crackle of covers being removed from processed food, and the constant thrum of the plane's organs as it whisks me eastward in its belly. 

The warm blood of claustrophobia pounds in my ears and oh but 

there are too many quiet, heavy bodies around me. 

I feel sick and faint but I manage to breathe slowly, staying calm. 

If only this thick, sick feeling would pass and I was home under the covers, with the moon outside my window, tucking me in with her watchful gaze. Soon.

The Spell Of The Yukon: Hiking Montana Mountain

There’s a land where the mountains are nameless,
And the rivers all run God knows where;
There are lives that are erring and aimless,
And deaths that just hang by a hair;
There are hardships that nobody reckons;
There are valleys unpeopled and still;
There’s a land — oh, it beckons and beckons,
And I want to go back — and I will.

~Robert Service, from The Spell Of The Yukon

I have spent the last two weeks up here in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. The goal is to work and play, as simple as that. Work has involved a new painting for Abbozzo Gallery in Oakville, Ontario, shooting photo reference for new paintings and a private commission. As I have waxed romantic about the North before I will try to temper that here....but I wanted to include some musings and photographs from recent climbs, scrambles, drives and hikes in the area.


Here is a detailed section of the painting I recently finished here...I will blog about it soon but wanted to include it in this post. The entire portrait of my friend Danielle is 12"x24", oil on panel.

Lavender mountains cut the horizon like a serrated

 knife with dawn blushing furiously behind it.

12 hours after arriving in town, my friend Ian and I hiked up Montana Mountain. It lies about 1 1/2 hours south of Whitehorse, just beyond the tiny hamlet of Carcross.  The mountain is the one visible in the photograph above...we hiked until we were waylaid by snow and turned back...all in all a great 15km hike. My knees weren't impressed, nor my quadriceps...but it is all about the challenge (and the view) :) I was struck by the quiet world that lives up there.

The lichen crunching under my feet, the silence broken only by a small creek flowing between two ridges and the leaves slipping into an ochre hum on the slopes all around us. 

The field of mustard-tinged foliage was intoxicating..

While hiking up the mountain I took some reference of my friend Ian and had him take some of me. This reference will for the basis for two new paintings. Yes, they are a bit of a departure from my usual, figurative work, but it is the figure in landscape....instead of a sheet, the mountain is wrapped around us.

I have never been to the Yukon in September. It is a beautiful time of year...many mornings you are scraping ice off of the car windows, you are layered for warmth, and hot coffee takes on an almost religious experience. I am always inspired by the mountains outside of my window here in Whitehorse. They are like friends who never leave, never judge, but also leave you to your own devices. Montana Mountain was a new experience however. I had only climbed in an alpine environment once before, near the Arctic Circle in Alaska. On this day we climbed a total of 3,400 feet in elevation gain. The air, the smells, the foliage, the entire atmosphere of a place changes a lot when you climb that high.

Whole little ecosystems of quiet beauty abounded up on the mountain..

At the highest point, we ascended into and above the clouds. Shortly thereafter we encountered a good deal of snow. I was a bit nervous about a whiteout and we decided to descend back down the mountain.

Assessing whether to continue or not.

As we retraced our steps the snow transitioned to rain and then stopped altogether...the clouds opened up to show us Tagish Lake below, with a riot of colour all around us. It was sublime. Though I felt the effects of this new terrain in my body for days, it was worth every moment.

Tagish Lake below us..

One final surprise of the day. As we rounded a corner on the road Ian said "why can't we just see a bear today?" Low and behold, a black bear came lumbering out in front of us and crossed the road. I had to scramble for my little point and shoot and this was the best shot I could snap. I wonder what he is up to now...off in the woods, off in the quiet, perhaps even off in the clouds..

"Tina With Her Bass"

The smallest, most inconspicuous corner of your canvas waits for you to paint it. Every little space is essential to the integrity of the whole piece. Each square inch should be considered; whether for a moment or an hour. I often use a very loose, textured approach to the backgrounds or large spaces of my paintings. I like to think it provides a nice counterpoint to the more tightly rendered areas of a figure, or in this case, a figure and a musical instrument. 


"Tina With Her Bass", oil on canvas, 30"x40", 2011, is one of the only paintings of a musical instrument that I have completed. I have painted fruit, vegetables, houses, set squares, loved ones and cherished pets. But it was with great pleasure that I rendered this bass of Tina's, with her standing beside it. She adores her bass, but a hectic lifestyle makes it hard for her to play as much as she would like to.


I was drawn to paint Tina by her hands. She has musicians hands, the hands of someone who gets things done deftly. When she showed me her bass and described how much she adored it, I knew it has to be in the painting with her. Sort of a double portrait if you will.


I wanted to paint her in a contemplative way while incorporating the bass as a form of stability, comfort and familiarity. My paintings are not about accuracy. One can put away rulers and set squares, as my lines are not straight..and that is okay. I would prefer to see small waverings, little imperfections that when assembled and woven together create a painting that might appear as if looking through a soft piece of glass. 


This painting will be part of an upcoming exhibition of new, figurative work at Abbozzo Gallery in Oakville, Ontario, Canada. I will post details about the show as it approaches. 


Recently I arrived here in Whitehorse, in the Yukon Territory, to hike, explore and work on paintings. It has been wonderful so far. The Northern climate is wonderful and the mountains are faithful friends. Here are some shots from my little make-shift studio that I have set up here in Whitehorse, YT. Have a beautiful day wherever you may be..

Paint 'butterflies' after a morning of work..

The view from my coffee mug in Haines Junction, YT yesterday