Bulldozer Mike's Willow

My mud boots sank into the squishy grey matter and made a suction sound each time I took a step. When I finally made it to the fallen branches, I discovered that even if i managed to drag them, I'd never make it home. The willow arms were too heavy with pungent mud and stubborn green leaves. 

That's when I got the looks. Oh, right - they're staring at my then cadmium red hair. No, you goof - they're calling the foreman. Not only are you trespassing, you're not wearing a helmet or steel toed boots. 

I returned much later. Only one guy was still working. Looking up at him in his digger, I couldn't decide if the machine or the man was more menacing. Turned out his name was Mike. Heavily bearded and crudely tattooed, he would have easily passed for a bouncer at the former Marble Arch or Cecil. Stuttering, I managed to spit out that I just wanted a few branches for an installation in Vancouver. "Would that be okay?" He climbed down, asked me how I wanted them cut up, proceeded to skillfully carve the half alive tree limbs with a chainsaw and then offered me the keys to his construction truck. "Your truck is too small and pretty. You'll scratch it all up." I've kept one beautifully squiggly branch to this day. It's 12 feet tall. I hung Chinese wind chimes on it.

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Canada House Gallery

Sensitive Ego Within a Confident Facade

Aware of her charms yet doubting herself, she hopped between the fantasy room of a comic shop and the triple espresso crowd up the street.

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Mayberry Fine Art

How to tell my mind to talk to the hand.

With five paintings in the works, it's been a busy week. Inspiration, brushes and music flowing, I've felt both grounded and soaringly high. 

This is a rare combination for me - I'm either flying in an idea-filled sky or standing with my feet firmly planted and painting with control. To be able to successfully transfer the high frequency chatter in my mind directly to a panel is a beautiful thing indeed. The result is generally a piece with equal parts skill, humour and wonder. This applies whether it's a straight forward crow portrait or a (far tougher to design) abstract. 

Perhaps my meditation has finally reached a much desired level of, dare I say, equilibrium? Is this previously elusive carrot actually moving from the front of my cold nose to my warm hand? Has the subconsciously planted focus really blossomed into a rose (or rather a pepper-scented freesia) that I can pick up any time?

Maybe it's the absence of the news radio station I had seemingly been addicted to. It's possible that lovely pieces of "Lego House" or "Wunderkind" have dripped in along with the pigment I apply. 

Whatever the reason, it has been blissful in my creative space. Literally and metaphorically. My eight by eight room has provided just enough room for everything, including the ever-essential goof factor (one of the many lessons my son taught me).

The Day There Was No Sky

"What is your favourite memory?", she asked. After a long pause, my mind answered through my lips:

"The day fog wrapped the naked trees. A blanket of snow below my feet, warm greyness as high as I could see and a delicious, dense mist everywhere else. Only the arms of the trees stuck out.

I felt like I was walking in a grown up tale. There was no castle, but my mind floated in sweet quietness. Yes, that is my favourite memory." 

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Nikol Haskova Studio

Teaching

I had a surprise voicemail yesterday. A familiar, cheery voice asked if I'd give a two hour lesson. Given that it's at a place where I myself have taken workshops and received much advice, I agreed without hesitation.

I have about a month to put together a lesson plan so the host can market the workshop in advance. Needless to say, the most challenging part of this will be the prep. Not being a prolific painter, I'd have a hard time making a painting from start to finish, all the while answering questions. I decided I'll likely set up works in various stages of development as well as some finished paintings and then concentrate on demonstrating a few techniques. I'll include texture, using gels, plexiglass, incorporating found objects and a little experiment at the end. 

I'm looking forward to giving back a little at a place where I've found so much support and inspiration. Stay tuned.

Pride Before Wisdom

This couple was a study in buffoonery. One of them, entirely consumed with purpose, strutting around, seemingly unaware of the surroundings. A splendid example of unenlightened elegance, he owned the sidewalk. The other, hesitant and apparently of higher schooling, watched with amusement. "Go ahead," she snickered, "check it out for me."

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Mayberry Fine Art

Potty Mouth

I approached him too quickly. Given a little time, crows tend to be forgiving of my voyeurism. I was too  excited. Seeing him roadside, all slick and shining in the midday sun, he was too beautiful to resist. I grabbed my camera and charged out of the car. 
Had I contained my ardor, he probably would have allowed me closer. Instead, my proximity elicited an entire convergence of dirty words from the feathered fella. Loud and unmistakably annoyed with me, he lectured me on my manners. 

Mayberry Fine Art
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