Saturday, 22 December 2012

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

Thursday, 20 December 2012

Sparkle Under Her Footsteps

There is no photo of this painting. It sold before I took a photo of it. The feeling and memory of it, however, are engraved in my heart. 

Surprise surprise, there was a crow. Unlike most of 'my' others though, she was drawn, not painted. She was strong, yet sensitive. She was brave, yet cautious. She looked happy to be walking about. 

As if fulfilled by the sound of each footstep, she swayed through the crunchy snow. She didn't seem to be looking for anything. Just strolling, step by step by step. Like a shocking spill of ink upon a page of paper white, she was steadfast. As icy diamonds disappeared under her feet, I heard no other sound.

Friday, 14 December 2012


Aside from admitting that it's likely my favourite painting ever, I am, once again, not going to explain this one - well, except for the comment below. 


Wednesday, 12 December 2012

A Beautiful Storm

The clouds crash in quickly
Then fly on wings of rain
Leaving a torn up sky
Windows of warmth
I think of you
And I know 


Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Every now and then I paint something for the wrong reason. Don't get me wrong, it's always coming from the heart. What I mean is that I involve myself in situations that I find highly emotional. While they can be an amazing source of drive, they can also infect my attitude. The sadness I feel for a fallen tree, for example, can be depicted in two different ways: The dark, deathly, clinging and desperate way - and the life-celebrating, remembering, but not holding-onto way.

Last year there was such a painting. I was proud of it then. "Here, industry - take that!" My little poke at the changing surroundings. The painting didn't sell. I don't measure my talent or success by the number of sold works, but there is something incredibly rewarding in selling a painting. Aside from the financial benefit, the knowledge that I intellectually connected with another human being feeds me beyond measure. The idea that I put my love into a painting and someone that I've never met was open to seeing it (not just looking at it), feeling it and believing in its impact enough to take it home. If I had to pick one instance when I knew I was doing what I'm destined to do, it would be a heartfelt message I received from a mom who lost her son.

I had 'that one' painting sent back to me. Seeing it again, I could hardly believe how dark and desolate it was. I almost tasted the bitterness the painting seemed to radiate. I brightened the tree. Colour. Lots of it. Every type of yellow Cadmium I could load onto my fat brush. Copper foil. Yummy! Bright bits of spicy teal for contrast. Buttery reds. Intoxicating iron oxides. I changed the title to "Everything Stills Within". Wow. Amazing! I hung it in the upstairs hallway for three months. It felt like letting go of sadness and embracing happiness. Now that I got so much sweet pleasure out of it, I'm letting it go. Let it wrap someone else with that blanket of comfort.


Canada House Gallery

Tuesday, 4 December 2012


"Some character you are!"
"Show some character!"
"He's full of class and deep character."
"This character thinks he owns the road!"

What a crow.

Canada House Gallery