Thank you very much to all those who attended the opening reception for "earthlings COMPOSITION".  From fellow artists to friends, family, and art lovers, I was overwhelmed by your enthusiastic response to this new collection.  Being able to share this work with you, to listen to your thoughts and impressions of the work in person means everything to me. It's one of the reasons I love what I do. 
Of course, I also want to give a special thank you to Cheryl Bell, owner/manager of 14 Bells Fine Art Gallery for all of her support, encouragement, and professionalism. You are the best.
The show continues until Sunday, November 10th and is also available now on the gallery's website:  14bells.com​  Enjoy!

com - po - si - tion, n.
definition from Oxford dictionary

1. the nature of something's ingredients or constituents, the way in which a whole or mixture is made up.
2. the artistic arrangement of the parts of a picture

Artist's statement: "Biologically, we are composed of the same ingredients, or elements, which make up every aspect of this planet. Perhaps that is why many of us respond so deeply to the natural world. We feel the connection. We instinctively recognize ourselves. We are all of this planet and in that sameness, we are connected to each other. Nothing else matters more that caring for our planet and each other. We are all earthlings."

I couldn't be more excited to share my very newest earthling series in the upcoming show "Composition".  The opening (from 6pm to 8pm) will be very special to me as the first earthling show was during the pandemic when the gallery was actually closed and so there was no reception. I am really looking forward to seeing the work hanging on the gallery walls this time, and to have the opportunity to meet and speak to everyone who can come that day.
The earthlings have evolved a great deal in the four years since they first appeared. The introduction of the occasional landscape suggestions in this newest collection adds a whole other dimension. 
​Hope to see you there!

Autumn. The first sign was a few leaves that quietly turned red overnight. Then the air woke up a little cooler. It's also roughly six weeks before I deliver twenty new paintings to 14 Bells Fine Art Gallery for my upcoming solo show. The work is complete and ready, and the familiar feeling of excitement and nervous anticipation is already building. I've been through this many times, but it never gets old. 

There's something about seeing my art hanging on gallery walls. It looks different. For months (sometimes years), I've stared at the work as it evolved from a blank white canvas to finished painting, all in the relative safety of my studio. Now the work must stand on its own and face the world. What we create as artists is very personal, not just in what we do, but how we do it, and whether we achieved what we set out to do in the first place. Seeing your paintings in a gallery setting is akin to watching your child walk on stage for the first time to perform in the school play or concert. You know how hard they practiced. Now, there's a moment of holding your breath in anticipation. 

I believe all artists deserve credit for sharing their work with the public at large, in galleries, on-line, wherever.  It takes a certain amount of courage to create something that did not exist before, that you alone imagined and made real, and then to hold it up for all to see. To be open to whatever comes. As long as the artist was honest and sincere in their effort,  I feel they deserve recognition and appreciation.

Many times, I have visited galleries to see the work of other artists. I have been inspired, educated, awed, and moved to tears. I have seen work I didn't understand only to learn more and gain a true appreciation. I've been amazed by the creativity and imagination. I've felt the artist's heart and soul and been honoured to have had the experience. I've admired work by those I consider legends or masters in what they do, and felt sincere joy for the success of artists I call friends.

I also give full credit to gallery owners, curators and staff who care enough to provide the stage, who spend their time and energy working with the artists, encouraging and supporting their efforts. They are also the ones who answer questions and provide background to those who walk through the gallery doors. They often go above and beyond in making it possible for the artist to continue.

The world of the artist can be a precarious place full of uncertainty, but it's also a place of sharing, a coming together of minds. Galleries welcome everyone, and the world is better for it.

Growing older is actually pretty cool. I find the older I get, the more I relax into who I am, comfortable in my own skin. I also realize that living in the moment is really where the action is. I don't dwell on regrets about the past or concerns about the future. (Not as much anyway.) 
 
I remember one of my very first jobs and the older woman who was my supervisor. When things were quiet at work, she'd tell me stories about her life, her travels around the world, her adventures. I was spellbound. I wanted to have my own adventures, travel to distant places, meet interesting people. Most of all, I was determined, from that point on, not to have any regrets in my old age. Well, I think we all have at least a few regrets if we've lived at all. But overall, I think I've managed to accomplish many of those hopes I had as a young woman. I have travelled to distant places, met and got to know some incredible people, and had my share of adventures. 

From the beginning I also had this dream of being a working artist. I mean I believe I was born an artist. It's part of who I am, but I had this vision of seeing my work hanging in galleries, of sharing my ideas with others, and belonging to the great collective of creative minds I looked up to and admired. I've mentioned before that it took me a long, long time to even call myself "an artist" as I just didn't think I had earned that right yet or paid my dues, if that makes sense. 

Today, my greatest hope is that my work "says" something, that the paintings speak to people. When I first started painting, I was occupied with capturing things as realistically as I could, to make beautiful things. As I grew older, my skill and priorities changed. My recent work over the last number of years has centered around the "earthlings." They came to me as a means to express what I wanted to say non-verbally, and I've focused very hard on giving them heart and emotion.

So, I finally accept myself as the artist I am. And I've got loads of memories about those places and people and adventures. At the very least, I'm content that I've tried my best. No regrets.

Most of my work in the studio recently has been in preparation for my next solo show. That is both exciting and a bit daunting. I am always honoured to be asked. I also challenge myself to step up with a theme and direction that is worthy of a new body of work. Something that I hope will inspire me and others all at the same time. I hope that the focus is something that will speak to people and encourage conversation, something that is worthy of attention.
Often choosing the right theme for a solo show takes me a bit of time. This time however the idea came quickly.  I can honestly say that inner voice that often directs my work spoke up loudly and clearly. The theme was not open for discussion and that determined inner voice would not take no for an answer. 
In this instance I also knew the title of each painting before I started. The theme itself made the titles quite obvious to me. Endless sketches followed, working out how best to express each idea. That's not always easy.  I was determined to say these things as simply and as heartfelt as possible and there was more than one sketch that ended up on the floor before I found the best answer. 
Next, I got to the actual painting process - buying the right size canvas and additional paint, and gauging the timeline required to meet my deadline. Since then, I have spent endless hours (at all hours of the day and night), standing at my easel working on each piece and assessing the progress.
​The majority of the paintings are complete. I will admit I still spend a good amount of time standing back, studying what I have created with a critical eye. I will never, ever create perfect paintings (if such a thing even exists), but I have created work that I believe is honest. That honesty and sincerity is most important to me. In several instances, I haven't been totally happy with certain details and consequently made adjustments, sometimes major adjustments. It is all part of trying to do better work, stretching my ability, and working very hard to create something special. Once the last painting is done, I will no doubt reassess once again.
The location of the show will be at the gallery I am continually proud to be associated with - 14 Bells Fine Art in the Halifax Hydrostone. The title of the show and all other details including dates will be announced by the gallery this fall. I can't wait to see this new collection hanging on the walls and will be especially excited to meet all those who come to the opening. Hopefully that's when the magic will truly begin.

Recently I had a conversation about, well, conversation. We discussed how often  when listening to another speak, our mind is already busily thinking of a reply, so eager to respond. How often do we actually really listen, listen deeply with our full focus, to what is being said to us? How often do we take the time to pause and consider our response, to consider the words we choose. Or perhaps there is no real need to reply after all.

Painting is simply a form of communication between the artist and the person viewing the work. The painting is the conversation. First the artist "speaks", creating the artwork. The artist may not even be present when someone stands in front of their painting to "listen". Does the piece capture and hold their attention? Does it touch them, speak to them? Does it cause them to think? The pause is natural as the artist is not present to respond. At that point, the painting stands on its own. In any case, the viewer has the gift of time to stand at leisure, with no pressure to answer anyone. There is the time to focus fully, to really see, to hopefully understand or find meaning in this silent conversation.

Being able to hear someone's comments or reaction to your artwork is so meaningful as it provides that other half of the conversation. I always wonder, "Did they understand what I was trying to say? Did the painting speak clearly for me?  Did they feel moved by some emotional reaction to what they saw?" Hopefully the answer is yes and that's a great conversation.

Change is inevitable. Looking back, we can see the changes in our own lives. As an artist, I look back over the years and consider how my painting has evolved over time.
I was drawing things probably as soon as I could hold a pencil. The sketching never stopped all through my school years and I drew everything from the horses I loved to copies of album covers. Every spare moment was a chance to pick up a pencil and draw what I saw around me.
My mother was also an artist, and although I learned basic painting skills simply by watching her, I never really created any of my own paintings in those years. Perhaps I was intimidated by what I saw her create, but in any case, I held back and focused more on drawing.
It wasn't until I had moved out on my own and started working, that I decided to try painting. Colour was a revelation. I was hooked. I decided to try acrylic paints which were still relatively new in those years, the vast majority of artists working in oil. I fell in love with the flexibility and quick-drying qualities of acrylic, even though I was told my paintings looked like they were done in oil. I attribute that to all those years I watched my Mom paint with her oils. It never occurred to me that the two mediums would be handled differently.
At the same time as I was beginning to create my first paintings, I began attending workshops, taking art classes, and joining art groups in my spare time to soak up whatever I could learn about painting. My work took me across Canada and that enabled me to learn about art from different people, experience different approaches, and really expand my knowledge.
In those early years, I was concentrating on realism, taking inspiration from the French Impressionists, the Group of Seven, and various other artists I admired. It was fun to explore, to try different techniques, learn new ways to see things. One thing I remember clearly was my absolute certainty that I would never create abstract paintings. At that time, they made no sense to me. 
The years passed and my work became more interpretive, looser. I began playing with the landscapes I created, my attention turning to unusual shapes, brighter colours, giving myself more freedom to play. I became obsessed with trying to create something that no one could capture with a camera. I was veering away from the realism I had always tried to attain with my landscapes, seascapes and portraits.
I remember the day another artist I admired looked at my recent work, smiled and said, "You will be an abstract painter one day." No. I shook my head. That will never happen. And then it did.
Making the decision to become an abstract painter was not a quick decision. I had gallery managers question my decision as, by this time, there were people following and collecting my realistic landscapes and seascapes. But I wanted the challenge. I wanted to see what I would create by looking inward instead of outward.
Making the change in my style was probably one of the hardest things I've ever done with my art. There was a period of fumbling and experimentation. I had to allow myself to fail, miserably at times, to try again, and push forward. Slowly I began to see how my technique and approach had to change, and then of course, I had to forge my own path and try to create abstracts that were my own vision. I don't know if any art is truly unique. We are all influenced by the work of others, but as an artist, you strive to find something that is as nearly your own as possible. It is your artistic voice, as such.
Which brings me to my current work. At this point in my life, it is important to me that my art  communicates well, that it speaks as clearly as possible of things that matter to me in this life and time, even though the paintings are abstract in nature. I hope I come close because the journey that brought me here has been a joy and a wonder.

Where does the time go? A new year is upon us and living in the moment has never seemed so important to me. Each minute, each hour, each day is precious. Slowing down. Considering the world around us and how we respond before that exact time and place has slipped into the past. Slowing down or better yet stopping once in a while, even just for a bit, brings so much into focus. 

I think most artists seek to find their creative voice, their particular niche in the world of art-making. It can be a challenging life-long pursuit of trial and error, pushing yourself to reach further with each brushstroke, with each new painting. Is the work honest? Is it unique or is there, in fact, anything that is truly unique? Sometimes our goals can also be sidetracked or distracted, and we need to pause and consider where we are in the big scheme of things. Are we still heading in the right direction, staying true to our aspirations, or have we somehow discovered a new path?

I have never felt so inspired to create new work as I do right now. Surprisingly though, I feel the impulse to not push myself as much as trust myself, to trust that creative instinct that simply says, "follow me."  There will no doubt be unexpected surprises along the way, but the path is clear. Stay tuned. New paintings are in the works.​

We spend a good deal of our lives chasing things. Things like a better job, our idea of success, or just more possessions of one sort or another. Our culture has evolved to set us on an endless race that can be both seductive and addictive.
Occasionally throughout my life, I've paused to take stock. Where am I? What am I doing with my life? Am I heading in the right direction or have I become distracted? Do I maybe need to shift into low gear or change direction? 
Then I ask myself what's really important? And do I already have enough, whatever that is? Have I achieved enough? Have I tried hard enough? Have I experienced enough? 
No doubt age plays a big role in how anyone would answer those questions. In the end, it's not usually the material things that really matter anyway. Was there enough time with family and friends? Was there enough walks with the dog, or enough time spent just looking at trees?  Was there enough love and compassion? The simple things truly matter.
Intention also matters. How about the phrase, "Enough is enough"? How many times has someone said, "I'm tired. I've had enough" when they are at the point of overload or exhaustion? There can be all kinds of repercussions from having too much. 
When I titled this latest of my earthling paintings "Enough", I was thinking about all the ways you can interpret that word. For me, I consider that in this finite world, we all need to consider when we have enough and what are the consequences of wanting more of anything. Truthfully, we probably already have enough. Or maybe the focus just needs to shift. 
That's a whole lot of meaning wrapped up in one word. Enough said.

Spring is in the air and it was a beautiful day to deliver new work to the gallery. These latest from my studio are pure abstraction and I love the energy, immediacy, and freedom they exude. The same feelings I had while creating them. Not too much thinking, just allowing myself to play with colour and movement, responding without overworking. Sounds easy enough perhaps, but at the same time my eye was considering a multitude of things such as elements of balance and rhythm, tonal qualities, ensuring there were quiet areas to offset the wilder moments. And then I step away. Leave the work. Return another day to see how it makes me feel. Turn the canvas and consider it from all angles. Perhaps I jump in and alter colours, play a bit more, or maybe I just sit with the work and let it be. I never feel like I am in total control. It is an interaction between myself and the painting. I listen. My hand just starts to move, putting colour on canvas, my eye making lightning-quick decisions and, sometimes, not looking at all. These abstractions are all about letting go and seeing where the work takes me.  I'm always surprised, always smiling, and happy with the end result.  See these two newest paintings at 14 Bells Fine Art Gallery.