Alchemy of a New Idea

I love the alchemy that takes place when a new idea unfolds. A few weeks ago while making the upteenth “Wild Thing” that uses cotton fabric, I came across several scraps of gorgeous quilting cotton that someone had given to me a couple of years ago.

As each piece came to light I kept thinking I should probably “save” them for something else, especially as they were small pieces and would require sewing together before using on the Wild Things, and time was of the essence.

Later that evening I pieced together some of the cottons into landscapes and was quite pleased with the result. I felt they needed more life, and I knew that hand embroidery and beads would provide some of that, but not quite all that I had in mind. Besides, I had two weeks to come up with some new pieces for a Fibre show and again, the clock was ticking.

Silk would provide more luminosity. I grabbed a basket of distressed silk leftover from my last batch of West Coast Reflections with the intention of adding some to the scenes. And then the playing began... Several hours and half a dozen pieces later I had exactly what I knew I was looking for 

And then the metallic pens came out… and other fibres… and other mediums…

What emerged was a whole new series called “Glimpses” ~ tiny land and sea scapes reminiscent of the West Coast.

I’m thinking of painting more silk fabric to use, distressing fabric in different ways, enhancing with gold or silver leaf… because who knows where else this may take me?

Tony, my partner captured their essence in these words:

“You look at them and you know that whether it was in a blink of an eye,

or a moment in time, a certain light,

or simply in your dreams, you have seen this.

You've been there.”

The Smell of Freedom

Several years ago I lived in a lovely old house in Qualicum Beach which had many old trees in the garden. At the front of the house stood a beautiful lilac tree and one day when it was in full bloom I suddenly had the urge to paint a wild and exuberant abstract rendition of the blossoms.

A few days later one of my friends came by for tea and asked if she could pick some lilacs. It turned out that lilacs reminded her of her father who had passed away a few years before. He has spent several years as a German prisoner in Russia during the second world war and never spoke of the horrors he had endured there. He eventually escaped. Travelling for weeks, evading capture or being shot, starving and exhausted, mile upon endless mile. When eventually he reached the border, there were lilac bushes in full bloom and heavy with scent. At last he crossed over to safety. Forever after, he would associate the smell of lilacs with freedom.

I got up, went to my studio and returned with the painting. I knew now why I had painted it. It wasn't for me, but for her.

I never took a photo of the painting. I didn't have to. I just need to enjoy the lilacs each year, remember the painting, my friend, her father... and how truly precious is the smell of freedom.

Blending old and new

Work is progressing steadily on the illustrations for my children's book. Most mornings, as soon as it is light, I head up to my studio and immerse myself in the story, surrounded by reference sketches and notes, and work on the tilt of a head, the detail in the clothing, the lay of the land.

I have published newsletters and magazines in the past, in the 'olden days' when cut and paste meant, literally, scissors and glue! In publishing poetry books for myself and others I relied on desktop publishing and much of the work was done on the computer, although for layout I still reverted to hardcopy for corrections, and always trusted my eye far more than what any program attempted to dictate.

And now I find myself, in this as in so much else, blending and weaving the old and the new, hand and eye coordination primarily, a little tweaking on a scanned image to see what may work better, then back to the drawing board for touch up.

A lot of work. Solid steady work. One image at a time. One page at a time. And always the ocean and the shoreline to remind me of where my story takes place, and the magic that is found there.

Felting Flowers

As part of the Gabriola Arts Council amazing Isle of the Arts Festival last weekend I took part in a wonderful felting workshop given by an inspiring instructor and fibre artist Siki Mc Ivor. I was not familiar with either (wet) felting or needle felting so it was a fascinating process.

Wonderful colours of dyed roving and other fibres were provided

to create a felted flower.

We began by layering pieces of roving, and filling in the gaps to create the flower itself.

 Then used soapy hot water and friction to felt the fibres together, adding patches as necessary.

 
                          

The colour combinations people came up with were simply amazing.

A similar technique was used to make the stem.

And the stamen.

The flower, stem and stamen were then assembled and felted all together, first by needle felting...

 and then by (wet) felting, again using hot, soapy water and friction.

The flowers were absolutely stunning!

 The group was totally delighted.

... and so was I -
not to mention severely obsessed with yet another art form...

Artist in (Lighthouse) Residence

This Spring I was accepted as one of the Artists in Residence at the Fort Rodd Hill and Fisgard Lighthouse National Historic Sites in Victoria this summer.

Along with one other artist at a time, I will be displaying my new children's book and accompanying multi-media work as well as conducting interactive classes, projects or activities from time to time during the two and a half weeks that I will be in attendance. Most of all it is a wonderful opportunity to spend time painting (and writing) in an inspiring and historic environment overlooking one of the many spectacular vistas of the west coast.

One of my childhood dreams was to live in a lighthouse - not that realistic growing up in Belgium and Germany and then living on the prairies - but this summer I get to do what I love, where I've always dreamed of being... doesn't get much better ~

Fisgard Lighthouse was the first lighthouse on Canada's west coast built in 1860 and still acts as a beacon  today over the Strait of Juan de Fuca granting safe passage. Fort Rodd Hill was a coast artillery fort built in the late 1990's to defend Victoria and Esquimalt Naval Base. Imagine the stories that will come from this time...

http://www.explorevancouverisland.com/Fort_Rodd_Hill_Vancouver_Island_BC.htm

And then there's beachcombing...

Just spent the last three weeks combing the shores of beautiful Mudge Island for tiny pieces of driftwood, shells, sea glass and other delicacies. These will find their way into a series of fibre art wall hangings I am designing for an upcoming show. Here are just a few of the things we found on the last day.

As we sat on the shore a wonderful piece of arbutus spoke to us. Larger than the row boat but it made it home ~

Beachcombing through Life

Two or three times a year I cat and housesit on Mudge Island, a rowboat ride away from Gabriola Island, which is a ferry ride away from Vancouver Island, in turn a lifetime away from the rest of the mainland of British Columbia.

My days are spent alone. Reading, writing, painting and mostly sitting in quiet reflection with long meandering walks along the shore, in all weather, pursuing my favourite pastime of beachcombing. I’m in another space, another time, another way of being. I am within myself.

I recently commented on Facebook that beachcombing should actually be considered a viable occupation. Many people agreed. And then I realised that, in fact, it is for me. And that the way that I do life and my work are just like beachcombing.

Whenever I go beachcombing, I always have some projects in mind, some clear idea of what I am seeking that day. I begin by saying the words that I use when I enter into my intuitive space to work. I relax completely and I trust impicitely that I will be lead to whatever I need to find. And then I walk. I let my eyes wander. I never look. I just gaze and let myself be drawn to whatever calls to me visually.

 

 

 

My only commitment is that I bend down to look at whatever catches my eye. I have come to trust that what I bend down to look at, most times, is not for me. But always from that place there is something, which materializes within my line of vision, that is. So it may be a strangely shaped rock that calls my attention, but in bending down I am now looking from another perspective, and see a marvelous piece of lavender seaglass that would otherwise have escaped my notice.

 

If I feel called to go a certain way, I follow. There is always something quite magical waiting for me. I may be ready to turn for home, and yet feel pulled to just walk a little longer… a wee bit further… and there awaits a wonderful piece of driftwood of unimaginable beauty.

And every so often I stop, lift my head, and take in the splendour that surrounds me. And I give thanks.

I no longer fear “missing” anything, knowing that wherever my feet take me is exactly where the treasure lies for me that day. And although the tide may come and go, taking beautiful pieces away with it to deposit elsewhere, I know that these pieces were simply not for me, and that the tide, in the abundance that only nature knows, will bring new and other perfect pieces for me to find the next time I venture forth.

And as is so often the case, however far I wander,

what I truly need is always found closest to home.