I spent my most recent birthday with friends in Liverpool, Nova Scotia.

It was a beautiful coming together of old pals from across Canada and my heart was content. We loaded up some food and went to the beach for a picnic. As we strolled up the beach, Julia found a paintbrush in the sand. It seemed like a moment of serendipity on a beautiful day.

I've been told that this also looks like the view of a prairie sky, which is a-ok with me.

Tactile Painting

Summer ended and fall began while we were in Newfoundland, even though it was still September. We could feel the chill of it chasing us back across the country as we made our way West.

It's just off in the distance, but in the foreground is summer.

Whycocomagh Provincial Park in Cape Breton at the base of the Cabot Trail was the one campsite we returned to on our way back across the country. It was a beautiful spot at the base of Salt Mountain. In the heat of an August afternoon we made our way up the mountain, through the cool trees and along a beautiful path. I kept seeing faces in the trees and in the shadows that lay across our path. The trail winds its way up towards the summit in no particular hurry.

Created while in residence on Toronto Island and a representation of my visual impairment. Beneath this painting is a landscape of blue sky and sparse trees.

The first layer of this painting was built by scraping chunks of old, dry paint into a resemblance of my floaters. Somedays, floaters in my vitreous have a density which is hard to describe. Something like looking through tapioca, I'd say.

From the chunks on the canvas I was inspired to paint a martian-esque landscape, which morphed into a representation of the Tablelands in Newfoundland, which is a rare and wonderful place to be sure.

I got sick of looking at it after a few weeks (you ever get that?) and decided to attack the canvas with no plan one morning. I really just wanted to cover that weird landscape up. Also, I was feeling particularly blocked and my mentor once said, "If you ever get stuck, keep painting".

I threw paint around, chasing my floaters until a figure began to emerge. I've been obsessed with the image of a woman spinning clouds for a while now, and she seems to have made her way onto this canvas. Arianna Gilbertson commented, "it looks like she's conjuring" which inspired the title.

This painting was inspired by a recent train trip across Canada. The view of the prairies is one of my favourite sights and when I woke up one morning to the endless sky and land stretching out past the window I was thrilled and my heart whispered, "home".

The very first Burnese Mountain Dog I remember meeting and getting to know was named Henry. His bark was earth-shattering and he terrified me. After we spent a few hours together his rough (pardon the pun) persona was revealed to be a thin veneer and I was smitten. He would sit next to me and gently lean against my legs in a manner which told me he was just a solid, calm presence. Ever since, I've held the Burnese in high esteem. I dream of one day owning one, but as I have never had a dog I really don't know the first thing about it.

Someday…

(that's my boot beside him).

I've been playing with iridescent paint lately. I love the way it simulates the flashes of light I see on my periphery. Also, these wonderful paints give motion and dynamic to an otherwise still piece. It changes with the light, and I love that.

Inspired by our trip across Canada in the summer of 2018, I wanted to capture the hour after sunset when there's still a bit of light and the water takes on an eerie hue. I find these moments so magical and beautiful. If it weren't for the bugs, I'd long to return to this place somewhere above Lake Superior.

Terra Hazelton and I have a long-running challenge to create "western" art, and this is my first crack at it. I've been seeing angels everywhere I go these days (they are much quieter than devils, take less limelight, and tend not to appear in the New York Times). They're there, though. You just have to squint to see the wings.