August 5, 2005

What colour is a wolf howl?—the wilderness song that dances among the trees, soars like a bird, and bounces from mountains.  Wolves have featured in several of my recent paintings.  Although my animals are identifiable, they are not photographic.  Interpreting their howl is what challenged me.

I first viewed a wolf on a  -20 C winter day.  A lone wolf sat on its haunches on the frozen river below our house...and howled.  A thrilling, electrifying sound and so right for the still, seemingly empty, wilderness.  A second wolf joined the first.  Then began a remarkable duet until—together—they trotted off into the forest.  Was this a love tryst?

This was a totally unexpected experience.  Wolves at the time had not been in the area for some years.  They have however increased and are now a small pack but I have not been privileged to watch them in the wild again, although we have many times seen their tracks on our hikes. The size of these tracks gives one pause for thought!  For my paintings I was fortunate to sketch live wolves at Northern Lights Wildlife Centre (www.NorthernLightsWildlife.com) here in the Blaeberry Valley.  These are the only wolves in captivity to be set free to roam wild on a regular basis.  Then they return freely to their animal sanctuary.

For the past three years I have had an Open Studio during August.  This year we have postponed my Open Studio until September because our access bridge across the Blaeberry River is being replaced.  The River at present has been squeezed and channelled to accommodate a short bridge.  High water and spring floods can cause havoc.  Since we are the only people who live across this bridge, for the week or so it takes to replace it—we will be totally isolated.

We do remember when this bridge was installed.  Ralph, I, and our daughters were on a walk to our neighbours.  The girls had run ahead.  When we rounded the corner, the girls were staring at a collapsed bridge.  Near the far bank a logging truck lay on its side in the river below.  The cab was above water and, as we watched, the driver pulled himself through the window and sat slightly dazed on the roof before making his way to the opposite shore—now suddenly (for us) twenty kilometres away!

So come to my OPEN STUDIO, September 1-30, noon to 7 p.m. daily, 2888 Enid Petherick Lane, Golden BC—and you can cross our new bridge.

 

June 25, 2005

Recently, Ralph and I drove to Jasper along the Icefield Parkway, leaving very early in the morning and returning late the same evening. We saw several black bear plus elk, caribou, deer—and four grizzlies. The most animals—certainly the most grizzlies that we have ever seen in one day.

On approach one young grizzly appeared to doze on the shoulder of the highway.  We wondered that it might have been hit by a passing vehicle. However, as we and the van ahead of us slowed, it rose and ambled off, maybe slightly annoyed at the interruption to its rest on the sun-heated pavement.  Toward evening, across a meadow we sited a massive grizzly grazing at the edge of the forest.

These are awesome animals and it is a privilege to see them under auspicious circumstances.  This day brought back memories of our third summer living in the wilderness—our first ‘bear year’. 

The winter before had been  heavy with snow and the slow melting had caused a late spring.  Our house was not yet finished.  A well established animal trail edged the back yard.   Friends and their two young children and teenage brother were visiting us.

I was washing diapers on a pile of scrap lumber at the edge of dense forest.  Hearing a crackling in the bushes on the other side of my make-shift table, I looked up knowingly, smiling, and thinking to share a joke with the visiting teenager, who liked to play tricks on the kids— five, four, three and one year old.  I pictured him lying in wait, then popping from the underbrush to startle  one of the young ones.  The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchen.

Laundry finished, I turned toward the house, preoccupied with my load.

“There’s a bear behind you!”  I looked up, startled, at the five year old standing in the doorway.  Her expression is indelible on my memory. Eyes like dinner plates were focussed over my head and behind me. This was no joke.

The short distance to the house seemed interminable.  Maintaining the same pace, I reached the step, then turned.  A yearling grizzly was snuffling the area I had just left.

The kids,—where were they?  Five year old accounted for, —four and three and one year olds??  “THERE IS A BEAR IN THE YARD!    RALPH!  GET THE KIDS!”

The four and one year old were in the Kitchen waiting for the bread. The three year old was “helping” Ralph build the stone foundation beneath the far end of the house. 

We quickly gathered everyone in the kitchen.  Grabbing pie tins and kitchen utensils, we banged and shouted.  Not terribly impressed, the bear ignored us, turning it’s attention to the picnic table, then continued toward the house, nose raised, sniffing at the bread smell.  Picking up a rock lying outside the kitchen door, Ralph surprised the bear with a smack to its ribs.  Finally, we had its attention.  It halted, hesitated, then retreated down the path toward the cabin.  From the roof where they worked, our other two visitors watched it trot past.  Our initial scare over, we reflected on how thin this animal had been.  We could see its ribs.  The late spring meant a late berry crop—and hunger for many animals—including this bear.  Over the summer they taught us great respect for their intelligence and ability and we learned to become ‘bear aware’.

None of us saw that particular bear again.  Nor could we ever get the dents out of our pie tins.  It would prove to be our “bear summer” during which we had many bear experiences, mainly black—but also one intriguing cinnamon.  We had not yet built the sauna so took baths in the ponds and side channels of the river.  Because of the numerous “bear” sightings, some prankster(?) chose to put up a sign at the end of our lane: “Bare Crossing”.  It was an in joke with the few locals at the time, though not so well understood in later years, till it fell apart with age.

 

April 27, 2005

A robin sang as we walked up the still snow-covered lane. Beautiful. Everything at the house was as we had left it. Twenty minutes later Ralph went for water anticipating the pump to be frozen and to have to carry water from the river. He was surprised to find the pump working-and even more surprised-to find new deer tracks in the snow on the hill we had just walked up. A few hours later, with both wood stoves burning, we drank hot tea and felt welcomed and cosy. A nice home coming.

We had tried to drive in, but where our lane turns off the main logging road, we had found packed snow and mud for several hundred metres. Forced to leave our car at a neighbour's, we walked in the last five kilometres. Once over the first rise, the snow became rotten. When we came to our property we walked on bare ground-the only snow being on that last slope up to the house. Our garden was snow-free and warmed with early perennials beginning to show. The next day we planted strawberry plants that were a gift from a friend.

 

March 6, 2005

Elegance.. poise.. I study the woman on the model stand.  Confidence is shown in the tilt of her head.  I admire her graceful movement from pose to pose.  An ample figure with generous curves carried like a queen. No lumbering movement here. I recall the striking portraits of large beautiful, Navajo women, the stillness and strength of the figures paralleling the stillness and strength of the land forms in the desert they inhabit.  I am excited…another Figurative Landscape is being germinated!.. exactly what?..how?..  to ponder …

I am visiting Vancouver and renewing my passion for Life Drawing at Basic Inquiry—a self-teaching, learning-by-doing studio.   A diverse group of artists—all ages, all levels—surround the model.

Two days previous, the model had been in striking contrast, with a fine boned, small busted, boyish figure.  I had admired the manner in which the racing fingers of the sculptor across from me maneuvered gobs of clay to beautifully catch the chiseled curves and well-delineated body structure.

I remembered another model with tall strong body of typical northamerican build, but whose golden skin and exotic features indicated a mix of many cultures.  Still another model had been a living work of art.  I had struggled to search out form beneath the gallery of tattoos.

The two most recent male models could hardly have been more different—one tall and dark, the other small and fair.

Each of these models had been stimulating and exciting in their individuality; not one had been a “Hollywood” image or media pumped out image of perfection.  As a visual artist it is a challenge to capture the true beauty in this uniqueness.  It is sad to realize how narrow popular conception of beauty has become.

A new magazine, BeautyMagazine.ca treats the topic of body image.  The goal is to give young people, in particular, a healthier concept of true beauty.  Published and edited by a former dancer who has overcome bulimia, she has personally dealt with the issue and now is actively helping others who are confronting society’s unrealistic image of desirability.  Hunt it up.  I think you will enjoy!!

Sometimes I think life drawing could be therapeutic for everyone, even those not striving to become serious artists.  It makes one aware that each of us, in our uniqueness, is beautiful.   

 

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