I hear her calling me. It's usually in just a normal voice. Sometimes it's soft whispering. But, sometimes it's loud, almost screaming. Sometimes in the middle of the night. Sometimes on bright sunny day dog walks. I hear my empty easel calling me. I see images coming to life in my head. I see little scenes, usually interlaced by me changing the easel height, mixing colours, and cleaning brushes. Sometimes it's dark images that visit me, like shipwrecks at sea, or of grand trees being cut down, or funerals of people gone way too soon. Dramatic visions. But mostly they're of happy, peaceful scenes that make me feel good in a certain way. Ones that I like to stay in for a while and just hang out while creating them. Ones I can re-visit years later and have fond memories of, and have friends visit it with me too. Soon I will catch my escaping days. I am closing in on it everyday. I know I'll hear those calls more frequently until I do. Until I return to her, and we can talk. It will come soon, it's just not time. I don't know what the subject or what those paintings will be yet. I'll happily paint whatever it is she calls for. I look forward to that day of clamping a blank canvas on my easel again. I look forward to the day when she and I both will no longer feel so empty.
News / New Work
October 27, 2015
May 10, 2015
The first Art I can remember creating was with my Mom. She was a great drawer. I loved seeing all of her doodles as a kid. She would always draw fashionista type models just like we would see in the newspapers. I remember asking her to draw the character Rocket Robin Hood for me, and to my total amazement, there he was on the page looking exactly like he did on TV. Wide eyed, Robin came to life right in front of me, through my Mom's hand. It totally blew my mind. It would have been around 1970-71, and I'd be three or four. It inspired me to try and draw him just like Mom could, and I practiced, and I practiced. Read on...