Monthly Archives: April 2017

Painting Pink Trees

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“Pink Trees, UBC” iPhone Photo DS 2017

Dreams of pink flutterings suffuse my night. Are we sleeping under a pink tree? Is the bed covered in petals?

After writing an early morning blog post a memory surfaced. It is part of my birth story. I was a long awaited child. I was born when the apple trees were in full bloom, my mother would often say. So, here’s the thing: the more often we seek God, the more often we come to know something about ourselves.

So what is all the excitement about this month? Easter, of course – nothing can top that. Jesus’ resurrection is the basis for the Christian faith – our daily life. It is the foundation of our love – that he first loved us. He is our Source, our Sustainer, and our Goal in life.

One of God’s gifts that particularly excites my artist’s heart is the abundance of pink-petaled trees around town. When I first moved to Vancouver from Toronto there were things about this place that overwhelmed me with their beauty: the mountains, the trees, the ocean – and the pink trees (originally gifts from Japan I hear).

When I walk the streets in the sun, my eyes are filled with pinkness. Shear happiness fills my senses. One year and each subsequent year I thought of heaven and the streets of gold written about there. And I thought to myself that this day, on this street, in this rain, with pink petals flowing into the gutters, that God’s gift in the Spring of Vancouver is streets not lined with gold but with pink – a taste of heaven, yes. Again this year, I want to say thank you, your gift is much appreciated. Your love for us knows no bounds, in depth, height or care. Are these our modern day lilies of the field?

I have painted pink trees in VanDusen Gardens and cleaned my brushes on the snow. (Should I admit that?) Years have passed but I can still feel the shivering cold, the sunny warmth, the delight of choosing alternate lime and ochre colours for the trees. I see the blobs of various pinks as they come from my brush and the way snow accepts paint. I see the squareness of my canvases. The bird-filled silence comes back to me. I taste the water, the cheese sandwich, the apple I consume with painted hands. I remember the long contented walk back to my car, seeing the paintings complete in the studio and the joy of their donation. This I realize is God’s gift to me: painting. When I am in the flow, my life becomes a prayer and I feel most myself.

My thoughts are filled this week with the spectacle of there being a pink blanketed picnic in the park and fuchsia lit trees at night. I wish I could go. My schedule is tight. I will make do with viewing photos on the Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival website. I will walk my own streets, take iPhone photos, and worship.



Experiences of Art: Interview with Wendy A.


“Cafe Eve, Simons, Park Royal”

Bio: Wendy A.

  • retired Home Economics teacher
  • born in B.C.
  • powerful Scottish background
  • grew up in a household of visual art and music

Goya’s painting of a boy in an orange suit with a ruffle was something Wendy looked at in an art book at home maybe a hundred times starting at age five. It took her attention. Orange was not her favourite colour. She usually liked green.

The boy was Spanish royalty. She had the fabulous pleasure of actually seeing that painting a couple of years ago in the National Art Gallery in London, England. She said, I would have been surprised if it was not in the show of Goya portraits. In her visit to London she hoped it would be in the exhibition. She knew she would be visiting London but did not know if the dates worked for her to see it. They did. She did.

In her joy of recognition she was drawn to the oil painting, attracted again by its beauty. She remembered the painting as being about 5’ by 3’ and as having an ornate frame. There was such clarity, such colour, she remembered, and the facial expression of contentment.

Wendy wrote in an e-mail after our interview at the Eve Café:

The Boy in Red is 50 inches by 40 inches and it is of the son of the Count and Countess of Altamira.

I think I know why I loved this picture so much right from the age of about 5 and it never dawned on me before today —- he looks a tiny bit like me at a very young age. 

I guess I am a bit of a narcissist!!

Bye for now,



Painting of Don Manuel Osorio Manrique de Zuniga, 1788

“Striking and often unforgiving, Goya’s portraits demonstrate his daringly unconventional approach and remarkable skill at capturing the psychology of his sitters.”  National Gallery London, bio of Francisco de Goya

Easter Prayer


“Good Friday Morning” DS 2017

As we stop to appreciate Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross for us, we can also take the time to look at darkness – the blue darkness in our own lives. I do not necessarily mean sin. I take stock. I struggle. I want to recognize where I have been a good and faithful servant in enduring difficult situations – or not.

Sometimes I think of that saying, no good deed goes unpunished, as a way to laugh when there is opposition to our leadership. I think of times when our children take the road that we do not recommend. Like walking through mud uphill our attempts at friendship fail. The mere expressing of our opinions causes offence. Our apology brings no bridge. The way we live brings oppositions – yes, those times when we are just minding our own business and others resent us, try to trip us, do not value our efforts. When we ourselves slip, hurt others or become our own worst enemies, we can look at those areas of darkness.

But let us examine those areas as shadows, shadows of beings and doings that the light illumines. There must be light in our lives for the shadows to be seen. We go forward tomorrow in the day in between Friday and Sunday, not dwelling in the darkness but seeing the shadows, appreciating our own sacrifices and stumblings, for what they are.

So we follow Jesus not only on the Via Dolorosa some days, but meet him powerfully in the garden resurrections of our lives, as well as around the campfire where he has cooked the seafood, the writing in the sand that frees us, and the inviting of him to our houses both to speak and to wipe his perfumed feet.

In his name we offer a cup of water. If that is all we are asked to do, it is enough. For now we rest. Everything is an incarnation, a cross gift, a knowing that he ever intercedes for us at the right hand of the father. He asks to live in us by the Spirit to be salt and yes, light, shadowed light, to the world around us. I want to soak my shadows with Presence, his essence colouring mine. This is my Easter prayer.

Eating Caesar Salad at Nitobe Garden


“Nitobe Memorial Garden”  DS, iPhone Photo, April 2017

So I am a colourist. There’s no doubt about it. I like colour. Today I am surrounded by greens; layers and layers and shapes of greens at Nitobe, an Asian garden on the UBC campus.

Huddled in my knitted forest green scarf with clear and emerald hand-tied beads and navy hooded coat, I sit to rest. The planked bench is dry. I take the Caesar Salad container out of my grey felted bag and eat.  The lemon wakes me. I swish around the breadcrumbs in my mouth with water from a green gingham lidded jam jar I carry with me often since art school days.

Students crunch by walking on the path. They overwhelm my quiet peace for a while with their heated discussion. Photographers set up tripods in a couple of places in the distance; a waterfall rushes, bringing movement to the still water under the arced wooden bridge. In this day, when the rain has taken a break and the sunshine has not started, the greens clear the palette of my painter’s mind for the paint box of colour that will show up in this late arriving spring.

I breathe

I offer a prayer of thanks

I stop to write in the gazebo

Moss lichen bark

Tiny patterned ferns

Marsh green shoots

Yellow polka dot buds

On bushes

Small verdant mounds

Fill my eyes

The seagull

Calls to the rasp

Of the gardener’s rake

Wind on my face

I look forward with courage again. I continue on the grey pebble path accompanied by the unseen sfumato of soon coming Valley Lilies.

Drops begin to fall but the exit is in sight.


“Be still and know that I am God.”

Book of Psalms