Tag Archives: Painting

Experiences of Art Series – Sheryl M.

Bio:

Raised in a Christian home and on a spiritual journey since then

Psychotherapist and spiritual accompanist

Working on PhD in new field of Theopoetics

Caribbean-Canadian ethnicity

Moved from Toronto

Lives in lakefront home in remote B.C. wildfire country

20170601_173527_resized_2

“Wise Elder” by Len Butcher

The Art: in Sheryl’s own words:

This oil painting by Len Butcher is about 30+ years old, the Toronto artist an old acquaintance of my youngest brother. I am not sure if he is still living, but our family made his acquaintance many years ago when he married my brother’s elementary school teacher. I always liked the painting. After my father passed away, I reclaimed it from my parents’ home basement, brought it back to B.C. with me, and had it mounted and framed to complement my antique oak dining furniture. Since marrying, my husband has also claimed it as his favourite, and we enjoy it daily as it is positioned, suspended above our current dining space, above our lakefront window.

The painting reminds us of a posture of humble gratitude to God for our daily sustenance. No matter how simple it may seem to us during times of our life when what we possess represents a categorical contrast to the things that are often proclaimed as the necessities for living. This wise elder signifies one who takes time to sit down and carefully prepare his bread and butter, and to ground himself in the living bread which comes from the Divine.

 

This is the view from Sheryl’s remote ‘café’ – her own dining room where she has the painting hanging. She and her husband of 8 years are reminded of their blessings especially during their Friday afternoon coffee dates.

20161011_145044_resized_3

“View from ‘Lakefront Cafe'” by Sheryl M.

This interview was done on Skype, though I wish I had actually visited the ‘Lakefront café’.

In the Fire

In a few days the show is finished. It has been running for a couple of weeks now. Will the painting still be hanging on the wall? Every exhibition begins in the joy of being chosen, of work valued by a jury. Each ending brings the ecstasy of sales or the agony of disappointment. It has been a cycle repeated over 70 times in the last two decades of my life.

My work usually has an autobiographical element: something from inside memory or imagination or a thing observed outside around my life. Over the years, instead of toughening up, I find that I have been tempered like precious metal in the fire. I like to sell but will enjoy having a piece back in my private collection of artworks again. What will it be when I drive to the Seymour Art Gallery next week?

“The genuineness of your faith, which is more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tried by fire, may be found to result in praise, glory, and honour at the revelation of Jesus Christ, whom, having not seen, you love; and in whom, though you do not see Him now, you believe and you rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory”  Book of First Peter

There was an opening art party on a hot summer evening and tonight an interim dance party held in the gallery with the art ready to wrap up. These paintings are a fundraiser for the gallery. Again I get a chance to be generous or an opportunity to hold the piece for a while longer. All of it is good; all gift from above. What a lifestyle I get to lead: so much art and so many parties.

“I will open for you the windows of heaven and pour out for you a blessing, that there will not be room enough to receive it.”  Book of Malachi

In the Fire at Seymour Art Gallery

‘”In the Fire” at Seymour Art Gallery” DS 2017

Artist Statement, DS

Unlike the ancient accompanied

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the fiery furnace,

The woman is roughly collaged into the furnace alone.

She appears to be rising but incomplete.

Red but surrounded by green,

She, unlike Thomas of old, must

Believe she will be saved without seeing.

Unlike the men, she, like Joan of Arc,

Burns but only for a little while.

She is sustained in the pain.

This is my life too.

 Eight days later, his disciples were again in the room. This time Thomas was with them. Jesus came through the locked doors, stood among them, and said, “Peace to you.  Then he focused his attention on Thomas. “Take your finger and examine my hands. Take your hand and stick it in my side. Don’t be unbelieving. Believe. Thomas said, “My Master! My God!” Jesus said, “So, you believe because you’ve seen with your own eyes. Even better blessings are in store for those who believe without seeing.”

 Jesus provided far more God-revealing signs than are written down in this book. These are written down so you will believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and in the act of believing, have real and eternal life in the way he personally revealed it.

Book of John

 

Experiences of Art Series: Interview with Joyce T.

IMG_1465

“White Spot Patio” 2017 DS

Bio:

  • Born in Dumfries, Scotland where Robbie Burns (famous poet) was buried
  • Family of musicians (6 generations of mouth organ, accordion, violin, guitar, organ), loves the bagpipes and dancing
  • Worked for the Vancouver School Board
  • Has a vast collection of pink roses and rose memorabilia

Art:

  • Oil on canvas, 4’ x 3’, ornate gold frame (made by the artist too)
  • “Heart Lake” on Vancouver Island with soft pinks and greys (a lake she has never seen)
  • Painting was bought when she was 21, a visit with her parents to the artist’s gallery (her classmate from high school’s father Mr. Kaip who was moving to Vancouver Island)

“Something about the painting called out to me. I just loved the colours and the sense of peace it gave me. I guess I must have some artistic sense.

I have had it in every home I have lived in over the decades. It has been in my bedroom and living room. Right now it is in the upstairs hallway.

I will tell my sculptor son it’s history one day and leave it to him.”

Joyce T.

We met at the White Spot at Park Royal. In fact Joyce invited me and blessed me twice with an interview and a lunch on her. I am intrigued by this giving of interviews with various people who rarely talk about art yet their passion sparkles their eyes as they are asked the same question: “Is there a piece of art that has a particular meaning for you – from art history, your own childhood etc.?” DS

http://www.hellobc.com/ladysmith/things-to-do/outdoor-activities/hiking.aspx

 

Experiences of Art Series: an interview with Deborah T.

IMG_1447

“Starbucks, Cap. Mall”  2017 DS

Deborah T.’s Bio:

– Web designer, business coach

– Paints watercolour animals, landscapes

– Has lived in Vancouver for 20 years

We met at Starbucks for the interview. Deborah T. let me know that she has travelled the world taking groups with her. She held ‘café talks’ to find interested solo travellers for her trips. She complimented me on the genuine followers I have for my blog.

The Art:

– An oil painting, 24” x 24”, hangs above her living room sofa

So the meaning of the art piece she chose to discuss dawned on me gradually as she described her experience of art.

A painting of a photograph

A photograph of an experience

A hot air balloon ride

No balloon appears, only the blues and green of the landscape below

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hot_air_balloon

Deborah met the talented artist Amy Joy Dyck, through a coaching client on the balloon trip. The trip was a birthday gift to her partner from his family. She commissioned a unique piece of art from someone really talented as a way to preserve this memory.

Deborah wants to give a shout out to Amy:

http://amyjdyck.com/about-the-artist/

 

Back in the Studio

IMG_1461

“Morning has Broken”  iPhone Photo DS

It has been a long winter and spring. Snow, snow, snow and cold, it is so unlike Vancouver. Survival mode had kicked in and chores, errands, duties, and disciplined study had taken over. Painting had been only cerebral. Images sometimes came and went unheeded. Planning for shows has absorbed me all spring. I determined to spend more than a few minutes in the studio this sunny day.

A leisurely breakfast with my loved one, a slow shower, then some e-mails were read. When I had completed my ablutions, I found my painting clothes in the bottom of the closet. In them I felt free. In their messiness I was a worker – a worker bee (my name Deborah means honeybee). Yes, I am ready for MY work, the work that is me.

This would be a contemplative day – albeit more on the ‘labora’ side of ‘ora and labora’ (pray and work) of the ancient monks. It had been so long since I had touched a couple of unfinished paintings I prayed specifically that God would help me. I did not want to deconstruct what I had built up so far.

A step outside into the fresh fragrant morning, I breathed, as if I was now truly alive. Rhododendrons bloomed red, hot pink, fuchsia, purple. The studio unlocked, I searched for pots of paint in the colours I had envisioned. One was dried up but the lids unscrewed easily enough. I noticed a small hole in the screen window with the mountain view.

I knocked over a red Folger’s coffee can of brushes from high on my shelf. They fell on and behind a stack of completed paintings. This is how I get my exercise today.

The studio used to be a hot tub building. It has plumbing but not a sink. The hose is right outside the door, so convenient for me to fill a water bucket.

The bucket reminds me of my childhood. When I visited my grandmother in N. B. water was pulled up by a metal bucket from a well. This ancient practice is added to the painting history back as far as the caves. Like a monk, I gather water, paints, and pray. This day I feel grounded and most like myself. I am truly me when I paint, the one I was made to be before I was born. Today I paint the telegraph cross that has lain dormant in my imagination for years.  I do not wonder at all if it will sell.

Painting Pink Trees

IMG_1333 2

“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.

 

Remembering Summer

End of Summer

Woe is me

It is not going to be

The weather I want

You see

 

The rain will come

The rain will go

The snow will fall

I do not want it all

 

Although I am sure

A broken ankle will not

Reoccur

Memory stays

Of those long Physio days

 

When life was halted

Upon my bed

While visions of

Matisse and Degas

Filled my head

 

Life forever changed

On that black ice day

A swollen ankle comes still

When I try to play

 

But during that time I

Created small portraits

That six years later

Call me back

By their profits

And beauty raw

 

More tiny pictures

Of tiny people

Will come from my fingers

To inhabit my portfolio

For a time I do not know

When they will be seen

And live and heal

My broken memories

And summer will be back

Again.

DS

 

longing in the midst of a cold snowy winter

Remembering Summer DS