Chronicles of the Journey- Day 11: the launching of a paper plane

The time at this art residency has been priceless- for so many things. For the solitude it has provided. For the opportunity to feel my own needs, be it rest or play. To be aware of my own rhythm and provide retreat from the desire to keep active. It has also been somewhat unsettling; the vulnerability of exploring my Self results in the exposing of my Self. Embracing my authentic self has created the space and birthplace for my creative spirit to feel safer and soar a little farther. I have had to make choices to invite gratitude into my heart, embrace the joy and the pain equally.

Brene Brown has inspired my healing immensley

I have seriously questioned the motive of sharing this part of my journey. Is it too raw? 

Is it too close to airing my dirty laundry? 

Or is this as necessary as all the other parts of my creative journey which I have unearthed and shared, and prospered from? 

This feels huge for more than just the aforementioned doubts, but maybe, this is the start of something new, 

the launching of a paper plane....

I am 11 or 12, the youngest of three, the only girl; my parents have just divorced and dad has left the building. At first, I am fine; daddy daughter dates, shopping and sleep overs; such fun. He has started to date, I see less of him; I start to rebel and seek attention-from either of my parents. I get scolded, given rules rather than comfort. I create independence from institution and family; I sleep on friend's couches, I work hard and seek comfort in men.

I am 19 now, I have to do some soul searching to sort out my past in order to be a healthy person. I ask my dad and middle brother to attend graduation at a self help workshop; they are the family members that I fear rejection from the most. As a result, my dad and I have a conversation; why had he left his parenting duties after the divorce with my mom? Because he didn't know how to be a half time parent. I feel compassion for him, it helps me remove the chip from my shoulder and see him as an adult and not as Daddy.

I carried on visiting my dad, house sitting for him, taking care of our shared cat, a throwback to his bachelor days when I lived with him for a short while. I try my hardest to keep ties with my dad, his family, his girlfriends. He has been dating a woman for sometime, I had liked his previous girlfriends better. I'd never interfere or share my feelings on his relationships; I only want him to be happy. They grow their long distance relationship by traveling to far away lands together. Eventually they get married, she moves to Canada from LA, they buy a house together. They have been dating for a few years, I am shocked when dad called to say that they had had a private wedding ceremony.

It was on a 'you should share this moment with your dad'  that everything changed. My heart burns with pain as I recall these all too painful events again. The question that burns in my heart, is when will that pain of 20 plus years ago go away?

I had bought a Sidekick, a SUV of the 1990's; I connected with the men in my life by having similar interests and enthusiasm for the things that they liked; mechanics, cars, gadgets. I was proud of my tomboy spirit, it made me a survivor in a world where I sought the acceptance of important men and boys.  I brought the Sidekick to my dad's place to show it off, to share with my dad one of my success's, give him a test drive. He was so excited, perhaps even proud of me. He jumped in, she did too; dad and I chattered away at the car's features and we caught up on each others life. 

I don't recall there being a rift with her, it was just awkward, she wasn't easy going. She had asked me to stay in the car, my dad had already exited the car. She asked that I come to her house mid day the following week. I thought it was an olive branch, I remember being excited, that this could be the start of something great between us. The climate had obviously not been fond between us, but I was always willing to ensure my relationship never faltered with my dad, ever again. I was used to my dad's previous girlfriends taking a shinning to me. I recall fondly, a lady he dated- in her library, in the sun, chatting and connecting, it is a warm memory, I really liked her. I thought this was our chance.

I came to my dad's home, her home, their home. He was at work. She opened the door, it was already uncomfortable. She formally asked me to sit down at the kitchen table. She asked me to listen. She said she needed to tell me some things and needed me to listen without interruption. She suggested, I would probably not like to hear the things she had to say to me. She started to tell me how she hated that I had invaded her privacy; she recalled an instance, some years previous, I might have been 14 at that time. I was over visiting at my dad's condo, she was also visiting from LA. Interested by the greeting cards on the kitchen table, I looked at the cards. She implied that the cards might have been hers, they might have had messages that I shouldn't read.  She continued to tell me with great detail and seething anger, how at age 17, I purposely stained my dad's condo carpet with, my then boyfriend's stinky socks. She recounted the numerous times that I improperly greeted her. She told me that I was often too loud, too excitable, too insensitive to their home's calm atmosphere. She told me that my dad was a racist, that she didn't hold it against him. She herself from Trinidad, a lady of mixed religion, ethnicity, and culture. She my father's wife.

I am sure that there was more, but my heart aches again, it hurts so much to think of the younger me receiving this wicked information, at the hands of my dad's lover and wife. Made all the more assaulting to my heart, after I had worked so hard to retain his love from the first robbery; I was not going to let her tear us apart. 

I thought I should make my dad proud, I quietly let her tell me how she felt. It was at the moment that she defamed his character that I had had enough, my father was not a racist. I gained confidence, volume, and cursed her. As I aimed for the door, I screamed that she couldn't take my father away, that I had worked too hard to lose him. I went home, bawling, shaking, rattled to the core. I called my dad, he hadn't been informed that she had invited me over. He was alarmed with how I upset I was; he told me everything would be okay. I warned him that I had probably ruined everything as I had called her so many horrible names, I told him that my greatest fear was that she was taking him away from me. He promised that was never to happen. He called me when he got home, he asked if he could put her on the line to resolve this. She acted curtly, she cursed me for cursing, she acted like a child and he scolded her as though she was one. I became the adult, I stuffed my rage. I told my dad that he was not going to resolve this, that we would have to continue our relationship outside of her.

Mostly it did exist outside of her, but she slowly removed him from my life. There were to be no Christmas presents, no birthday presents; something to do with unnecessary celebrations and favour. Something to do with her jealousy of his children. They didn't come to visit me when I moved to a new city, he couldn't chat freely when she was around, I didn't get help from my dad when I was sick or needed money. I got advice on what products to take, what meditation to do, what therapist to seek for help with my illness. I hated all of it. I needed some parents; I needed their love, support, and consistency.

One of the best parts of getting married was the moment my husband said to me, you don't need to seek out your dad, I am here now to support you and love you unconditionally. Profound. I married the right guy. I didn't need to chase my dad, I could move on. I could move to learning to love another unconditionally.


My dad died, of a massive heart attack, four and half years ago, I was 37. I had spoken with him on the phone a few weeks before he died. I was grateful for that moment, it was the first chat in a year, that's how it worked between us. 

I miss him, I still resent her and I will heal this.

check out Brene Brown on the net... she has books, ted talks, and plenty of youtube content to enlighten your own pain

Chronicles of the Journey- Day 4: the man and the woman

"Most things break, including hearts. 

The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, 

but to scar tissue and callus."

-Wallace Stegner

I confess,  I didn't know 'who' Wallace Stegner was a year ago. You need only to google his name to learn that this man has and continues to inspire writers and poets, readers, and environmentalists. I don't want to rewrite the wiki of his life, but I do want to meander in his footsteps.

"We simply need that wild country available to us, 

even if we never do more than drive to its edge and look in. 

For it can be a means of reassuring ourselves 

of our sanity as creatures, a part of the geography, of hope."
 -Wallace Stegner

Firstly, I will, at some point, read more of Wally's writing; if he knew you well he signed off as Wally. As I am staying in his childhood home, I feel inclined to call him Wally. I have read quotes by him, skimmed a few books and even read His correspondence; cataloged in a book by his son Page. I found, all of it, easy reading, thoughtful and at times, profound.

"It is love and friendship, 

the sanctity and celebration of our relationships, 

that not only support a good life, but create one. 

Through friendships, we spark and inspire one another's ambitions." 

 -Wallace Stegner

Like Wallace to his 100th meridian, I too have found home in the people and places I exist in. Be it the new artist friends I am making or the scenery I am immersed in. I am finding oneness, connection and a sense of belonging; their sum equals an easy communication of my senses.

"What little strength he had left 

flowed out of him and was soaked up; 

his bones and veins and skin held nothing but tiredness and pain."

 -Wallace Stegner

My challenges are known to most, I have a few scars, and a few more that need to heal. Some days their weight takes a toll and I lay down the champion armor in exchange for something less arduous. The time, here in the Stegner Residence, has allowed me to unwind, find my tempo, listen to my heart - in all its glory and pain.

"Be Proud of every scar on your heart, each one holds a lifetimes worth of lessons." 

 -Wallace Stegner

"You can't paint sunlight, 

you can only paint what it does with shadows on a wall." 

Spectator Bird, Wallace Stegner

Chronicles of the Journey- Day 1:the drive, the meeting.

The day started off early, as my husband and I prepared ourselves for my departure. I languished in the ending of one lifetime and felt it morph into a new chapter of a familiar book. I would normally get anxious, with schedules, unknowns and uncertainties, but I felt a welcomed calm in awaiting my departure when 'it' was ready for me to leave.

This is, a big, adventure for me,  I have the opportunity to live quietly in a quaint town, in a quaint home, to hone my creative lighting rod.  I am embarking on new territory, new ways to express my art, be it through words, photographs, paint or all of the above!

Southern Saskatchewan- calls to artists; providing a simpler way of life and inspiring vistas of both the Cypress and White Mud Clay Hills. The landscapes of this country are amazing; I leap into every pasture beaten blade of grass, every wave of the earth as it forms coulees, valleys and plains that create shadows and forms to fascinate. Not a hair or wisp of a tree, unless you are in the hills of Cypress...but I don't miss them, they would only obscure my vista of these fine rolling hills.

I planned a stop over in Maple Creek, all the better to savor these moments of great change and embrace the stops along the way. This town is in the midst of change; the streets are mud splattered  from winter's thaw, and like a crocus, curio shops and funky cafe and restaurants are standing up to be noticed.

A painting of the hotel which I stayed in while in Maple Creek

There is an effort to bring back this town to it's original luster. The hotel I stayed in last night combines history with modern comforts; likely once the blight seems the ever the gem. 

An organ in Commercial Hotel

When I first visited Maple Creek, I saw a mural, it was the first mural I have ever appreciated. Normally their colours are uninspiring and the art leaves me wanting more, this one was interesting and colourful.

A mural I like! by Geoff Phillips

This artist's work soon found me again, in several business about town. I met business owner and artist, Tina, she told me that the artist I was captivated with was Geoff Phillips. He lives in Maple Creek and coincidentally Tina and Geoff had also lived in Calgary. I sent him a note, we corresponded over the past few months. Last night, I met Geoff and Connie (his lovely wife), and their two young children Grace and Emmy. They both have studio space in their lovely home. Every wall has art hung on it and not just their own creations, an interesting and purposeful collection.

Geoff toured me through his studio space where I got a chance to see and hear about his process. He finds it best to capture the landscapes en plein air; he brings an unstretched canvas to his vista, inspired he captures a loose composition with brown paint, photographs the area, and finishes in the studio.

I didn't ask how long it takes to finish a piece, I was distracted by the amount of work that he has on the go. What I love about Geoff's work, details, texture, abstraction, and colour. He loves the scenery and the craft equally and has found a beautiful way to share that with the viewer.

I think this is The Frenchman Valley, in progress

Fort Walsh, Saskatchewan - work in progress

Connie is also a painter, painting abstracts, circles and architecture in folk art style. She is a creative force, coordinating busy lives, artist in the residence program at Cypress Provincial Park, chair positions for her kids schooling, and she finds time to create!  It feels magical to have met two artists, on my first night of this creative journey, who so closely match my creative toolbox of interests.

A storefront, work in progress

Connie's Creation Central!

It was during the tour of Connie's studio walls that we learned how many connections we have in common. I went to the same junior high school as Connie, lived blocks apart; I even went to a school that she would love to send her two girls to. The three of us have many artist friends/colleagues in common; they lived in Calgary just a few years ago. They are a few years ahead of me..if the space time continuum works as I think it does, I will be living in Maple Creek with a studio and some fur babies very soon.

Sometimes I doubt myself; the way I share so quickly, unedited/unfiltered, curse words and raw facts; and then I have authentic, star dazzling, soul tweaking great convos that could last all night. I don't regret those times, I don't hesitate or shy away; I engage wholeheartedly. It is these moments of bliss that remind me that I will be okay, that I can keep doing what I do, that I am enough the way I am. There are some that may shy away from me, but others like a Saskatchewan moth to a Porch light, that will convene and bask in the creative goodness of connecting.

More on Geoff and Connie:
more on their studio and their story
geoff's website
photos on the mural

connie's website

Great Comebacks National Award Winner!

Dreams of Past

After I produced the Old Man painting I was compelled to answer it with a feminine piece. 'Dreams of Past' is a combination of painting, image transfers of my own photos and paper sculpting.
This piece features my husband's grandma in her youth. She was a farmer's daughter and ran teams of horses and stoked wheat fields at a pace that no man could match. She was a tiny gal in stature only. Check out this piece at Fostermak.com Spring Art Show at Fort Calgary.

Saturday March 14th
Sunday March 15th
11-5pm 

I will be in attendance on the Saturday...

but Sunday I will be on route to the art residency in Saskatchewan..SO JOIN ME Saturday to celebrate in this artful joyous time...at the historic Fort Calgary museum! there will be a Fostermak representative at the front door, no museum entrance fee required.

Click this link to join the event! https://www.facebook.com/events/417751055068228/

Old Man - Spring Fostermak.com​ Artist Show at Fort Calgary​

'Old Man' will attend this weekend's Spring Fostermak.com​ Artist Show at Fort Calgary​.

Old Man, along with many other pieces of mine, are being shown for their second time. Their first was my first show too; 2013 at Studio C.

I created this body of work during the healing phases of my surgery. I am very proud of the creativity in this work. Old Man was inspired by a tour through southern Alberta at the crest of summer. We ended up in Etzicom, because they had a national windmill museum and a curious collection museum. Its worth the drive.

I started this piece with the knowledge that there would be a painted wheat field, prairie blue sky, windmill and rolling hills. The rest of the imagery played out as I let my mind wander through my ephemeral bits of memories. There is paint, collage, image transfer, and texture to see and feel.

Hope you can make it. I will be in attendance on Saturday March 14th from 11-5pm