photo: "Sara Bassetti"
Italy

Let's Set the Way Back Machine Allll the Way Back...to 1998

Ahhh, the nineties. Can you feel it? Bill Clinton noticed an attractive, plump intern making eyes at him, Seinfeld aired its last episode (in a Kaufman-esque turn it was notably unfunny), and I guess if he were real, Marty McFly Jr. would be a brand, spankin' new baby. Myself, I was trying to start up my fledgling career, painting commissioned reproductions of old, famous paintings in order to just squeak by, and if I recall correctly, was chock full of Infallible Opinions. The sheer number of notches I was going to be taken down by...I would never have guessed.

Humility, however was for the future, not a concern for someone so '98 hip as I was. For example:

Oversized sweater with plaid shirt underneath?

Check.

Sparse, sad attempt at sideburns?

Check.

Long, luxurious, ridiculously thick hippy/grunge hair, pulled back for that "professional" look?

Check.

Last minute "artistic" and TOTALLY NOT STAGED touch-ups to monstrously large painting?

Check.

As you know, the camera adds ten pounds, so I "appear" to be a healthily robust 145 lbs. Not bad for a diet of ramen noodles and cola.

Burning Bridges

One thing I hear a lot from other First Nations artists/performers is the desire to build a bridge between two cultures. I think I've even said the same thing before. For what it is, it seems like a pretty fantastic ideal. I'm in complete support of it.

However, it occurs to me these days that I don't want to build a bridge. There are already so many bridges that no one seems to want to cross.

How about this idea? Obliterate the need for a bridge. No more huge chasm of difference between First Nations and the larger Canadian society. Instead of spanning this Great Divide, maybe it's time to start thinking about closing it. I'm not talking about conforming to one another, either.

I'm a part of the First Nations community, I'm also part of the 'white' community, in no small part thanks to my parents for finding each other so darned attractive. Other so called halfbreeds with whom I've spoken feel much the same way:

It's time for these destructive racial issues to end.

And do you think I'm just talking to Paleface, here? Not a chance. There is just as much resentment and racism going the other way, too. It's there on both sides, might as well just admit it.

Get it out into the open.

And then leave all that stereotyping behind. It's harmful, useless, and makes us lesser people because of it. Leave it behind, we don't need it.

Easier said than done? Maybe.

Then again, maybe not.

But that's a question we won't know the answer to until we try, isn't it?

Burning Up

1 inch x 1 inch and a bit
Mixed Media on
Watercolour Paper
2007

I had a lot of fun painting this one. You're seeing it about 4 or 5 times its original size. For some of it, I was reduced to using a single hair on the brush. As you can imagine, my face was right up to the painting the entire time. When I stopped working on it, there was a space of about 30 seconds when I couldn't focus on anything past a couple feet.

Part of my Red Raven series, this piece carries a similar theme to the other works, which -luckily!- you can find in the archives from about September 2006 on.

Also, just another reminder that my solo show at the Bearclaw Gallery comes up on the 3rd of March. If you're in the area, I invite you to stop by and say hello!

A Bit of Fluff

I wake up to this little mug of a face every day, I thought maybe you could, too. Before you start melting too much, imagine his moist, morning dog-breath. Not so cute, now, is he?

Professional Development

Sketchbook
2006

Whatever field you're in, keep a sketchbook with you as much as possible. Any idea you get...any idea at all, jot it down. Save it. Go back to the sketchbook about once a week and see what you've got. It could be that you'll find completely unrelated things click together at that moment and presto!

Something New.

To be brutally honest, I'll never be able to share some of my best ideas because I never wrote them down. Why? I forgot them. I actually believed that the idea was so great, so powerful, there was no way I could forget it, but when it came time to sit down and get it started I would stare at my canvas blankly...stupidly.

Well, there went that great concept.

On the brighter side, there have been times when I couldn't for the life of me come up with one inspiring thought, but after a quick flip through some old, battered drawing pads I found myself re-energized and ready to go. Keep a sketchbook, that's my big advice for the day. It's easier than a journal (which is also a fantastic plan), and you'll be surprised at the riches you rediscover.

Into The Soft Soft Night
16"x 20"
Mixed Media on Canvas


I lay beneath the sighing stars
And the leafy whispers of the wood
Animal rustlings and watery sounds
Drawing me from a river of dreams
To rest upon the earthy shore

My heart beats so slow
My breath comes so low
Is the world changed in sleep, or me?
I rise and move, I move
Into the soft soft night






2007

The Bearclaw Gallery Presents

TRICKSTER
New Works by Aaron Paquette

March 3 - March 15 2007
artist will be in attendance 2-4pm opening day

Grandfather Rabbit
Mixed Media
on Canvas
12" x 16"
2007

The rabbit is an archetypal trickster figure be it from ancient legends to B'rer Rabbit, to Bugs Bunny - a trickster and a culture hero.

In this portrait, I decided to show the old fellow a little on in years. His eyes have seen mirth, but also sadness, and I think it's this sadness that gives the trickster his impetus, his drive to create temporary instability. The role of the trickster, ultimately, is to teach.

This grandfather rabbit has seen it all (or so he thinks) and when roused he can still pull off some real hijinks. If truth be told, he may not even be so old as he appears! He brings frustration, confusion, anger, and above all, and most importantly, laughter.

In fact, I think it's safe to say about this little warrior is that he laughs so he doesn't have to cry.

Artist interview with Andrea Pratt

In the coming weeks I'll be showcasing some of the talented artists who have crossed my path these past few months and years. Their work will range from photography to performance to something in between. This week, I'll begin with Vancouver artist Andrea Pratt. Here goes!


Andrea Pratt

Q: First, can you tell me a little about yourself?

A: I was born and raised in the Horseshoe Bay area of West Vancouver when it was a sleepy ferry terminal/marina/fishing village and definitely not a suburban destination for the rich and famous as it is now. The beaches and woodlands of my childhood influenced me a great deal (and my earliest artistic influence was Emily Carr) and I do like to paint west coast scenes occasionally, but my real interest is in more symbolic subject matter. The artists I most admire are Klee and Hundertwasser. I also love so-called ‘primitive’ art of all kinds, particularly First Nations, Pre-Columbian and African (tribal).


Q: Andrea, when did you first realize you wanted to become an artist?

A: When I was seven years old and in Grade Two a friend told me I should become an artist. It had never occurred to me but it seemed to fit just right. Fate, however, took a hand, and I believed my parents who told me that artists couldn’t make a living and (shhh… in whispers…) they’re a bit weird. I did complete a Bachelor of Fine Arts at the University of Victoria but then I buckled to social and economic pressure and didn’t return to my first love for about 15 years.


Q: Do you have any words of wisdom for anyone thinking about taking the big step themselves, into becoming an artist in their own right?

A: My advice to someone thinking about plunging in is to take a six month sabbatical from your ‘regular life’ and work really hard every day on your art. At the end of six months you’ll know. I know that for me, the more I work the more inspired I get and the more I want to work.

Q: Any words to live by you could share with me?

A: Words to live by -- hmmmm. There are a lot of quotes I like, but these are probably my favourite art-related quotes:

Art is like a kite. You have to pull the string hard in order to stretch it to its limit, but you don’t want to pull it so hard that you break the thread, because the thread connects you to the land and its peoples. (Wu Guan-Zhong)

Art is not a pastime but a priesthood. (Jean Cocteau)

One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time. (Andre Gide)

Art is making something out of nothing and selling it. (Frank Zappa)



Q: Thanks, Andrea. I'll just mention that if you want to follow Andrea and her career as an artist, stop by her website from time to time. You'll find a link to her in the sidebar, and some other key sites listed below:

Andrea has been known to draw on the walls of her home and any piece of scrap paper not nailed down. Sometimes she gets lucky and does something gallery-worthy. The bathroom walls are the hardest to sell.

Acrylic paint, collage elements, negative-space mixed-media drawings and digital photography are Andrea's mediums of choice. Much of her work examines time, growth, and life cycles through her use of personal and primitive motifs, symbolic imagery and patterns on a segmented and flattened picture plane. She uses a layered approach to structuring each painting that physically manifests her conceptual vision.



She also likes houses.





works in order of appearance:
Two Zebras, Penguin 2, Bloom, My Life As A House
copyright Andrea Pratt
--------------------------------------

Links for Andrea:
http://andreapratt.com/
http://andreapratt.etsy.com/

The Bearclaw Gallery Presents

TRICKSTER
New Works by Aaron Paquette

March 3 - March 15 2007
artist will be in attendance 2-4pm opening day

Trickster
40" x 30"
Mixed Media
on Canvas
2007

I have been focussed on the Trickster. More specifically, the raven. In my sleep, in my waking dreams, in the woods, I have been followed by a dark bird. Like a shadow glimpsed over the shoulder, or a whisper when no one was around, the Trickster has been dogging my steps. At first I was afraid. Was this a portent of my death? Was a tragedy about to occur?

But the more I thought about it, the more relaxed I became. In fact, I became very happy.

In legend, the Trickster steals, betrays, kills. But this is a Hero as well, because in other stories he is a creator, an inventor, he brings light to the world. I began to remember that the Trickster is the two faces of life, the noble and the base, the dream and the chaos. He represents you and me. He brings confusion, and doubt, but in the end, there is the fire of awakening, the light of understanding.

I was brought a golden lesson on charcoal wings. I have broken hearts. I have broken my word. I have destroyed. To live, I kill. I eat life, this is the nature of our natural system. But I have also made things, I have made hearts whole, I have fulfilled my promises. The face I wear to the world is not my face, it is a moment. Some see the face and are angry, others see it and feel happy, all based on my own choices, or blind luck, or sad chance.

The only power I have is the ability to choose how I will live. The Trickster did bring me death. He brought me the death of the mask I wore to myself, and the understanding that all things pass, and all things are temporary. When every life has suffering, and it does, beauty is found in the cracks. In moments, in seasons, in the mark of time upon a face.

I hope you will come to my show, look at the works I have laboured over and share with me your own stories. It is a risky thing, meeting new people, but I know that behind your eyes, I will see the Trickster looking out at me.

Andrea Pratt (see sidebar) posted a link to photographer Jan Von Holleban's series: Dreams of Flying. Click on the name for some charming, clever work.

Uh...
November 2006

Ever have one of those days?

Skyblue
September 2006

Nightfire
September 2006

Edmonton Sunset

Sometimes living in the city can be all right. Despite the traffic, the tension, and the general brown slush mixture of city streets, there are these gorgeous, glowing moments. Maybe I should start a series of "sunsets from my studio window". One a week, at least for a year.

Stark Winter
Walnut Ink
on Paper
11" x 14"

2007

I love the starkness of the land after a snowfall. Last night dropped down to the -30's celsius. I have a flat roof and the ice on top kept cracking and shifting the colder it got. At first I thought someone was up there so I went outside into the night to take a look and heard and felt the snap under my feet. I looked out at the trees and the clearing and was struck by the silence of it, the loneliness.

Night Watch
3" x 4"
Walnut Ink
on Paper

2007

Something Curious
3" x 4"
Walnut Ink
on Paper

2007

I live next to the river valley and there is something new to see every day (and night). At this time of year, besides a few rabbits and smaller birds, the crows and ravens are pretty much the most common creature to observe. One day I might have to paint them fighting over a crust of bread, but how to paint that obvious sense of triumph the victor feels as he wings away with the prize clutched greedily in his beak?

A Day Of Crows
Walnut Ink
& Gold Leaf
on Paper
2007

The sun is bright, the weather warm, melting the snow. A chinook wind rides across the vast distance from the mountains to this Outpost City on the plains, and people dream of springtime and rain. These days bring hope to the soul, a strength that will help bolster the will through the next few months of winter. The coldest is yet to come.

The days are longer, and growing more so every day, and the new year is bouncing along merrily. There are plans and ideas and exciting work to do all in the coming weeks, and life is a good thing full of deep breaths and happiness.

But there is that incessant shadow just on the edge of vision. A warning? Maybe just an old companion, hovering about, reminding me of mortality and the passing of time like the soft clack of a beak on the glass panes of my studio.

Either way, joy or sorrow, for me it is a good day whenever my eyes open.

Green Raven
Mixed Media
on Paper
2006

This is what happens when you find yourself staying up all night working. I've been experimenting with oil pastels and ink. After painting so many red ravens, I wanted to try something new and stylistically quite different from what I've been doing. I wanted it to be earthy yet ethereal, which is a challenge for me as I tend toward strong colours and crisp lines. I wanted to have a more spontaneous look to the piece and so I eschewed my compulsive drive toward tight, clean painting and allowed a more free flowing mood to pervade. The concept is fertility and growth. There is a very feminine aura to this work, or at least that's what I was feeling when I painted it.

I have a show coming up in February and I've been putting together a body of work for that and I hope the gallery doesn't mind a few more of these pieces. I've also been exploring some concepts with ink on paper that I'll post in the next few days.

For now, a couple hours of sleep and back up to the studio.

Wii Mii
Digital Sculpture
2006

Amidst the fallout from Christmas 2006 stood a slick, white, shiny thing called the Nintendo Wii. If you haven't heard of it, I'm afraid you might be dead. One of the very fun things about this strange little video game machine is the ability to use a variety of eyebrows, face shapes, hair, etc to construct a cartoony little avatar of yourself. So far I've built something for almost everyone I know.

By the way, that's me up there, with myself as a tennis partner in the background, after having completely demolished the competition in a rousing bout of hard fought volleys, spins and blinding-fast serves.

I like the Wii.

If you haven't heard too much about it, the controller is wireless and you swing it in the air just like you would, in this case, a tennis racket. In other games it might be sword, or a surgical tool, or you can aim and shoot with it like a gun. It also served last night as a steering wheel.

For a guy like me who stopped playing video games a long time ago, it's a really simple, easy and fun way to get back into being able to play. At my parent's house, my mom walloped me in tennis and bowling.

What does it mean for art?

Well, as indicated in the picture, a lot. With a sensitive controller, and a list of options, I think (unintentionally), the Wii concept will allow more people to create than ever before. How long will it be before a "Game" comes out that rivals some of the more advanced painting software available right now? Kids will be able to compose images without worrying about the constraints or learning curve of the materials artists traditionally use.

It blows the door open for creativity.

Add to this technology the "hands on" monitor that is being seriously developed in California, and the way we look at art and the process of creation is going to enter into a new phase. What will that mean for we, the backwards, traditional artists?

Not too much. The more virtual things become, the more there will be a desire for the item made by another human hand, that need for physical connection. In the same way that I have sometimes used the computer to help me make quick colour choices in turning a sketch into a painting, these new technologies that might surface will simply be another tool in the workshop.

Speaking of the workshop, I really ought to get back to work...after one more game.

Goldenfish
9" x 12"
Mixed Media
on Canvas
2006

In many stories, the Golden Fish is a survivor and a granter of wishes. Usually, the person who is blessed with a gift such as a wish or great wealth squanders it either though greed or ingratitude, and the outcome ranges from a return to their former state or even death. I imagine that the lesson is to be thankful for what we have in life, and to nurture it with a good heart. Whatever gifts we have, we can develop them, let them grow, and let them sustain us and others. When we don't, we may run the risk of losing our gifts.

In our western society, we mark the New Year tonight and traditionally people make promises to themselves to be more like the person they hope to be than who they are. Resolved, we go forward and try to measure up to what we have in mind, and as is often the case, we betray our self-interest for self indulgence! Not that his is always bad. Some of the changes we want to see in ourselves may be too great a leap from where we are.

As the saying goes, reach for the moon and you'll land among the stars. So, I guess I'm saying that there's nothing wrong with being gentle with ourselves. We live in a very driven society where every expectation is very difficult to fulfill, and those who manage it, do it at the expense of something else - usually their own health or inner balance. If we don't hit the moon this year, at least let us acknowledge what we have managed to accomplish.

In essence, let's nurture ourselves. Nurture the Golden Fish inside us, the part of ourselves that makes life a banquet of riches and joy. There is much to be grateful for and much to share. There is real wealth to be found in slowing down and taking the time to be happy. For myself, I'm often driven to keep working and creating because I often feel that time is too short. For an artist, this isn't really the wisest thing I could do because I sometimes forget to to take the time I need to recharge and replenish, to put energy back into me instead of merely being a freeway for it.

I suspect that this is the same for most people.

The Golden Fish is strong and vital, and can handle a lot of pressure and difficulty, but that doesn't mean it has to! When life starts to feel dreary, to me it is a signal that I am pushing away the beautiful in my life. That's why I painted this little reminder. A more apt, but more obscure title for the piece could just as easily have been:

It's okay to slow it down. In fact, you really need to. Turn out the light, Lie down, and dream again. Slow down and dream.

A bit unwieldy. I think I'll stick with Golden Fish.

Happy New Year!

Secret Treasure
6" x 8"
Mixed Media
on Canvas
2006

Besides the Raven (with whom I am apparently obsessed lately), the Rabbit in legends has also played the role of the Trickster. Of course, this word "Trickster" was not a name given by any Indigenous tribes of North America, but was instead a Eurocentric term applied to the character of Raven, or Rabbit, or Coyote, or any other hero of strange stories.

How could the Coyote slay a monster, scatter the flesh of it and create tribes of people, but also in another story pretend to be a healer and take advantage of a family and a sick girl? Must be a Trickster.

The duality of the hero is deeper than that. In creation stories, man is almost always portrayed as being another animal in the wild. It isn't until someone intervenes (a Culture Hero, God, or Shaman) that we transform to take on our human forms. In this context, anyone who does the community an enormous good is instantly elevated to a place of prestige, honour, or worship. Of course, no one is immune to mortal frailties or weaknesses, apparently including the immortal. So when in a later story the Coyote abuses the trust of a family by disguising himself as a respected and revered member of the community, there is no puzzling logical fallacy at play.

No, what we have is a very important lesson. A warning that even those we have put on a pedestal can fall. This is not to say people shouldn't trust each other, it is instead saying that we all have the potential to betray the greatness and goodness of our selves. We don't have to, and certainly many good people never do, but we should keep in mind that it can happen, and knowing that simple truth, we can guard our hearts against self-harm.

Another aspect of the lesson is to be thoughtful to what our leaders tell us is true. It is easy to sit back and let others steer our destiny, but it does no one any harm to keep one eye at least half open.

In this little painting, I was thinking about Solstice. The rabbit has been digging for something to eat during the Long Night of winter. He is so hungry, it has been cold for so long. He thinks he has found a cache of food but instead has found the Sun! It was sleeping, lulled by the snows and the gentle moonlight, but now it will slowly rise, filling the world with warmth and a new spring.

Christmastime

I've always been ambivalent about Christmas.

I'm not a Scrooge about it. In fact, I think it's one of our few remaining Important Observances, but damn if it doesn't depress me.

I mean Depress.

Too many years of struggling to keep my head above the flood of bills, maybe. Too many suicides of dear ones gone. Too much dwelling on the needs of the poor and homeless. The beaten and abused. The lonely.

Every day of this blessed season a reminder of my shortcomings and inability to make any meaningful, longterm change.

Then again, who can?


---


I was out tonight. A rare thing. One of my friends is almost becoming a career alcoholic, another is alone and baking cookies for no one but himself. But I was out. In Edmonton we have a bar called the Bank, and the Beautiful people congregate there. As I stood behind a fellow waiting for his coat to be found, he kept messaging his friends:

"I really wanna f**k someone up tonight."

He sent this mantra out again and again, a psychopath, or just too much to drink, or feeling as small as his height, I don't know. I hope his Christmas wish didn't come true.

There were warm feelings apparent among friends, but that was all. Otherwise it was the cold shoulder and everyone more cool than anyone else. I've been living in the city long enough to blend in, but really, emotionally I felt like a fish out of water. A stranger in an alien land of too much cologne, too much cleavage, and too much sad desperation disguised as substanced fueled fun and manic displays of sexuality.

Or maybe I'm just getting older and slightly more jaded. Maybe it's all people have in the city and they cling to it like a life preserver, venting their emotions and fears in a relatively safe environment, chasing after identity and a modicum of escape from every day dreariness.

Speaking of which, what a sour thing this entry is!

My intent was to write about what I found that sustained me, that gave me hope. As an artist, it is far too easy to see the bad. It's how we spot the good and cherish it like a rare and wonderful thing. Artists function best in contrast. At least, this one does.

This got me in trouble when I was younger.

I was always in some kind of trouble. I could never run for public office or anything like that. I did too many things growing up. Speaking of which, I saw Conservative MP Rahim Jaffer on the town, looking slick and handsome and young without a care in the world. How many things did I want to talk to him about? But then, everyone deserves a night off. There's a guy who probably never acted out a day in his life. A proper young man.

These days, for me, there's no acting out. I've learned to shoulder the pain and the perpetual loneliness.

I've come to terms with the fact that I will always be alone in some way, just as everyone is, really. The tough part is knowing it, and knowing why. That knowledge forces me to accept that it will never, ever change. I don't cling to the dream that one day, someone will come along who understands me.

One person did but they ended up throwing themselves off the High Level Bridge.

I remember the blood stains on the snow below, trying not to think about what it must have been like for her to know that she had killed herself, but lying there, dying slowly and painfully, no way to take it back.

Earlier that night, I had heard a voice telling me to go visit her. It spoke clearly in my ears, three times, but I didn't listen...only worrying about myself, that I was going crazy. It took years to stop blaming myself for not listening to such a clear plea, but I finally did. I do, however, still remember.


---


The real question I ask myself all the time is: what will it take for people to live in their hearts? When will people let go of their insecurities and go forth unafraid and vulnerable? We live in a time and land of enduring and incredible peace, but people are at war with one another and with themselves. People want to hurt other people just to feel vital and alive...and powerful.

What a lie that way is, isn't it?

Power over others is a hunger that is never sated. The emptiness can only grow, the travesty inflicted on one's own soul for acts of dominance only increase with every harmful action taken.

Christmas brings out the maudlin in me.


---


Maybe it's about time.

I'm a Native American artist. My father is Cree/Cherokee, my mother of Norweigian descent, and I'm painting my images, thinking that maybe, in some small way, it makes a difference.

I put my soul into it every single day of my life. Not a day goes by that I'm not thinking about it. I display it for people to judge, and hopefully someone will see what I'm trying to say.

But that doesn't mean I'm not a coward. I am.

I make up for my incalcitrant and rebellious youth by going the extreme other way. I watch what I say very carefully, I don't rock the boat. I save up my controversial ideas and images for SOME DAY....

Of course, SOME DAY never comes.

In the meantime, I still say what I want to say, but not all of it.

I some ways, this is best. I prefer the warmth of the sun to the bluster of the wind. Why use a hammer when a smile will do the same job?

I used to take anti-depressants, and they do everything they promise. The drawback is my creativity disappeared along with my sadness. My sex-drive disappeared completely, and I no longer appreciated this transient beauty that surrounds us, nor did I care about the loss. But something in me said, "Aaron...you need to paint."

I resented that voice. I was finally happy in chemical peace and prosperity.

And yet it persisted.

"Aaron...you need to paint."

Like reality intruding on a beautiful but false dream, I knew I had to forego my medicated bliss. I worried about it a lot. Isn't this what got people suffering with mental illnesses in trouble all the time? The idea that they didn't "need their medication"?

The difference is, I knew I needed it, but the voice persisted.

"Aaron...you need to paint."

So I did. So I do.

And everyone feels alone. Everyone lives alone. Everyone dies alone. But we do make connections, however brief or fleeting. And that's what it's all about. Maybe that's why we still keep Christmas, Consumption Monster that it is. We are trying to connect, giving up our social counters, our money, to instead find or grow links to each other.

Forging bonds of love.

Why is that so scary? Why do we choose so, so carefully who we will give our love to? We are a frightened people who have so much that maybe we've forgotten how to give of ourselves. Again, this is why Christmas is kept, isn't it?

We have more to give than we know.

But aren't people scared of receiving!

People distrust receiving even more than they fear offering! If you genuinely smiled at, and poured out the bounty of your love toward the men I saw at the bar tonight, chances are they would seek to destroy you! They would think you mocked them, didn't fear them, didn't respect them. They are so alone in this world that they could not trust something good, but instead would have to actively reject it in order to restore equilibrium.


---

It comes down to this:

What is the story we tell ourselves? My ancestors, on both sides, had a tradition of Oral teaching. Sacred stories that were passed down, generation to generation, instructing the young and helping them to define themselves in the world. The stories built a commonality, a community, a family. A tribe.

What stories do we tell each other now? What are the lessons of our community? Our society? Our entertainment is violence. Our solutions are violence. Our heroes are isolated and alone against all odds, where friends cannot be trusted against betrayal. This is not all. There are positives to be sure, and this is what saves us.

But I am deeply concerned by a culture that promotes violence above love. Where viewing death is acceptable, but physical intimacy is not. Why has sex become shameful? In making it so, we make it taboo, deviant, and the mystery and titilllation of the forbidden paves way for sad and serious abuses. It becomes dirty and unclean instead of honest and beautiful.

We need to think about what story we are forging together. What will our collective legacy be? What messages do we leave our children? Do they know what to value? We need to weave a strong tale for them. We need to make a solid fabric out of the intangible world that reflects what we hope for, not what we fear.

I have a lot of fear.

I bet you do too.

How do we get past it? I don't know. The only thing I can think of is to stop thinking so much about ourselves. Take our wants out of the equation as much as possible and remember that we are not isolated little universes, but a family. We are mortal and we are flesh.

The eyes that allow us to see are in a head of bone and blood. Our flesh is made of soil. We are temporary and just like everyone else around us!

When you see someone walking by, they are the same! They are consciousness in a body and look at you as Other as much as you do them. Their concerns are deeper than yours, more immediate, more real. You are a fiction, or a bit player, or more likely, an extra on the set.

But you are also just exactly the same.

Breathe on that for a while.

Just breathe.

Just breathe. Deeply and surely.

Just breathe.

And I'll breathe, too.

And we'll cease being alone, at least for a little while.

Old Friends

Whatever your belief about Christmas, it still affords all of us a time to reconnect with old friends, or keep a relationship strong. My thoughts right now are with all good friends, old and new, near or far.

Feed on my site

I just figured out how to update the address for my xml/rss/atom feed. Apparently it should work with all of those.

Just click on the little xml icon to the left!

Warm Honey
2006

We've had snow for about two months now. Every now and then I'll see something that I find strikingly beautiful about the winter...the way the sun sends the sky into brief spams of intense colour for the few moments before night hits full on, or the way the stars look so close, scattered by the millions across a charcoal black expanse.

But to be honest, most of the time it's just cold. Or slushy. And not just wet, slushy, but dirt slush. Everywhere.

Right now I dream of warm, long summer days, lying under a huge, leafy tree, the sun dappling my skin in soft kisses.

I conveniently forget the scorching blaze that hammers oppressively on the head, filling the house with pent up fire that emanates all through the sticky, sleepless night.

But enough of reality! This is a painting about bees, which I like. And honey, which I love. The absence of summer makes my heart grow fonder, and in my dreams it is perfect. Just like an ex-lover, summer is the one that got away.

Seasons Change
24" x 18"
Mixed Media
on Canvas
2006

At the time I began this piece, the summer was just beginning to make way for the golden hues of Fall. I had made a number of trips to Southern Alberta in the weeks before this work started and I saw a number of crows, ravens, redwing blackbirds, etc sitting on posts and trees on the roadside. Wherever I stopped, there was a corvid looking at me.

The background is taken from a spot along the Belly River. It is a lush valley in the midst of a sunbaked landscape and the trees there are usually the last to turn. The Belly River also flows though Reservation land and in my daydreaming I had a vision of a Black Bird representing the people. It made me think of those photographs and drawings of the slow creep of European paraphernalia into the dress and costume of the Native Americans at the time, and how odd and out of place those tokens seem. I wanted to accentuate that by dressing the figure like one of those pictures, retaining the nobility amidst the absurdity.

The changes were coming, and were as apparent as the changing colours in the land, but if the change was into a wintery, desolate time, then it is easy to recall that the snow gives way and spring comes again. As surely as the sun rises, the seasons change.

White Raven
Acrylic, Gold Leaf
& Mixed Media
on Canvas
18" x 24"
2006

This is the instant before the Raven takes the Sun into his mouth and he, and the world, are changed forever. Ravens represent a conduit to the supernatural, a bridge from our world to the next. In my imaginings, the Raven stole the moon and sun from the spirtual plane and brought them into our world. In the process of bringing the sun to us, he was burned black, and so is covered in soot like a cloak that gives corporeal form. Underneath that thin layer, however, still resides the white spirit, full of raw energy and power.

Morning Sigh

Last week I awoke to a misty, soft morning full of silence and surreal beauty. The crunch of the snow under my feet seemed like the whisper of a gentle confidant.

Lady
Mixed Media
5" x 7"
2006

Unexpected Thunder
36" x 48"
Mixed Media on Canvas
2006

Walking in the morning mist, a silent forest suddenly erupts with the sound of wind and thunder!

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Thanks to everyone who came out to the Bearclaw Gallery on Saturday. It was a lot of fun meeting new people and having some really great conversations. Of course, thanks to the Bearclaw Gallery for hosting.

The Bearclaw Gallery Celebrates
A Holiday Season Show
December 2nd-10th, 2006

Meet artists Jane Ash Poitras and Aaron Paquette
Dec 2 from 2-4 pm

Come on out to the show tomorrow. I popped in today and saw some really beautiful work by Jane Ash Poitras and Linus Woods. Make an afternoon of it and check in on the other galleries in the area as well!

ICON
5" x 7"
Encaustic, Oil Pastel
and Gold Leaf
on Canvas

As an addition to my Raven series, I've created an Iconic image of the Raven, the burning Sun still held in his blackened beak.

Imminent Save
digital photo
2006

In Canada, we keep the age-old tradition of Street Hockey alive, come rain or snow. Most of us are average at best, but for a couple hours on a Saturday afternoon we are all transformed -for a brief moment- into superstars.

The End of September
Alberta Foothills
west of Jasper

To relieve the whiteness outside my window, I've been flipping through these photos of warm days and gentle evenings.

Raven's Lament
7 1/2" x 5 1/2"
Mixed Media
on Paper
2006

The myth of How The Raven Stole The Sun tells us that Raven once had beautiful white plumage that glowed with it's clean brilliance. When he stole the sun, however, he was burned very badly by the heat and became the black bird we know today.

I was thinking about how proud Raven must have been of his incandescent feathers, and how he must have despaired when he lost it to feathers of night and shadow. If he was burned so badly, he must have been in terrible pain as well, his body throbbing with red fire. Beyond the story, I found myself dwelling on the lessons the story gives me in life. His curiosity burned him, yes, but the Raven also performed an incredible task and brought light to the world. Sometimes, when a deed seems too daunting to finish, or the finishing of it exhausts us and the pain is so great we could cry, it is then when we grow the most. It's then that we become stronger and clearer, self-absorption slipping away.

In the midst of our lament, we are marked and made different, and it can be like life is brand new. The difference betwwen night and day; white and black. Raven's lament is balanced on the cusp of the old and new, it is the all important Moment.

First Morning
6 1/2" x 6"
Mixed Media
on Paper
2006

The sooty blackness begins to take over the Raven's feathers, his burning fades as the world is bathed by the light of it's first dawn. Why am I exploring this story so slavishly? I have hundreds of sketches, working on dozens of paintings...the Raven is invading my dreams. I don't know what I am learning, and that itself is a little disorienting.

That Old September Moon
7 1/2" x 6"
Mixed Media
on Paper
2006

The Raven Steals The Moon and the Sun...and gets his once white feathers burned to a crisp...

I imagine this story to be similar to the Prometheus myth, and so I was thinking about what the pyschological impact of the experience would be. I would guess that it would take an already interesting pysche to perform the task, and so the aftermath state might be one of black humour, confusion, regret, desperation, pain, humiliation, pride...all wrapped up in the night under a full September moon.

Lightbringer
8 1/2" x 6 1/4"
Mixed Media
on Paper
2006

I have been painting a series of Red Ravens, trying to delve into the different aspects of the Raven's character, especially immediately following the theft of the Sun and his subsequent burning. In the story, he goes from having gorgeous white feathers to charred, sooty black feathers. I have imagined him in transition, the pulsing, screaming throb of his burns elevating each of his personality traits to a sublime level, be it madness, brooding or heroic in nature.

Here the Raven sits like a king or prophet, enthroned in his own dignity, fully aware of his loss and living with his pain. It actually reminded me of the look of selfessness on the face of people when they have given everything they can and are asked for more. They can either refuse or they can pull out strength from unknown sources; depending on God, or the universe, or their own spirit for the endurance to take one more step, last one more hour, or lift one last burden.


There is a rare desperation there, and a rare dignity.