November 16, 2005

I've been reconnecting with nature – at least through art. Nature has always been a key source of inspiration, and during my Mixed Media Painting II course with Diana Kubicek, I had the chance to explore some abstract landscape concepts.

Mirroring the Landscape
I have never really delved into landscape painting, despite my early infatuation with watercolour. I didn't appreciate the simplicity of landscapes, thinking them plain. But the process of achieving tonal variation is more difficult than it appears.  Anne Stahl has a great collection that shows the type of paintings I'm talking about (like Roscommon - Anne Stahl, 1999).

It's been a delight to use painting to process my seasonal melancholy. Winter is a time of stripping away - a time of withdrawal, bareness. Two of my painting exercises contrasted Canadian winter landscapes:

To the left, I am creating a very bleak, windswept field, where you can see the soil through the snow, and a heavy sky.  It speaks of my childhood in Ontario, where it didn't snow much but it was cold in November. (I always felt betrayed by this weather - if it was going to be cold, couldn't we at least have snow to play in?)  As children, we had to walk across the frozen ruts, stumbling over corn stalks down our half-mile lane way to the bus.  We had a tin hut to huddle in on the windiest of days.

In the painting to the right, a lush, green forest scene emerged from the (originally horizontal) mixed media surface. The forests in British Columbia boast many huge old growth stumps like the one featured here.  The moss, like fur, covers everything even in winter. While very different from the other painting, this depicts a winter scene - one that I have become familiar with in the last six years on the coast.

October 31, 2005

One of my assignments in the Materials and Media in Art class was to conceive an exaggerated article of clothing and make it out of wire. During the brief moment allotted to me to think of an idea, I recalled hearing a pregnant friend talking about how a pregnant woman loses her right to personal space. Complete strangers feel an impulsive need to massage her abdomen. So for pregnant women, I am pleased to present the “Hands-Off Pregnancy Belt.”

October 15, 2005

Communicating in 3-D is like a new language, similar to learning a new technology. For the last two weeks, I have been journeying through a creative process accompanied by a four inch cube of plaster. I was assigned to analyze it and later wrap it in something significant.

When I was given this task, I was reading Neil Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death. My thoughts were centred on how new technology is impacting my social interactions and society in general. I had recently acquired my first cell phone, so I decided to document the cube every day on my blog.

I found that technology has thoroughly permeated my daily routines - has limited my need for face-to-face interaction, has entertained me to the point that I am losing contact with nature and consequently the depth of spirituality that I need to thrive.

To me, the cube symbolizes my core need for solitude. I wrapped it painstakingly in layers of dried leaves with thread. After completely coating it, I wrapped it in communication cords and computer parts and wiring.

Wrapping something draws attention to it, makes one look at it in a new way. I gained perspective on this assignment from the work of artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude.

October 2 , 2005

"Assume a posture of giving or receiving," the instructor said. We sat around a heavy table scarred by tools and encrusted in dried media, hands extended in front of us. She came around and poured plaster into our hands. We held this posture until the plaster dried, about 20 minutes.

As the plaster set, it began to warm in my hands. The experience for me was spiritual, reminding me of people who have spoken of the presence of God as heat in their hands. The cast felt heavier as the liquid became a resistant solid.

The result looked like a display case in a natural museum history, like a collection of animal skulls; distinct, pristine silhouettes. Each form signified that half an hour of time: time captured in plaster.

September 10, 2005

 

August 21, 2005

This summer, most of my creative energy has been channeled into the creation of this website . . . we've almost finished. I am very grateful for the help of my husband Curtis - for his patience and skill in leading me through his personal version of “Applied Dreamweaver and Photoshop 101.”

I've also been gathering and reading through a collection of old letters, receipts, and journals found in my late great aunt's home. I can't wait to get my hands dirty to use some of these treasures in my next mixed media session at Emily Carr Institute.

A receipt from 1875 showing purchases made by my great, great, great uncle.