Badger's Quay, Newfoundland Badger's Quay, Newfoundland I was drawn to this view because of the colourful buildings in this very small village. Abattoir red on the middle building suggested a less than shy inhabitant. There must be a need for people who live in foggy coastal areas to enliven their landscape with brightly-hued structures. Think of the Alaskan villages and the coastal parts of Scandinavia and Russia. Mind you, I can recall many colourful buildings in the Caribbean as well, so there goes that theory. I was commissioned to paint some views of a small piece of the north shore of Newfoundland by a mining engineering company from Toronto. The photocopied map, with handwritten notes about the mining claims along Notre Dame Bay, was faxed to my gallery with directions about who was to be our guide once we reached Snook's Arm. We moved by boat along the coast past Wild Bight, Bobby Cove, Bett's Cove, almost to Nipper's Harbour. The names alone give an idea of the exotic, tiny places along this craggy piece of coast line. Each of these places is a jigsaw of garishly painted wooden houses. There is an apparent randomness to the placement of these buildings with their stages (docks). This painting of Badger's Quay is just one of many that developed from that, my only, journey to "The Rock". I was surprised to learn that many of these settlements are so old that it is impossible to obtain a deed because these buildings, or earlier versions, were actually squatters' homes. Unfortunately there are many paint-peeling houses that have been abandoned, not as a result of ownership issues but of resettlement policies from the days of Joey Smallwood.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Lighthouse Near Parry Sound Lighthouse Near Parry Sound Sitting on the deck of a beautiful power boat with absolutely no responsibility for navigation is a most pleasant sensation. Threading between the countless islands in the waters near Parry Sound, we pass this lighthouse painted a blinding white. The captain, my brother-in-law, announces the points of interest as we progress through this movie-set-like scenery. A contrast comes to my mind of another ship/boat/craft? I can never decide on the right name. The voice over the public address system has a cultivated, upper-class English accent. We are directed to look to the port side to view what looks like a toy, white lighthouse balancing on a point of rock in the western isles of Scotland. Lighthouses around the world come in many sizes and shapes. I think of a lighthouse, built to resemble a church, in Oslo harbour covering the whole of a small island. We all run to the rail to photograph this delicate white church with its green roof and Norwegian flag to add a bit of red and blue. A small run-about is tied up at this island, perhaps transportation for the light keeper. I don't know, but it fits my romantic notion to think so. Not nearly so romantic is the lighthouse, part of a set of prison buildings that offer direction at the mouth of the harbour in Copenhagen. The actual white lighthouse occupies the central position in a series of grey stone buildings crowded together. Pointing skyward like the finger of a prophet, it offers direction of quite a different sort. From the shore of Neils Harbour, Nova Scotia, the light blinks out across the blue-grey waters of the Atlantic. White against a lead-coloured sky, this lighthouse is a surprise with serious demeanor. This harbour was the area that Edna Staebler chose for some of her writings, and somehow I had expected more sunlight, like Edna herself. Sitting this time in my car, I paint the imposing lighthouse at Port Burwell. Impressive on the cliff, this structure ignores the confusion of old marine parts that jostle for position at its base at the bottom of the cliff right in front of my car, quite different than the almost Shaker-like structure in Parry Sound (Port Burwell). For further related images, see Rock Patterns at Parry Sound and Facing the Wind.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Georgian Bay Cottage Home Georgian Bay Cottage Home Before I ever saw the Canadian Shield area, I had images planted in my mind by reproductions that were in our school texts and in magazines, and of course the large-scale prints of the Group of Seven that decorated the walls of the bank. I knew that the Group of Seven pictures could not possibly be realistic in their representation of rocks-and-trees country, especially since they did not show any cottages or docks or boats. I knew that rich people had cottages and boats. Even my favourite artist, shown in the Star Weekly, Matt Kousal, did not show any traces of man other than a few poorly tended country roads. I know that part of my fascination with England and things English flows directly out of illustrations in story books from my childhood. Like Northern Ontario, the U.K. existed only in my mind through these pictures. Now this is before the time of television, and I would be quick to admit that I had a very sheltered childhood. I pause to realize just how much of my perception of places, both near and distant, is a bouillabaisse of images that other artists have concocted over the years. As a painter, I know just how much I position the presentation of the physical facts to suit my artistic purposes. Someone viewing my work cannot know just why I decided to approach a subject from one side rather than another. Artists are of course shaping their material for creative purposes, but what about the photographer or journalist who gathers information for a political purpose. This sketch of a Georgian Bay neighbourhood has no political axe to grind, but shows, I hope, the quiet relaxation so many people crave and so many find at their cottage.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

At The Kennels At The Kennels I have specialized in paintings of the Mennonites for over thirty-five years, and, naturally, most people associate me with this country subject. I am pleased that they do. I have, however, also produced many commissioned works over that period. These commissioned, custom, or bespoke paintings often are created for people who first became acquainted with my painting through my Mennonite work. I have showcased golf courses, cottages, and farms. Portraits for individuals, as well as corporations, stand beside commemorative paintings produced for the R.C.M.P, the T.S.E., several banks and institutes. "At the Kennels" is just one of a group of five paintings created for a member of a private shooting club on Griffith Island in Georgian Bay, thirty miles from Owen Sound. Although this man already knew my work, I became acquainted with him on a cruise that toured the Baltic. He watched as I painted on deck. He told me later that he was sure when I had just started a sketch, that I would not be able to make anything out of those first bold blocks of colour, but, to his surprise and my relief, I did manage to produce something acceptable. After several days, he approached me with the idea of doing a series of paintings of his club. He had been an active member for many years and wanted several pieces for his home of this favourite subject. A short ride by launch brought us to this island, formerly owned by General Motors. A modest hotel, along with the necessary outbuildings for the maintenance of a small village, crouches along a harbour. Birds are raised in captivity for later hunting purposes. Kennels are maintained and dogs trained for field shooting. A staff of handlers, birders, and hotel people live on this island year round. There is even a small eviscerating plant to handle the day's shoot, preparing them flash frozen for the hunters. Twenty people sat down for dinner after cocktails in a cozy, baronial dining room. I was surprised that women were part of the group, which just shows how prejudiced I am. I had expected more of the English Men's Club approach. I was pleased to discover that several of the people at the club were former clients of mine for commission paintings. I noticed in the gun room, where all the gear is stored, the name of another customer from the Calgary area. I felt right at home in this welcoming atmosphere. Painting commissions allows me to see inside of people's lives. It takes me into private, cherished places. I learn family history, see business preserves, meet children, and view passions. I am privileged to an unusual education that is often off-limits to the public.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Below the Pools at River Mal Baie Below the Pools at River Mal Baie He walked into my gallery during an exhibition and purchased a painting of a Quebec village, Les Eboulement. This representation of a rainy day in this tiny village in the Charlevois region started a conversation that lead to a week spent painting in Quebec. This man, his name was Molson, was part of a group of anglophones from Quebec that had secured buildings and properties in Quebec that they, not the government, felt should be held for the public. This trust was interested in Quebec heritage. I was invited to participate in an artistic group that met annually to paint at one of their sites, this time an old manor house just next to the Percé Rock. Along with eight other artists, all Quebecers, I was hosted through the generosity of this Quebec heritage group. All the food, drink, and any extras were provided for our week of painting. I got up early (6:00 a.m.), but I was often bested by some of those Quebec guys who wanted to paint the dawn. The brightly-coloured paintings of these artists were displayed each night in the lounge before we went into dinner. For the first time, I realized how different the colour sense of the Quebecers was to this pale Mennonite Country painter. The talk was animated and jocular as we appraised each other's work, questioning location and approach. Although on most days we found our own way along the precipitous coastline roads, on Friday we were treated to a guided tour of a fishing camp, also owned by the Trust, just twenty miles away. This private preserve put me in mind of the Scottish upper class fishing clubs where a gillie is provided, ready to help with the smallest problem. We were informed about the stocked pools, as some of our group had thought ahead and included their fishing gear. I had not, but contented myself to paint this warmly tinted scene from a house-sized rock in the middle of the stream. Experiences like this come along just once in a lifetime.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Deer Ridge Deer Ridge Grateful club members commissioned this fall-version painting of their Club adjacent to the Grand River, in celebration of the 10th Anniversary of those links made possible by the efforts of the principal shown on the green. Here beside the river on a perfect autumn day, it is hard to believe that there could exist a more wonderful world. I am not a golfer, something to do with co-ordination I think, but I would readily admit that some of the most attractive landscapes cradle this Scottish sport. Strange that these tranquil settings give rise to so much trauma and frustration. Even when the course is not calm and peaceful, perhaps even the opposite, there is a strange pull exerted on the golfer. Travelling with my brother-in-law and his wife in Ireland, we witness people, my brother-in-law among them, golfing on a day when the wind on this ocean-side course was so strong that gusts wiggled the flags from the holes. Standing at the bar at the Duke (my usual cocktail spot) having a few preprandial wobbly pops, I can quickly assess the success of golfers that day as they either trudge or float through the door.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Lashes of Sunlight Lashes of Sunlight From the time that I was a teenager and attended classes at M.F. Kousal's studio, I have been attracted to landscape painting. Since those lessons forty years ago, I have painted landscape from many corners of the world. Often the scene was merely a background, while animal or human activity was the main focus. This painting shows the West Credit River near Belfountain, Ontario. Stone from a nearby quarry was used for the construction of the Ontario Parliament Buildings. Although this area is known as a beauty spot, in this piece I don't want to paint a scene. I want to paint what light is doing to the landscape. This view without the shafts of sun would, in my opinion, be quite uninteresting. On this point, I part company with many artists among them Alex Colville, a Magic Realist, whose paintings are mainly flatly lit, showing no directional light. Those artists seem more interested in the subject itself. From composition to colour and technique, painting is as personal as your toothbrush. All that an artist produces proceeds from his personality. The technical devices of painting may be complicated but can be learned. The key ingredient for any artist is his point of view.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Winter Harbour, Nova Scotia Winter Harbour, Nova Scotia My travel sketches are most often about a particular destination that I have visited. Sometimes I go to great lengths to bring my viewer to spots which are from time to time unusual, out of the way, and personal. A particular physical feature may spur my desire to paint. Peggy's Cove with its signature lighthouse or grain elevators in Saskatchewan bring a focal point to a work. At times, the design of an object such as Big Ben or Talliessen, Frank Lloyd Wright's summer studio, features in my sketches. While some of my paintings are inspired by a light effect or a particular activity or subject, this ink and watercolour drawing/painting is based on the play of colour. This small inlet does exist, not far from Halifax, but I am more concerned here with the heat of the reds and ochres against the cool blue of the snow and water. In that aspect, this painting shares some common ground with Helen Frankenthaler's colour field paintings. I realize that everyone approaches a painting through his/her own doorway, and I would be shocked if this colour idea was the first consideration for the viewer. Although at one point, I thought that I might base a larger, more complex, work on this design, I have never proceeded, but I have not yet fled this vale of tears.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Painting the View, St. Leon de Stanton Painting the View, St. Leon de Stanton I have often thought that painters who set up their easels where the public can watch and comment are either exhibitionists or masochists, possibly both. It is also a way for an artist to draw a crowd of potential customers. Yes, guilty as charged, I have stood toe to toe with scenery in many areas of the world. In most cases, I would like to think that I've had a few victories, a number of draws, and certainly my share of defeats. But just as in boxing, a split decision is a possible result. The public clustered around an artist struggling with a view or a portrait decides, I think rightly, that any idiot foolish enough to paint in public deserves the comments that he gets. Some thirty years ago in shopping malls, both in Ontario and the northern States, I learned with a fellow artist, Mike Roth, to present paintings and provide some colour. That was not my baptism, though, into this bizarre activity. I had, during my years in art college, painted on the street in Stratford and Ottawa, attempting to sell the paintings straight from the easel. The sales were not great but did provide just enough money to get me through. Thirty years later, in the garden below the steep cliffs that held Edinburgh Castle, I met a young man from Chicago painting in the public garden (Edinburgh Castle from Garden). He was working his way around the world, painting and selling directly from his easel. He must have been doing okay as he had nothing left to show me from that day's labour. He was also encouraged to hear my brief history and realize that there is life after street painting. There are showmen/artists who make a handsome living performance painting. I think of a large German man, Heinz, who used to travel the mall circuit with a very well thought out display setup and a pretty assistant, almost like a stage magician. Dressed in leder hosen, this rotund artist produced oil paintings of fictional landscapes of mountains and chalets. Although repetitive, the work was slick, professional and appealing. In Key West, Florida, I watched as a transplanted New Zealander wowed the crowd with his street painting prowess. His touch was sure and strong. The paintings were destined for a ritzy Key West hotel owned by horsey people. I got to know him over several years and learned that his small business of commissioned equine paintings was based in the Blue Grass Country of Kentucky. From that location, he travelled the world painting prize horses and the country that they inhabit. He also painted everything else that came into view. He was obsessed with painting, and I could identify with him. Sidewalk portraitists occupy a special place in my mind for courage and possibly desperation. From New York to London, England, they ply their tight-rope act in acute noise and changing weather. Passing traffic and poor lighting are ignored by these sketchers who delight more often than they disappoint. I know of one fellow who has a portrait setup outside the National Portrait Gallery in London, England whose sign proclaims that this is his twentieth year in that location. He has turned the street portrait into a lucrative business with people from all over coming to get their portrait painted, just as their friend or relative had done years ago.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Crooked Fence, Newfoundland Crooked Fence, Newfoundland Newfoundland is a magical place for me as it transports me back to my childhood. I did not have any contact with the Rock when I was a kid, but I was immersed in the small-town attitude that still permeates the latest addition of Confederation. Clearly my romantic view is not universally cherished. I was surprised when a fellow that I know who comes from Newfoundland told me that he had no interest in paintings of the Rock. "I spent twenty years trying to get away from that place," he said. "It's much prettier here with the Mennonites and all." Although Marilyn and I had often talked about a visit to Newfoundland, the spark that actually got us ignited was the request by a Toronto-based engineering company to have some paintings of a potential mine site on the eastern shore of Newfoundland. After flying into Baie Verte, we were taken in an open boat down along the coast to the quiet of Bobby Cove. Once the motor was stilled, the only sounds were the waves gently patting the rocks and the yells of the circling sea gulls. Jumping into the ankle-deep water, we waded ashore to begin our two-hour trek to the mine site. In the late 1890's, a town of four thousand souls had formed around this copper deposit, and hopes were high that this mine might now re-open. So far that has not happened. After our mine site visit, we spent a week driving down the coast, making a point to visit those exotically named ports, Cape Spear, Trinity, Petty Harbour, and Quidi Vidi as we headed toward St. John's and the flight home. On that plane I sat beside a young woman from Bonavista Bay who was dramatically uneasy about flying. She brought a new paler shade to the white knuckle idea. Since she was almost crying, I thought the arrival of lunch might serve as a diversion, so I commented with delight on the kiwi fruit on our trays. "What is it?" she asked suspiciously. "I won't like it." After some gentle coaxing, she severed a tiny segment and slowly brought it to her mouth. "Not bad, eh," I encouraged. Removing the fruit from her mouth, she said, "I knew I wouldn't like it. It tastes like it looks." For further related images, to see our section on Newfoundland.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Old Cabin Road Old Cabin Road This painting shows the vestiges of the old style cabin that I discovered near McKellar, Ontario. To be sure, this building is well past its "Best By" date. I noticed a real estate advertisement recently that proclaimed the virtues of "cottage" sites in this very area, so I guess if this log cabin is still standing, it won't be for long. Many changes in the bylaws and rules in the townships of cottage country have resulted in a new breed of vacation properties. There was a day when a person could buy a small piece of land beside a lake, and quietly and privately start to construct his own rural retreat. Weekend by weekend, holiday by holiday, the cottage grew. Often the first version of a cottage improvement turned out to be less than successful and needed a replacement that would be more wife-friendly. Often a family-sized a porch was added to the building. With time, a dock and possibly an additional bedroom materialized. Electricity and water on tap were greeted with great joy by wives who had roughed it just long enough. The progress was slow and the results eccentric. Many young fathers developed their construction skills with the help of a friend from work or a relative that knew possibly only a tiny bit more about construction, or thought that they did. The retirement of the back-house meant a certain sophistication had arrived. Much joy for the family and accomplishment for the builder resulted from these homegrown cabins. New friends who also had created new castles in the woods were met from the surrounding cottages and lifelong associations formed. Alas, now with regulations and municipal laws, a family cabin cannot grow organically on a site. Plans, regulations, and permissions govern these new buildings. Safeguards for the environment and for the year-round residents shape the placement and the form of these new buildings that start to resemble more closely a house in a subdivision, with the same level of taxes, than a shack in the woods. Much of Muskoka seems to have turned into a Toronto suburb. For further related images, to see our section on cottage country.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Lake Huron Sunset Lake Huron Sunset Over the last forty years I have had the opportunity to paint by the sea in many locations. It is perhaps rather puzzling to think about why I, who come from landlocked Waterloo Region, would be so drawn to the many colours of the ocean. My first view of the dark blue/green Atlantic was from the deck of the 10,000 ton Franconia on our first foray to Europe. I was told by the crew that they considered the ocean to be calm, but, to me, as my complexion grew closer to the colour of the waves, the ocean looked ominous. It was on that journey that I also had the chance to view the Mediterranean and try my luck painting it near Malaga, Spain. The strong clear light which produces a brilliant turquoise sea contrasts with the mauves, yellows and pinks of my next sea painting attempt in Portugal with soft sunset colours. These southern views were kind and warm. Painting the Irish Sea from Scotland, or the North Sea from the deck of a ship, dramatically shows the cool and angry aspects of northern water. Along the coast of Newfoundland, the colours of waters from the North Atlantic are somewhat tempered. The strong, often warm, brown rocks of the shore provide a striking foil to the blue-green of the sea. In maritime regions, fog often settles over the view of the water, gauzing the colours to mysterious hues and stealing impact from the scene. I've stood in sand dunes near Florida and enjoyed the soft breeze and warm sun as I tried to sum up the sensuous sand and the advancing aqua-tinted sea. Much different I can assure than dealing with places farther north, not just in the Canadian east coast but also on the west coast of Vancouver Island. Tofino and Long Beach provide a frame of pitted brown/green rocks for the blue/gray colour of the foaming sea. Although I have enjoyed the famed fluorescent sunset in Key West, Florida, for many years, I really don't think that southern view across calm waters can out-dazzle an orange and purple sunset on Lake Huron, just one of our inland seas.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Farmstead, Isle of Orleans Farmstead, Isle of Orleans On a recent edition of the CBS program, Sunday Morning, a segment was presented that examined all types of dwellings. That show originated from Jefferson's self-styled, eccentric, mountain-top house, Monticello. It started me thinking about the many homes that I have painted over the years in various countries. I have not tackled Monticello, but I have visited that much promoted residence. I would be one of the few people who are not very enthusiastic about that self-designed Italianate villa. Many people will be familiar with my views of Mennonite farm houses with that now common style of countless additions in clearly unmatched colours. I've heard this approach called the paint-sale style. These paintings often include outbuildings such as garden sheds, smoke houses, garages and sometimes outhouses. A view of these houses tells us about the practical aspects of their inhabitant's lives. Perhaps, too, you have seen my versions of houses in Britain from the buff-coloured, stone-walled dwellings in the Cotswolds to the red brick Kentish homes in the south of England. These renditions are not architectural textbook renderings, all straight and correct, but rather are attempts to show these buildings in situ. Because buildings grow out of the geography, I think a telling house portrait demands a context, a setting that demonstrates the homeowner's personality and the possibilities that climate affords or demands. I have also painted tiny, low-ceilinged, tile-roofed homes in Ireland, all parged and painted white, showcasing some of the brightest hued trim to be found this side of Greece. As well, subjects include pastel-coloured houses in the south of France, surrounded by gardens that spill over stuccoed walls that have given up on trying to hold fast their vegetation. Who wouldn't take the relaxed approach in that warm and dreamy piece of country? Log homes in the American South, some restored, waiting for the high-priced photographer from Architectural Digest, others untended, "Waiting for Godot" have caught my eye. Also in my range of works are houses from the Charlevois area of Quebec with ski-jump roofs like the veil of the Flying Nun. Norman-style farmhouses on the Isle of Orleans present an opportunity to describe not only these buildings, strong, set like a football player at scrimmage, but also the leafy surrounding vineyards. From Key West to Spain, from Scandinavia to Mexico, I have tried my hand at a subject that says so much about people, their attitudes, and the way that they live. As well as animal houses and bird houses, I have described in paint many garden houses, surely an extension of homes. Several times I have returned to a garden structure in a spectacularly full and beautiful backyard in Alton, Ontario. This quaint shed has a wavy piece of bargeboard attached to its ridge pole that proclaims its whimsy. I was so flattered to talk to a woman lately who told me that she had purchased a reproduction of one of my paintings of that garden house and has had a version built of that wee shed in her own garden. That certainly speaks to the idea of what a home should be and how we incorporate new ideas to make them personal. For further related images, to see our section on houses.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Church Painting Church Painting Have you ever wondered why you so seldom find artists painting out in the countryside or on city streets? That activity called plein aire painting is quite demanding, not only because of the vagaries of the weather and the hassles with transporting equipment but also because of the difficulty restricting a view. Where should the edge of the painting be? What should be included? What should be the focal point, the heart of that work? Now add another factor to those questions. How much can I produce in an hour? Because the sun's movement is slow, it is not immediately apparent that the shadows and highlights shift to create quite a different view in just sixty minutes. I think that there is no question that on-the-spot paintings produce an immediate fresh image. Because a plein aire painter must be economical with his time, decisions must be made and lived with. While in the studio, works can be painted, changed, altered and repainted. When the time allowed by light is short, an artist must be decisive. The brief period available also means that only the most meaningful pieces of information can be included. There is no time for unnecessary detail. This is the telegraph of the painting process—succinct and to the point. Before the days of cameras, artists had only plein aire painting or imagination as a basis for their work. While imagination produces endless images, these visions are private. These visual inventions are meaningful to their creator but are really a personal language. That sort of painting, those dreamed-up pictures, I call painting-by-ear. Those imagined views are never quite convincing without information that is believable to the viewer. The camera changed everything for the painter. When Muybridge invented the camera, or perhaps I should say perfected the camera, it became possible to see a running horse or a jumping man in stopped motion. This process provided a common visual language that supplied information to the artist and his audience. The fly in the ointment, however, was the temptation for the painter to simply copy the photograph without pointing out to the viewer the parts or ideas that the artist found important. This brings us back to plein aire artistry where time and conditions force the artist to choose decisively what to include and what to leave out. For many years I have combined this selective process with the photographic gathering of information. I call it building a painting, because I do choose what I think are the important bits from many sources to make a new whole. I hope that by using enough common information, I will be able to invite the viewer into my imagined vision. The painting shown here is a considered constructed piece that shows Marilyn and me plein aire painting in Eastern Ontario, and so does include the two approaches in one. For almost forty years, I have painted on an almost daily basis. Rather than being jaded by the process, I am increasingly excited by this game. I agree with our four-year-old friend who said, "My whole life I've wanted to be an artist."

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.

Port Burwell Port Burwell Many artists are most rigid in the way that they work. Following a consistent path to the production of a painting feels secure to these people. I, however, vary greatly in the way that I develop a painting. This piece was produced half in my car on site, with the balance executed in my studio. This mixed-media piece involved India ink on matboard administered by fountain brush and pen—the in car bit—and then tinted with acrylic later on. I was attracted by the mess of nautical gear in combination with the lighthouse. My late aunt always thought that artists painted unattractive subjects, as she saw them, as a way of showing just how different and arty they were. My first exposure to subjects that are not pretty was in my first year of art college where we were sent into the grotty alleys of downtown Toronto to develop our appreciation for subjects that are not picturesque and to learn to see interest in these subjects. Over the years I have painted subjects such as work boots, bailing wire, car motors, mud puddles and butcher-blocks. Bits of dirty beach as well as rotting stumps have posed for me. Sometimes these nasty bits and pieces are pictured on their own but more frequently become part of a larger piece.

This piece was published in The Record, Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario but may have been edited. Some articles have also been published in Collectibles Canada and Tourist, Canada's Newsmagazine for Travellers.