An Exhibition of Colour and Light

OPA Sushi & RiverWalker Arts - Presents :
An exhibition of Colour and Light.
Opening reception on Sunday May 29th 2-5 pm At Opa Sushi in Cow Bay
Please come celebrate my  Newest Works inspired by our beautiful North Coast.

EVERYONE WELCOME.
Show runs until June 26th.

Art is your emotions flowing in a river of imagination.

It’s spring.  There are signs.  The rain remains unabated, a permanent feature of damp and cold.  While it is unlikely we will dip below freezing for the season it is not warm out. 

The girls usually take one weekend a year and head out to the ranch for a weekend on horseback.  A weekend of sleeping in a bunk house, sitting around a fire, eating, and riding through the high sub-alpine meadows in the stunning Driftwood Canyon looking out towards the Bulkley valley shadowed by the majestic Hudson Bay Mountain and it’s gleaming white Glacier . 

However for this year I had to give it a pass at over 6 months pregnant… horse back riding is apparently not recommended. So while I mourned the loss of a weekend in the saddle, I took the opportunity to do something else in life which I love….  ART!

Last weekend was the local Easel Weasel semi-annual art workshop.  This spring the artist we invited to teach was Nicole Best Rudderham. (http://nicolebestrudderham.com/).  Friday evening we met in the penthouse boardroom of a local hotel – the view from the wall of windows looking out over the harbour is inspiration in itself.  An uninterrupted view of the harbour, picturesque with the small islands across the way and the sleeping behemoths that are the anchored bulk carriers awaiting their cargo of grain, coal or logs all of which are exported across the pacific to Asian market.  After a lesson on Friday evening we touched paint to paper as the sun began to set in glorious colours.

With a full two days of painting following that auspicious beginning… I am once more inspired and have learned a few more techniques which I hope to continue to use.

Here is an unfinished look at one of the pieces I produced (although it still needs some refinement). 

Oona River Rock

©RiverWalker Arts

The mark of a successful man is one that has spent an entire day on the bank of a river without feeling guilty about it. ~Author Unknown

Marking Spring by an Invasion of the RVs

It’s been between 8 and 11 degrees for the past two weeks.. and although the rain has let up and the day has proven to be warm and sunny, the forecast looking forward -  Monday through Friday does not vary... Rain. Low 8. High 11.  However... with Easter in the past and the May long weekend staring at us in the face... it seems that that spring is definitely here.  

Looking out the kitchen window, I see into the neighbouring cul-de-sac, where a  monstrous RV has been backed onto the lawn such that it became necessary to conduct significant pruning to the tree that once grew vigorously in the middle of the yard.  Parked on the curb in front of the fibreglass monstrosity is a jacked up chevy with an ATV balanced next to a large red fuel tank in the back,  completing the picture are the bush bar, winch and string of trendy “KC” flood lights mounted both on the grille guard, and roll bar.    

On the opposite side of the house, is my own sleepy cul-de sac.  Where my neighbour’s most recent guest has parked his “Toy Hauler”  which is basically a GIANT fifth wheels with a built in garage to hold anything from ATV’s, motorcycles, Jet Ski’s, etc.   I’m not sure what is being hauled around in the atrocity parked next to my driveway, but I’ve lived in houses that were smaller....

As if the RV’s were not enough, the fibreglass boats that have sprung up around town is a sure sign of spring.  

I have the fortune of living in a small isolated community located at the crossroads of two of this Province’s  best salmon producing rivers, the Nass River and the Skeena River...  despite over 100 local guides who charge upwards of $1000 per day, when spring comes (peak salmon season... but just as good for crab, prawns, halibut, rockfish etc.) the town swells under an influx of RV’s towing a whole variety of aluminum and fibreglass fishing boats... They come in droves for the fish that ply these waters. 

It is these boats that appear to be arriving, largely from out of province if the licence plates are any indication that marks the sure sign of spring.  

Spring has arrived... of that there is no doubt.... 

Now if only I could get the weather to cooperate....

I would love to get outside to paint!

 My biggest worry is that my wife (when I'm dead) will sell my fishing gear for what I said I paid for it.  ~Koos Brandt

Easter in a nutshell and an Art Opening

Easter is a strange time of year.  It is the celebration of spring and renewal, and while it is the central feast in the Christian liturgical year, this feast is marked by rabbits, newly hatched chicks, eggs, and chocolate.   The term Easter dates back well over a millennia wherein the Germanic "Ēostre month" (April), was named after the goddess Ēostre of Anglo-Saxon paganism.  Throw in a few lambs, a turkey dinner (possibly ham), a long weekend, sugar addled children and a touch of necromancy… and Voila! You have Easter in a nutshell.

But regardless of how one celebrates, or why – there is something about the post Easter world that is fresh and new and full of possibilities.  I think it might have something to do with the natural world and the beginnings of the buds on the bare tree branches,  the small green shoots pushing their way through the soil and embarking on their tentative journey toward the lushness of summer.  

As for myself… I’ve been again inspired, and this time… I’m Opening my own art show.  It will be at the local Sushi restaurant.  An exhibition of my newest works, and an exploration in colour and light.  On the 29^th of May between 1 and 5 I hope to host an opening that will showcase a collection of orginal art work.  I am excited about this opportunity.  I am not unknown in this town, but nor am I an accomplished artist here.

Please wish me the best.  And if you are willing, able, or live close enough, please come out to support me.

When baking, follow directions. When cooking, go by your own taste.

Maybe it’s something about being pregnant – a primal nesting instinct, or an imbalance of hormone that manifests itself as temporary insanity.... but whatever it is...  Saturday DH set out in the boat to spend the day getting pounded by the waves, and waiting for the fish to bite...  all this in order to provide fish for the freezer at a cost much higher (factoring in gas, gear, and boat maintenance) than simply purchasing it from the fish plant.  While going through this ritual of provision, I was overcome with the unusual urge to make bread....   yup. Bread! 

Did I mention I never, never make bread.  I like bread... in fact I like bread so much I don’t keep it in the house... for fear I’d eat nothing else.  I deliberately lived without a toaster for 3 years just to keep the bread at a distance...  Saturday I got out the flour and yeast....  Olive & Oregano bread... from scratch.

The yeast foamed.. and the smell reminded me of my childhood.  I made the well in the flour and stirred in the onions, olives and oregano...  I kneaded (maybe a tiny bit too much), I used more utensils that I thought I owned...  I made a nest to help keep the ball of dough warm and waited for it to rise.... and waited, and cleaned up every single dough clogged item in my kitchen...and waited... I provided a bit of heat...  and waited..

I punched it down...  it had risen more than I thought it had...

Into the oven.. and the fisherman came home with fresh fish from the sea (I didn’t ask what he spent on gas).  Fresh fish chowder for dinner... my domestic skills never cease to amaze me – nor does the pile of dirty dishes.

The bread... well... if you ever get the insane urge to make bread from scratch ... may I advise you to purchase new yeast... and beware of over kneading .  Or maybe the best advice I can give is to curl up in a little ball and breathe deeply until the whim passes.

As for me.. .heavy as that loaf was I ate it anyway... fresh, steaming warm from the oven and slathered in butter...

...and as for butter versus margarine, I trust cows more than chemists.

Good bread is the most fundamentally satisfying of all foods; good bread with fresh butter, the greatest of feasts!  ~James Beard
(click on image for larger and more readable recipe)

lazyness

I have the third load of laundry in the washing machine,  my 3 bathrooms are if not gleaming like something out of a Mr. Clean commercial at least passably tidy and smelling faintly of whatever chemical they put in “Green Works” cleaning products.  I have an empty dishwasher and fresh linen on the beds.  There is a blob of hamburger thawing in my sink which will eventually resemble something we will call dinner.  The dog is laying in a patch of sunlight on the carpet, pleasantly tired after the 5km frolic we went on this morning.  Or rather, I walked a brisk 5 km,  and she ran to the edge of my sight and back again to my side over and over and over and over.  That being said if I suggested going out again she would happily bound along with the energy of a puppy.

As for me.. It is mid afternoon and I’m ready to take a break.  I sit in the warmth of the few stray rays of sunlight that have found their way into my home, looking out over the quiet neighbourhood from our perch on the hill at the end of the street.

Daisies

©RiverWalker Arts

“Stars are the daisies that begem The blue fields of the sky, Beheld by all, and everywhere, Bright prototypes on high.”
~ David Macbeth

When I have moments like this there is always guilt.  Guilt that I should be doing something else, something productive... I should be washing the windows.. or the dog, cleaning my closet, de-cluttering the spare room,  putting in a long run to prepare me for the race on April 10^th.  Maybe I should be baking, or scrubbing out the inside of my car ( which currently has slight “ ‘eau de wet dog” odour).  There are papers that I never get time at work to read which I should take out and read.  Or maybe that nagging feeling can handle me putting all these mundane tasks aside, and maybe the guilt I have is that I have neglected craft projects that need finishing, like that partially finished dress I was making for a masquerade party happened 2 years ago.  But as I think of dragging out all that work, and I look outside I have the feeling  that this sun will only last an hour at most before the rain sets in for another week and I Should really get out and do some early spring gardening... like pulling the weeds that are choking the flower beds and strangling the crocuses.  

But for some reason all that guilt, all that should, could, ought to do .... isn’t getting done and instead I’m languishing here relaxing, my novel tucked in next to my hip on the sofa.   

As winter creeps into March....

The deluge froze into a mountain of snow that accumulated, half melted re-froze, solidified into an ice sheet and then the snow fell again

My challenge – with artwork in tow.  Was to fly roughly 1000 km south in a  de Havilland Canada Dash 8 300 series turbo prop that was probably manufactured only slightly after I was born.  The way it works up here in the wet northern coast is that in the absence of any flat land on the island on which I live, it was necessary for those folks building the airport to place the runway on a neighbouring island ..  accessible only by ferry or water taxi.   And so on this auspicious morning I boarded the bus, that creaks and bounces and just generally feels like something used by a prison to haul inmates  -  it leaves from the hotel down town,  almost 3 hours before the flight is scheduled to depart,  and it takes luggage and passengers across on the ferry to the airport.

The bus was packed as the flight the night before had been cancelled due to terrible winds and white out snow conditions… and so squished like sardines in a can we drove to the ferry… onto the ferry… and the ferry never left. After some time we were informed that the lone truck that existed at the airport to which the blade for clearing snow was attached was broken in some manner and that it was not possible to clear the run way – therefore the planes would not be landing that day and a mechanic had been sent for.

Now – why they could not have rounded up one of the snowplows in town to ride the ferry with us and clear that run way I’ll never know… but the long and the short of it was that there was no way I was getting out of town that morning.

My option… to catch a grey hound bus to the nearest neighbouring town some 140 km along the single snow covered road that snakes out of town along the mighty River of Mists.  And so it was that I found myself watching 3 men trying to dig out the bus from a snowbank as it ploughed into town.   But 4 hours later I was behind the security check point at the airport and readying myself for a trip marvelling at snow capped peaks jutting angularly out of densely forested green hillsides that form this spectacular coastline complete with deep fjords and a myriad of odd shaped islands, patchy with clear-cuts and scared by logging roads. 



The Stark Blues of Winter

Original Watercolour

The wind stirs and the skeletal branches creak in protest like old rusted hinges.  The movement dislodges the newly settled snow and sends it swirling to the pallid earth.  The air seems clearer, the sky hangs low, and the world is full of possibilities.  The snow just keeps falling.  It coats the forest in powdery white, and makes the world stand still.   There is a surreal quality to the light, you could almost believe in magic on a day like today.

© RiverWalker Arts