Happy Canada Day (or how to paint your berries and eat them too)

In honour of the big birthday party, I decided to paint a composition in red and white with the last of the season's strawberries.  These were painted from life in the studio in a single session today (technically yesterday).  It was a struggle not to eat my berry models while I painted.

Last of the Summer Strawberries, oil on panel, 8" x 8"

Strawberry still life on the easel in progress

Sadly, the berries have now been eaten, every one.

Two weeks in to the new year

Well, Happy New-ish Year!

I still have a couple of these gorgeous clementines in my crisper.  I suppose beautiful citrus fruit is one of the perks of winter.  Something to countermand ice storms and sudden thaws, fallen tree limbs, and a roof leak caused by an ice dam in the eaves trough.  

Two clementines, oil on panel, 8" x 8"

This painting was my Christmas card image for 2013.

Lilacs and the relentless march of spring

Lilacs in a glass cup, oil on panel, 8" x 10"

The spring blossoms continue their relentless march. Magnolia, crabapple, serviceberry, and redbud--all finished. Daffodils and muscari long gone, and even the latest of the late tulips starting to drop their petals. The Siberian iris blossoms unfurl only to curl themselves up the very next day.  But the spectacular white tree peony at least is in full-blown bloom.  It's planted along the sidewalk where its scent and the almost obscene extravagance of its flowers stop passers by in their tracks.  Dogwoods, spirea in bloom, mock orange almost.  The season unfolds far too quickly.  I feel this way every year. Spring is the season I most wish I could draw out.  But today we have a forecast temperature of 30 degrees and the first heat alert of the year; the studio is sweltering, and towering white clouds, promising late day thunderstorms, are half crowding the blue sky out of my skylight windows, so it's futile. 

Still, I had to make some small attempt to arrest the season with a painting of lilacs clipped from the new tree (shrub really) I planted last week.  It's called Wedgwood Blue and its bracts smell like childhood adventures in untended gardens around the houses of great aunts.  But even now, the cut blooms are browning in their cup and the few I left on the tree are almost done. I'm already longing for next spring.

Three Italian Plums

Three Italian plums, oil on panel, 8" x 10"

Happy New Year!

All the jingle bells are packed away for another year.   Not a resolution, exactly, but I do hope to draw paint and post more actively this year.

Jingle Bell, oil on panel, 5" x 7", 2012

In between time

Mercury glass ball with red ribbon, oil on card, 5 1/2" x 7 1/2"

We're in that lull, the in between time, the almost end, almost beginning.  Something new just around the corner...

detail

They dined on quince...

Two paintings of quinces and pears: 

Quinces and pears in glass bowl, oil and metallic leaf on panel, 9" x 12", 2011

Quinces and pears in ceramic bowl, oil and distressed metallic leaf on panel, 10" x 10"

I've written about my love of quinces before and so I include my little treatise on this mysterious, astringent, aromatic fruit below:

Smell and memory are linked so closely that I can’t be sure how much my initial experience of this particular aroma has coloured my current perception, but I’m sure I can’t be alone in thinking this must be one of the most delicious scents anywhere.

Our first experience of it was in France. It was a moody September day just outside of Moustiers-Sainte Marie in Provence. As we drove the narrow road up a mountainside to our destination for that evening, the rain began to pour down. Through a miracle of good luck, we found our chateau, which emerged all rosy stucco and pale blue shutters at the end of a winding lane through a chestnut wood. The rain had stopped and afternoon sun was slanting through tree branches, raising a slight mist and turning everything to gold. Like so many French chateaux now being rented out by ambitious new owners to tourists, this one had fallen from its former glory, but its air of grandeur remained intact. We were early and since no one came to greet us when we called, we walked through the heavy open doors onto a worn limestone floor and then into a high ceilinged dark paneled room with an imposing stone mantle and game trophies crowding the walls. At one end of the room was a doorway lit by the sun which we headed towards almost automatically. There in a rustic back kitchen, glowing in the gorgeous late day sunshine, was a bounty of golden fruits and the most pervasive and wonderful smell.

It was un coup de foudre. The fruits were quinces. I was in love. 
I didn’t think the name, which sounded like a description of a pained expression, did justice to this fruit of the heavenly aroma, but then I discovered the inevitable downside to the seemingly perfect fruit: quinces, which look and smell like an otherworldly combination of apple and pear with a little extra je ne sais quoi, are too astringent and grainy to eat raw.
I’ve since poached quinces and strained them into gorgeous clear red jelly—their ivory flesh turns russet when cooked—but I love them best in a bowl, looking like slightly lumpy golden orbs and sending their lovely scent into every corner of my house. Sometimes, in the grocery store, I find quince imported from the middle east or asia, but the variety seems different, the fragrance not so intense. These ones came from the farmer’s market where two young girls told me they had climbed the tall quince tree in their backyard to pick them by hand the day before. Has anyone else fallen for a quince?. 

Two and three quarter figs

The proper way to eat a fig, in society..., 9" x 12", oil on gessoed panel

Underwriting the painting is an excerpt of an ostensibly instructional poem by D.H. Lawrence called, simply, "Figs".  It begins: "The proper way to eat a fig, in society,"...

detail

Whitefish

Whitefish, gutted and scaled, oil on canvas board, 8" x 8"

This whitefish, from Lake Huron, was the "rich fish" for our own version of bouillabaisse. It always feels a little different to buy the whole fish and have to confront the elegance of the complete animal --before cleaning, scaling, and chopping it up for the pot.

Happy New(ish) Year

Persimmons and Rambutans, oil on linen stretched over panel, 11" x 14"

This painting appeared, slightly cropped, on my Christmas card this year. Like last year, (that entry here), I was tempted to document the almost outrageous abundance and variety of food at this time of year. Here, in a medium sized city, in the dark and cold midwinter, I can walk downtown and return home with almost any fruit or vegetable I can name. So much for the seasonal and local mantra I find so easy to adopt in the summer. I'm not complaining--five months of root vegetables and increasingly soft apples is not a past I want to return to, but I wonder how long it can all last. I wish us all continued abundance (you choose the form) in the New Year.

Whodunit?, part 2

A couple of days ago the person who purchased one of my paintings at OCAD's mystery art fundraiser was kind enough to send me an email. I'm informed that the painting has already been framed to good effect in a floating frame, and that its new owner lined up at 5:00am, securing the 25th spot in line, to get it. I'm delighted to know it's gone to such a good home. I've been meaning to post the image for a while now, so here it is:

White-throated Sparrow--still life, oil on gessoed board, 5 1/2" x 7 1/2"

This unfortunate sparrow flew into a window. I'm fairly sure I heard it happen and found the little bird, still, but unmarred, on my porch just moments later. A small heartbreak. If I'd been a nineteenth century leisure class naturalist, I'd have made more detailed studies. I'm half sorry I didn't. It's not often that such an exquisite model just falls into one's hands.

White-throated Sparrow--still life, detail

White-throated sparrows have a distinctive, evocative call. If you live in North America, you may already know it. If you'd like to hear it, visit this wikipedia page and click on the audio file under Song and Calls.

Whodunit? Gala Preview at OCAD

Lemon, cut and squeezed, oil on gessoed card, 5 1/2" x 7 1/2" private collection

Last night I attended the Whodunit? Gala Preview and Auction at the Ontario College of Art & Design (OCAD). For me, a flâneur at heart, it was a perfect opportunity to infiltrate the well-dressed crowd and to watch, entirely incognito, as people braved the crush to scrawl down their bids for the small works--my still life lemon painting (above)--was one of them. None of the artists' names was revealed, so unless people were already familiar with a particular artist's style, it was a completely blind bidding process. I was extremely gratified to see that my painting was an early favourite, and at my last check, 5 minutes before bidding closed, had secured a price more than double the cost of my complimentary gala ticket. I don't know in whose hands the painting left, but I would love to. If you are the new owner of "Lemon, cut and squeezed", please do let me know.

The auctioneer for the live auction of larger works was very entertaining, but I left before all the works had been presented to take a quick survey of the downstairs gallery of small works which will be sold at the public mystery art sale for the low price of $75 apiece beginning on Saturday. One of the OCAD attendants at the auction told me that public demand for the small works is usually so high that people begin to line up hours before the doors open. To see the online preview of the works on offer, click here. One of my paintings is still available in the public sale. But I can't reveal anything...yet. I'll post a picture once the sale is over.

Lemon, cut and squeezed (detail)

All proceeds from the Whodunit? art auctions and public sale go to support programs at OCAD. It's not too late to buy an original artwork and support a worthy cause.

Twin Planes

Twin Carter Mitre Planes, brass with ebony infill, oil on canvas board, 8" x 10"

This painting of my twin mitre planes--planes given to me by the very generous Bill Carter, planemaker, and his wife Sarah--should be on a plane en route to Bill and Sarah right about now. To read the whole long story, click here. I thought I had completed the painting a couple of months ago, but several things about it continued to bother me. So, just when I was on the verge of sending it off to Bill and Sarah, I unpacked it and put it back on the easel.

the painting before...

and after my changes

I made some minor changes and then painted a dark glaze over much of the background, obscuring but not omitting the Carter name in the background. Normally, I'm not a fan of oily paint and prefer a fairly matte surface on my finished paintings--especially my portraits, but something about this still life seemed to lend itself to a little more gloss. Although it won't be apparent on screen, my changes affected the sheen of the painting and gave it a richness the original lacked. I'm much happier with this new version and hope it will find a good home with Bill and Sarah.

Outlier

Outlier--still life with tomatoes, oil on board, 5" x 7", 2009

January 11

Winter citrus, oil on maple panel, 11 3/4" x 11 3/4", 2009

Green Chysanthemum

Green Chrysanthemum, oil on board, 5" x 7", 2008

My last painting of 2008.

January 5

Pomegranates, oil on maple panel, 11 3/4" x 11 3/4", 2007

Pomegranates figured in my painting for last year's Christmas card as well. Somehow, I neglected to post it here.

Pomegranates (detail), 2007

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I hope you had a wonderful holiday season.

Once, a still life with pineapple and pomegranates, oil and gold leaf on plywood panel, 15 3/4" x 19 3/4"

This is the full painting that I used as the basis of my Christmas card this year. I was thinking about the incredible abundance of once exotic and rare fruits, especially in this frigid part of the world. Given the unpredictability of our climate, our fuel costs, and our economy, to say nothing of the new focus on locally produced foods, I thought I'd paint some of these exotic-become-commonplace subjects before they become the exclusive fare of the super rich once again.

Interconnectedness

Mitre plane in brass and boxwood, oil and gold leaf on panel, 10" x 10"

Last winter, our neighbour Konrad milled a window sill for us. Konrad Sauer happens to be a highly sought after maker of custom hand planes. You can see his work here: Sauer and Steiner. In exchange for the sill we agreed I would paint at least one still life portrait of a piece or pieces from his hand tool collection.

Only in the last couple of weeks, thinking a still life painting would be a nice break after the frenetic pace of Star Portraits, did I finally make it over to his shop to get a bit of a primer on hand planes, woods, and metals, and to select one of his storied collection of hand tools as the subject for a still life painting.

We settled on an amazing miniature mitre plane, made from the brass of an old tenon saw back and infilled with English boxwood. The brass bears the stamped marks of the original saw maker alongside those of the plane maker, Bill Carter, who lives in Leicester England with his wife Sarah, and who has made more than 700 planes in his lifetime. You can see Bill and Sarah’s excellent website here: Bill Carter Hand Made Planes. The little plane is an exquisite object in itself, all the moreso when you realize that it is a precise, efficient woodworking tool. These tools of astonishing beauty are made by hand with care and precision and are purchased by wood workers and furniture makers who hand craft wood into furniture or cabinetry or musical instruments that will last for generations. What a contrast to the disposable world of cheaply produced goods most of us live in.

I have the utmost respect for these makers of hand tools—I like to think we share a certain sensibility. I am looking forward to recording some of these unique tools, so unfamiliar to many of us, and so different from the mass produced tools so readily available, in still life portraits.

The story might have ended here, but it does not…

In my larger painting series, I have often incorporated text into the backgrounds of my paintings—to suggest a narrative that runs deeper than the surface of the person or thing I have painted. I am always drawn to story and to the written word. When I got the little plane back to my studio, I took a look at the website of its maker: Bill Carter Hand Made Planes

Mitre plane in brass and boxwood, oil and gold leaf on panel, detail

After reading about Bill’s plane making I decided to contact Bill and Sarah to request permission to use the stories from their website in the background of my painting, to which they readily and generously agreed. Imagine my surprise when several days later I opened my inbox to discover that I would be the extremely honoured recipient of two Bill Carter miniature mitre planes—tenon saw brass bodies and ebony infill, stamped with Bill’s name and address across the heels. I was so moved. I am extremely flattered. Of course I intend to show my gratitude with portraits of the miniature planes for Bill and Sarah. Almost overnight I have become an amateur of hand tools with a tiny but meaningful collection. I will post portraits of the tools on this blog in the future.

How amazing that in repaying the kindness of a neighbour, I have made a connection with a couple an ocean away who will bestow on me an incredible gift, which I will attempt to repay and each of us will have a little something of the other to remind us of this connection. How unexpected, and how lovely.

February 27

Winter hope, oil on wood panel, 9 3/4" x 15 3/4"
SOLD

Unfortunately my high hopes for the subject of this painting, a hyacinth bulb, were dashed when I realized that in spite of the healthy root system and promising green sprout, my bulb (and all of my hyacinth bulbs this year) was a dud. It grew just that much and then gave up. So I'm saving my hopes for spring. Today, with even more snow on the ground and a forecast low of -21 C, I think I may have a long wait. Last fall I was on a bit of a quest to find hyacinth glasses, which seem to be very common in Europe and virtually unheard of here (except for the clumsy versions that sometimes come prepackaged in a gift box with a hyacinth bulb). So I was excited when I spotted this vase with its hyacinth glass shape in IKEA. I have two large ones, which provided successful habitat for two amaryllis bulbs, and two smaller ones, which may have played a role in arresting the development of the hyacinths. Maybe I shouldn't have messed around with the vase designer's intentions. Maybe it was a case of bad chi. But now, all hope for this bulb is abandoned--except in the painting where (in Grecian urn fashion) hope springs eternal.