GREAT PYRENEES, PORTRAITS AND PROJECTS

     Luki at a Neighbour's House

          Ding, dong, dang it anyway, that white fluffy stuff is falling out of the belligerent sky again - the weatherman is calling for an additional 10" over night.  The snow was almost 3' deep and with the snow plow traveling down the road in front of the pasture on a regular basis, it is now 4' deep on either side of the road.  Luki and the goat, until I tethered them were just walking over the fence and wandering all over the place, so with the extra snow fall, it's going to be awhile before we even see the top of the fence posts.  The photo of Luki was taken about half a mile away; Great Pyrenees are noted for their roaming and from the way Luki is looking at the picnic table, I'm thinking he's wondering...when will the grub be served - not till summer time Luki old boy.

Portrait in Progress  

          

          I've been painting this portrait off and on for awhile; seem to be having a little trouble with the elderly woman.  Although, anyone who has dropped by the studio, says she looks a lot like the photos I'm working from.  However, the customer doesn't think she looks like her mother and I guess she should know.  I just emailed her this photo of the painting, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that she will approve the changes I made - if not - there's a very good chance this portrait has pretty much come to an end.  I don't know if there are any portrait painters  reading this blog, but for me, working from small 4"x6" photographs that someone took with a flash, the details and the skin tones can be on a whole different level, plus, a lot of the detail is lost when it's blown up.

          I've always found painting portraits real challenging, perhaps that's why I enjoy doing them.  I've painted a lot of them over the years and as much as I hate to admit it, they have not always been successful.  I'm not overly concerned about this one; I just don't want to spend too much additional time on it since the price I gave was on the real low side and I've got several other paintings on the go,which I would like to complete before winter finally blows itself out and stops filling New Brunswick with great heaps of snow.

          I don't know what's wrong with me lately; my get up and go seems to have got up and left - ambitious, I'm not.  Perhaps I burnt myself out with all my building projects during last summer - my old body just doesn't seem as energetic as it used to be.  Also, when I think about adding a 12'x30' addition to the house to expand Sarah's little summer coffee shop, I can't help thinking how painful it'll be, not to mention the expense.  Sarah doesn't want me climbing any ladders either but with about a 12' ceiling in the centre of the addition, unless I can stretch these 2 bony, lily white legs of mine, I don't see that I have any choice.  Plus, I'll no sooner get that finished and it will be almost time to start renovating the upstairs bathroom and enlarging Jessica's room with a closet and shelving.  Jeesh, no wonder my ambition has gone south with whats remaining of my physique.  However, I guess I have to look at my projects logically, the longer I put them off, the older this old man will be and the weaker I'll become as well.  Should have been doing this sort of stuff when I was an energetic 60 year old.  I'm thinking with all the projects just over the horizon, I'd better go grab me a cold bottle of beer and relax - just thinking about all the work has just plumb wore me out - cheers, eh!               

IT'S GREAT TO HAVE A HOME

          I just arrived back from the big city, the big city being Toronto, ON.  I'd spent about a week there visiting my daughter Brandi, grandson Ethan and her husband James.  Instead of flying this time, I decided to be a touch daring and use the bus lines for my method of conveyance, thought it might be a touch adventurous since most of the trip would be through Quebec, where the main language spoken is French.  And, I have to admit, since I transferred four times during the journey, I became a little tense when speaking only English and a smattering of French, when I had to converse with a bus driver and a couple of ticket agents that spoke only French or a smattering of English.
          One of the destinations from Woodstock, NB to Toronto was Montreal and at 3:00am in the morning, a 3 hour wait before I caught another bus to Ottawa, I proceeded out into the bitterly cold night to a coffee shop, which was located a couple of blocks away.  Unlike Fosterville, NB, where I live, population about 135 people during the winter, everyone most likely asleep in bed snoring away, the downtown streets of Montreal were alive with people.  An amiable young man at the counter, although we couldn't converse, smilingly served me a cranberry muffin and a coffee, which I'd pointed to.  Money wasn't a problem as I just made sure I gave him more money than what the bill would have come to and he would make the appropriate right amount of change.
        While I sat near the window sipping my hot coffee and nibbling at my muffin, I couldn't help but notice a man dressed in a coat with a hoody that covered most of his face.  He had a very peculiar way of walking.  His head was held back as if looking at the stars and his body was arched at a severe angle as he constantly circled the corner, arms flailing in all directions.  I was surprised, since the sidewalks were slightly icy and the wind was blowing quite wildly down the streets between the towering buildings, that he didn't stumble or fall into an oncoming vehicle's path.  Although traffic lights were situated at the corner, I watched him suddenly awkwardly dart across the street during a red light, where he stopped just past the window I was looking out and began talking to a man that was dressed in a similar fashion.  Although, I couldn't hear them, I saw them both reach into their pockets and exchange something, which I concluded to be money for drugs.  At least that was my guess, because the man once again crossed the street to the corner and then entered an apartment building.  Just when I thought he was set for the night, he came back outside and resumed circling the corner and asking anybody who came near him for a handout.
          Inside the coffee shop, seated near the door, were two young couples, quite likely University students.  Although I couldn't understand anything they were saying, I enjoyed listening to them as they talked quite loudly and very animatedly, their smiles and laughter almost contagious.  An older woman, around 60-65 years of age, was sitting at a nearby table.  She was surrounded by plastic bags (I suspect everything she owned).  She was nursing a cup of coffee, obviously prolonging her stay before she would be once again on the streets of Montreal at the mercy of the freezing cold.  I felt sorry for her - at that age, to be all alone must be a misery in itself, let alone not having any money to afford a place to live.
          Where I live, like us, people don't have very much money, and after 3 years, seldom going to a large city like Montreal and Toronto, I forgot about how many homeless people are on the streets, and during the winter, their lives must be totally abysmal.  In Toronto, I saw two men in the early morning; people busily going to work.  They were laying on the corner in front of Starbucks.  Before I reached them, I saw a woman who was passing by, stop and kneel down.  I don't know if she received a response or not because neither man moved.  When I drew nearer, about to cross the busy street on a green light, I noticed one of the men wasn't wearing any socks or shoes.  His feet must have been frozen because the temperature that morning was -22 degrees and a stiff breeze was blowing.  I can only imagine that a street person in need of footwear had taken the man's shoes and socks - I sometimes wonder what sort of people we've become.  Although I did throw some money into a few extended cups, I could see that if one were to walk around the downtown areas and handed out money to all the needy, one would soon become one of the needy.
          Instead of arriving at nine in the morning, which I had been assuredly told by a bus depot ticket attendee who spoke a little English, I arrived at 2:30 in the afternoon.  Brandi was worried, although they had taken Ethan to Emergency at the hospital because he had breathing difficulties and he was now fine, that her dad, which is something I often do, was wandering to their house through the alleys; I have a high regard for graffiti when it is very well done.
          I had a great time in Toronto; never watched so much of Tree House with Ethan; if I'd stayed much longer, I probably could have sang a lot of children's tunes and even got some exercise as they taught the wee viewers to stretch, jump up and down, touch their toes, etc.  It's a touch strange now, because when I lived in Nanaimo, BC, Brandi lived the farthest and since moving to NB, she's now the closest.  But still, Toronto is a long way off and whether I journey by plane, bus or train, it's a touch on the expensive side, so it's something that can't be done on a regular basis.  Besides visiting with Brandi's family and extended family, which is always a good time, I also took in the Ontario Art Gallery; not sure if it inspired me or not; still have yet to pick up a paint brush.
          I could easily write more but like a lot of old men my age, I really should pay attention when people start falling asleep listening to me - most likely, a few of you readers, if you've read this far, have fallen asleep on your keyboards and when you wake up will have the alphabet in reverse imprinted on your heads - cheers, eh!
             

WOLVES AND UNICORNS

Akela

          Finally finished the painting of Akela; some of you may have seen it on Facebook before I added a few more brushstrokes and signed my name.  It's not for sale because I promised it to a friend who liked it before the painting was half way finished; he saw what I was seeing in the wolf's eyes; no doubt about it, he's the leader of the pack.  I'm going to paint a few more wolves shortly and I may or may not offer them for sale on my blog and Facebook but I'm certainly interested in anyone's thoughts regarding commissioning me to paint one for them or any other animal that they choose.  

          Wolves have always held a certain fascination for me and from what I've read about them, they've been given a very bad rap over the centuries, especially attacks on humans.  Now bears, especially grizzly and polar bears are a lot more dangerous in that regard - we're part of their menu.  When I lived in Calgary years ago, a friend of mine Jimmy Hughes (radio and TV DeeJay) were strolling through the zoo, when we met a man in a zoo uniform playing with what we considered to be a large dog.  As it turned out, the dog was a 6 month old timber wolf.  He allowed us to pet and play with the wolf too.  I can remember the wolf grabbing my arm, my hand entirely enclosed in his long jaws and when he let go, not one of his sharp teeth had so much as penetrated my skin; there wasn't so much as a red mark.  I've only seen one in the wilds and it was during a bus ride from Prince George, BC to Vancouver.  The bus was moving rather slowly at that moment and as I looked out the window, within the shadows of the forest alongside the highway, as if it was an integral part of the forest, I glimpsed a wolf standing and looking back at me (at least that's how it seemed).

Midnight Unicorn

          Since we call our 50 acres, which is located at the base of Green Mountain, in the semi-wilds of NB, Golden Unicorn Farm, I've decided to paint some of the illusive unicorns that are occasionally seen frolicking and cavorting around the property.   Like some of the other paintings I've done beforehand, I thought some of the readers of this blog might like to see the painting from start to finish.  So far, I've managed to sketch one of the unicorns as it daringly ran past my studio window (sure have to be amazingly quick with a pencil - forget the eraser; you either capture it at the moment or you don't.  Of course, since I doubt the unicorn could hold that pose, I now have a wide amount of artistic freedom to paint it as I feel.  Like many of my other paintings, I've used the moon and stars as part of the background so I'm still debating whether to do so or not.  

          Unicorns, like horses, have always been an important part of my life and when I started my advertising business many years ago in Calgary, I designed a unicorn for the logo.  The name of my Calgary based business was Unique Advertising, which I might add, was very successful in those days, when I was barely 30 years of age.  I also used the logo when I opened a gallery, The Golden Unicorn Art Gallery and when I self-published a book I wrote for a friend, I self- published it under Golden Unicorn Publishing.  Not in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would spend the remainder of my days in a place called Fosterville on an acreage that unicorns just seem to love; hence the name Golden Unicorn Farm.  Also, my wife Sarah and I put on an arts festival in August, called, you guessed it, Golden Unicorn Arts Festival.  Although I'm now, I guess what a person might call retired, I think I work harder building and caring for our critters; cleaning out a coop of over 100 chickens dropping their little loads all over the place, take my word for it; at age 71; it's a real job - fortunately, it's not a daily job.  Wow!  I think I just saw a white unicorn prancing across our snowy field - white on white - it was a little difficult to discern and they're very quick - like quicksilver!

          I recently designed something we're considering using for a poster or T-Shirt.  Due to the high prices I've been receiving in regards to using this design on a T-Shirt, I'm not sure if I can afford to get any printed, at least for re-sale.  I would appreciate any comments anyone has regarding this design and if you would consider wearing this sort of apparel, since it's a little tongue-in-cheek.  Also, how much would you be willing to spend on such an item; keep in mind the T-Shirt will be of good quality?  Since I've done a lot of silk-screening in my day, I even tossed around the idea of printing them myself - have to admit though - didn't take very long to discourage that thought.  Besides costing quite a lot of money to do such a thing, I think after miles of pulling a squeegee, I'm totally done with that art form.  Just thinking about silk-screening once again has worked up a powerful thirst - time to fetch me a cold beer - cheers, eh!                                                    

WARM AND COMFY IN MY NEW STUDIO

Portrait Nearing Completion

          The portrait portion of the painting is mostly finished and as you can see in the lower left corner, I've started painting Walter Stockford as he was often seen during one of his many walks.  Kind of reminds me of myself because I've always enjoyed walking and hiking, especially in the wilds.  But not today, our little place is in the midst of a full-blown winter blizzard, visibility at times, only 50'; the wind chill taking your breath away when you step into it.   When I opened the door this morning, the snow had drifted in front of the doorway, the depth past my knees and across the yard, in front of the garage door where I was heading, the snow was over waist deep.  Fortunately, even though the fire went out in my studio during the night and it was icy cold when I went inside, I'd had the foresight to tie the door shut (because of the frost heaves, the door doesn't close tightly) otherwise I probably would have been confronted with a huge snowdrift inside the building.  The studio is once again warm; the fire crackling down below didn't take very long to generate enough heat to make it once again very comfortable, especially as I watch the snow, almost horizontally, fly by the window and listen to the roar of the wind buffeting the building.  I was told that this winter, is the way it used to be approximately ten years earlier; perhaps an omen of global warming.

          I watched a documentary on the taiga (Siberia), which was about three men who lived mostly off the land.  During the summer, when daylight shines approximately 20 hours a day, they were gardeners and during the long winter months they headed into the forests to trap sable in order to earn a little money to purchase necessary items and foods they were unable to grow themselves.  In one scene, one of the men, while checking his traps, said at -30 degrees, it was a mild day.  I felt shivers going up and down my backbone as I watched him reset his trap with bare hands and if that wasn't enough to make me shiver, when he returned home shortly before nightfall, a large tree had fallen down on top of his small shack, which did a fair amount of damage.  I noticed he had a very sharp axe, shaped very much like a tomahawk, which was one of his main tools, and before long, he had soon chopped the tree into sections and pushed them out of the way.  After he had chinked up any holes that had been caused by the falling tree, he soon had a fire going inside his tiny cabin.  He only had a dog for company during the winter and it wasn't allowed inside.  Being a city-dweller most of my life with a central heating system I could adjust by simply turning a knob and usually having someone around almost all of the time, I'm not sure that I'd be able to endure and cope with the harshness of winter or be alone over quite a long period of time - most likely come down with a serious bout of cabin-fever.

          The trees are swaying erratically in the wind and I'm surprised the power is still on; usually a tree would have taken out one of the power lines or a transformer would have overloaded and blown by now.  It's definitely an indoor day and if I didn't have animals and chickens to tend to I would have stayed inside.  The wind must have been blowing through some cracks and small holes under the back part of the house last night because the cold water pipe and the drain are frozen solid again, even though we left the tap dripping.  But it's not really a problem because we still have the upstairs bathroom and the kitchen plumbing, which are working properly - even have hot water, so that's a bonus - I may even have a hot soak in the tub later with a paper novel and a cold beer.  Although Sarah's teenage daughter bitterly complains about everything, I hardly feel that we're "roughing" it.  I can't say that I've ever lived under very harsh circumstances during my life, always been warm, food in my belly and earned enough money for even frivolous and unnecessary items, dinners out, entertainment and vacations; adoration's of the middle classes and higher.

          When I was working hard in the summer, building the interior of the studio and other necessary chores, I could hardly wait until winter arrived so I could take a long break and now that it's here with a vengeance, with still no sight ending, I'm thinking to myself, especially once I start shoveling through the snow drifts, winter could come to a close, at least the freezing part and the snow.  The snow is so heavy at the moment, the ridge has completely disappeared; I can't imagine how the animals that don't hibernate and the birds that don't fly south for the winter exist on days like this.  They must just hunker down in the snow, stand behind some large boulders or tuck themselves into little cozy holes to stay warm and out of the weather; I would think foraging for food on days like this would be right out of the question.

          Well, I've sat here long enough, time to do something else besides writing a blog; should probably chop a little wood from the look of the supply stacked near the wood stove; she's going to be a cold, blowy day - cheers, eh!

PROCRASTINATION

Day 2: Just Starting to Paint

          It's amazing how little time I actually get to paint - almost any distraction will lead me in another direction.  So I ask myself, why should I be writing a blog instead of painting - it's simple; procrastination is my middle name   

          As I look out the window, a winter ballet has just begun performing.  Small snowflakes, white as Hell's ashes, are gently pirouetting in the breeze; winter's cold hands applauding their graceful descent from the heavens.  The sky is cloudy and weighs heavy like a cloak upon the ridge.  However, despite the clutching clouds, hints of sunlight glowing on the naked birch trees; their buds, still shivering, are patiently awaiting spring's warmth.  The heat of the fire downstairs embraces me and warms my soul.  Though many things die in winter, including old men, I still feel the heart within this old chest beating a conscious desire to meet and greet my 71st spring.

          The painting of Walter Stockford and his wife sits upon a small easel just to the right of me; their eyes watching my every move, awaiting the magic, which will begin to flow as soon as I quit writing this blog.  They make me feel guilty, as if they are demanding "Get busy, mix some paints on your colourful palette and start painting some more life into us Lenny!"

          However, their voices are silent, which is a good thing.  But then again, it might be interesting to hear what they have to say, especially if each brush stroke brought them back to life and happier times.  Imagine, painting out the wrinkles, tightening up the jowls, adding more hair and colour, taking them back in time, instead of their wedding anniversary, which may be the photo I'm using as reference for the portraits but to that special day when they married, looked into each other's eyes and told one another of their everlasting love. 

          A wedding day is certainly a very special day.  For me, I haven't been married too long for the second time; almost six years.  I remember it well, especially when the minister told me I could kiss the bride.  As I held Sarah close, the scent of her hair adorned with colourful Gerber daisies, her soft lips touching mine, her hands gently cupping my face, I remember vividly willing myself to remember, cherish and hang onto that special moment.  Although the fleetness of that moment left me grasping the air;where she once stood next to me, I'm positive that at that moment, she had became an integral part of my soul.

          Oh those piercing eyes of Walter Stockford are really beginning to get to me.  Although he is smiling, because his mouth is still unfinished being painted, his portrait thus far looks as if he could be speaking, perhaps telling me to get the hell off the computer and get busy with the painting.  I think next time I write a blog, if the painting is still unfinished, I'll lay it face down on the table; that way I won't feel so guilty about not finishing the painting - cheers, eh!