Sheila Norgate, Visual Artist and Recovering Nice Girl

it's all in/on the tools

2011-10-03T15:33:00.000-07:00

I would like to say that this magnificent image is a painting I'm working on.

But alas, I will come clean and say that it's only what ended up on a palette knife just before I scraped it off yesterday.

Inadvertent, accidental, beautiful, unfettered and completely outside of my conscious intention.

The best art comes from that.

been gone so long

2011-09-11T09:22:00.000-07:00

I have been remiss in the blogging department. Experts say that one should really blog at least once each week to even HOPE to be recognized by the search engines. I could come up with many terrific excuses, such as....my fingers suddenly became so large that it was impossible to type. But that would only lead to skepticism in addition to not being recognized by the search engines.

But I am going to make a concerted effort to blog more often.
It might be good for me.

show at Agnes Bugera Gallery in Edmonton

2011-05-23T21:05:00.001-07:00

I flew out to Edmonton this past saturday to attend the opening of my two person show at Agnes Bugera Gallery. Thankfully, not everyone had left town for the long weekend, and there was a steady stream of people stopping by.
I met Janice Ryan who had written a great review of the show for the Edmonton Journal.

It was great to have some meaningful conversations with people about the work.

A good time was had by all.

the best laid plans

2011-05-10T13:30:00.001-07:00

Believe it or not, this is one canvas having gone through an extreme makeover artist edition. I started in March with this great idea: a collage of a vintage image of a woman looking very sad, juxtaposed with a dog leaving the area. It made perfect sense to me. However, as you can see, somewhere it all got lost in translation, and finally, just today in fact, I ended up with what I feel is a really good painting.
Phew!
Good thing I have learned a thing or two about surrender.

too busy to blog

2011-04-27T12:29:00.000-07:00

I suppose it's a really good problem to have...being too busy painting, to blog about painting. There's a great line in an even greater old movie ('the more the merrier' 1943) where Charles Coburn's character says that there are two kinds of people in the world: those who write in diaries, and those who are out doing the things the other people write about in their diaries.
I was struck by this little passage, and even went so far as to write it down in my journal.
Oh dear, I suppose that makes me someone who writes in her diary about those who are out doing the things that people like me write in their diaries about. Oh well.

I have been very busy preparing for a two-person show coming in a few weeks at Agnes Bugera Gallery in Edmonton. That's my story about why I haven't been blogging more these past many weeks and I am sticking to it.

Around she goes.

it ain't over until the amply proportioned woman sings

2011-03-06T15:46:00.001-08:00

Here's another pair of 'before and afters'. A lot of water under this bridge for sure. And time too. I started this one in January and it's now March. It's not that I work on them continuously, but more that they hang around in various stages of dress (or undress, depending on how well things are going) and I go back into them with fresher eyes. As I said a while back, I am always working on more than one canvas.

I love how this one came out.

Because she has a song

2011-02-27T13:14:00.000-08:00

"A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song" (Maya Angelou).

I've posted two images, an early one from when I was just starting out on this canvas a few weeks ago, and below it, the finished painting. As often happens, there isn't much from the first few marks that has survived the heat of the creative fire. But one thing that came early and stayed late - all the way through to be exact - was that singing bird.

I expect she must have quite a song.

HEARTSPEAK event a lovely affair

2011-02-13T13:40:00.000-08:00

Well, the weather outside was frightful, but the company was so delightful as those who braved the pelting rain yesterday found out at my annual heartspeak event. We had a lovely time. Even the Barbies were into it.

I have posted the unsold work here on my website.

headed for winnipeg, ends up in saskatoon

2011-02-09T20:51:00.000-08:00

I love it when the unexpected happens while I'm working; when I discover something willy nilly; when I set out for Winnipeg and end up in Saskatoon. Call it divine will, kismet, or a favorite of artists around the world - the happy accident.

I use a lot of stamps in my work and with the exception of commercially prepared alphabet letters, I make them myself. I make them out of cheap and cheerful and decidedly non-precious, neo-crude, peri-conceptual materials like styrofoam and cardboard.

In the first image here, I used a large cardboard heart to apply paint early on in the process. The thing about stamps loaded with acrylic paint, is that after you've pressed them down onto the canvas, when you go to pull the stamp away, some of the paint gets sucked back off and out, away from the canvas and forms little peaks and valleys which when dry, remain as little peaks and valleys. Of course one could smooth it all out while the paint is still wet, but that would mean missing at least half the fun of the printmaking endeavour, which simply put, is that you never know for sure what you have until you have it, and no matter how many times you use the same printing block/stamp, the results will be different every time.

But I digress.

This painting is called "heart in hand" and it will be in my HEARTSPEAK studio event this Saturday. I've enlarged a section of it to point out the aforementioned peaks and valleys effect which became very visible after many delicate washes of colour, rubbed on with a damp cloth. What thrilled me this time, is that I ended up with an effect which is very reminiscent of the systems of arteries and veins that course through and around the heart. I couldn't have made that point with any more poignancy if I had tried.

Another happy accident. Another afternoon in Saskatoon.

what makes a painting a painting?

2011-02-04T12:46:00.000-08:00

I was working on this little piece today and I couldn't help but notice the sheer volume of paint on the backdrop surface. This is where I discharge excess paint from my brushes, or mix colours as I go.

Since a picture is worth a thousand words, the second shot below, pans out to show the small painting imbedded in the backdrop.

Looking at it, one might well ask just exactly how much paint is not on the painting itself. And then one might further ask, is the 'intentional' painting (the one I set out to paint) really any better than the unintentional painting. The intentional painting benefits from conscious effort, a trained eye, and a certain amount of discipline. But the other one, the one I didn't mean to paint, perhaps benefits from not having those very same qualities.

Over the years, I've had many offers from patrons wishing to buy my background wall(s).
Are they on to something?

a bedroom is a studio by another name

2011-01-31T10:25:00.001-08:00

Here's another painting underway. I always work on more than one at a time, sometimes as many as 4 or 5. And it's not like I have a big studio, you know, the huge manhattan loft fantasy with exposed brick walls, polished concrete floors, and controlled rent. No, I paint in a room in my house. A bedroom, to be exact.

Years ago, one of my mentors, a Vancouver dealer, took me to the outskirts of the city to visit a painter in his studio. This fellow was very prolific, very professional, with a booming career. His work was courageous and cutting edge and filled with integrity.

And yes, he painted in a bedroom out there in his modest suburban bungalow.

I came across a great book a while back, Inside the Painter's Studio by Joe Fig. It's a series of interviews with, as you might have guessed, painters. This is Chuck Close:

"I can make art anywhere, any time....I mean, I know so many artists for whom having the perfect space is somehow essential. They spend years designing, building, outfitting the perfect space, and then when it is just about time to get to work, they'll sell that place and build another one. It seems more often than not, a way to keep from having to work. You know, once I have my back to the room, I could be anywhere. I could be in Sheila Norgate's bedroom."

OK, so I added that last bit. But really, I am so totally with Chuck on this one.

testing for done-ness

2011-01-26T19:25:00.001-08:00

Here's a painting under way. It's not done yet, and there's no telling what might happen as I stand there and continue to throw paint (and caution) to the wind. I won't know what will stay and what will go, until it's all over.

It's a little like how I used to test spaghetti noodles for done-ness back in the 1970s when my hostessing skills were still rather rudimentary.

I would throw it on the ceiling.
If it stayed up there, it was done.

rose red

2011-01-21T19:08:00.000-08:00

An artist I have never met called me the other day to say she was selling some acrylic paint and was I interested. I asked her what brand it was, and when she said Stevenson's I decided to go over. That's my brand and I'm sticking to it.

She had some colours I normally use and some I don't normally use. I try to keep to a fairly limited palette to start off with, and that way I can make things up as I go. I am a better painter because of this practice, at least as far as colour theory goes. Not that I have ever been asked at a dinner party, to name the analogous hue closest to yellow-green or explain the merits of the tetradic colour scheme.

But she had some of this one colour "rose red". There was something about it that grabbed me and I brought home all three jars.

The woman who sold me the paint is gravely ill. She is unable to walk. She is moving away to be closer to family. She will never paint again.

There was something about it that grabbed me.

It's all about the painting

2011-01-20T18:53:00.000-08:00

I have decided to put my eggs in one basket as it were, and limit my blogospheric musings to matters more directly related to my practice as a painter.

I know many of my women readers (there must be at least six) will be aghast at this turn of events, because they have been counting on me to provide charm and beauty tips as I conduct research for my new book, Dangerous Curves. But I promise to do everything in my power to get this book published as soon as possible or during my lifetime (which ever comes first) and will keep you posted when any large developments take place. In the meantime, do the best you can with what you have at hand.

So above then, is a brand new painting called "love struck", part of a body of work I am creating for my annual Heartspeak studio show. I was having a chat with one of my dealers the other day, and she posited that my work had perhaps become a tad too cerebral for the average art buyer. She was referring in particular, to my troubled attachment to Sigmund Freud and offered in as sensitive a manner as she could muster, that not everyone gets it. So I have decided to rest my psychoanalytical case for a while at least, and just throw some paint around.

It's a serious lot of fun.

Dogs Replacing Drugs in Therapy for Stress

2011-01-03T19:30:00.000-08:00

I was reading just the other day in the Province newspaper, that the US government is spending millions of dollars on a pilot program that provides trained psychiatric service dogs for war veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress. According to the home page of the US Army website, "Medication works 50 percent of the time. Talk therapy alone, works 30 percent of the time, and dogs work 84.5 percent of the time."

I could have told them this for the price of a handful of biscuits.

Wiener Dog Fills in for Baby Jesus in Bizarre Creche Incident

2011-01-02T16:40:00.000-08:00

I had a New Year's Eve party at my house the other night, and among the many mysterious and wondrous things that happened, was the deliberate alteration of one of my carefully and artfully placed decorative scenes. Yes, at some point in the revelry, someone committed a creche infraction.
The weiner dog was there when the party started because this set of vintage wise men did not come with a baby Jesus. But the scene took a whole other turn when a mystery guest placed the dog on its back nestled in a tissue bedroll, and placed a ripple potato chip between its front legs.
You can dress some friends up....

Photo by Laura Lasby who assures me that she merely documented the result and was in no way involved in the actual alteration.

Seasonal Balls

2010-12-13T15:48:00.000-08:00

Nothing says Christmas like seasonal balls I always say. And since I just had my annual holiday studio event, I thought it appropriate to offer up this cheery set of colourful rotundities.
It was a lovely affair in the studio, with many paintings finding homes and almost all of the snacks also finding corporeal domiciles.

The remaining new works have been posted to my website. Go here for small works, and there for the larger ones.

Too Little Too Late

2010-12-10T18:35:00.000-08:00

According to Carlotta C. Greer, author of Your Home and You, a 730 page homeconomics tome published in 1955, "A quart (of cow's milk) a day, either as a drink or in foods, may help send a girl on the road to popularity". p. 52

This news comes tragically late for me, a recently committed vegetarian with strong vegan leanings. I can only hope that all my years of drinking milk will stand me in good stead in the popularity department, as I soldier on in the social trenches without benefit of bovine assisted esteem.

Camels File Class Action Libel Suit

2010-12-06T18:58:00.000-08:00

This is from a 1947 book on women's posture called Your Carriage Madam (John Wiley and Sons, New York).

"If you've been sitting in a very low seat or on the floor, don't get up like a camel, hind end first. It's hard work and it's unbecoming - even to the camel."

Really.

Girlfriend can you spare a dime?

2010-11-25T15:23:00.000-08:00

I was in Victoria last week for my Blank Canvas presentation at Vancouver Island School of Art. I know it's not ladylike to blow one's horn, but the show did sell out.

But that's not the subject of this blog entry.

The VISA carries on its business in an old elementary school which has been left pretty much untouched from the days when it served the young boys and girls of the area.

I have a real fondness for old institutional buildings. Perhaps in a past life I was a caretaker in a castle.
Anyways, I found the girls bathroom to have a particularly charming patina about it. For one, the stall doors are so short, you could carry on a complete conversation over them. I suppose it's not so much that the doors are short, but that everyone I know is tall.

But it was the Kotex dispenser that really caught my eye and warmed the coggles of my heart and other regions too intimate to mention here.

It brought back a rush of sentiment for the days when we would strap on these huge and unruly pads, and then go about our business trying to ignore the fact that something the size of a compact car was wedged between our legs. And to think it only cost 10 cents. You can hardly break wind for that price anymore.

But that was before pads had wings.

Maybe it's the wings that pushed the cost up.

Turning of the Table

2010-11-24T20:47:00.000-08:00

I have been busy working my way through my plethora of vintage tomes aimed at women as I continue research for a new book Dangerous Curves and I came across this description of a practice that used to be known as the "Turning of the Table". It is from page 197 of Emily Post's Etiquette (1960 Funk and Wagnall's, New York) and it goes like this:

"The hostess would turn from the man on her right to the one on her left, and each woman at the table was supposed to notice this and switch at the same time."

Well, clearly something has gone awry in the photo above. Our hostess in the forefront has turned to her right but apparently the signal was missed by the other two female guests who are continuing on in a blatant disregard for the protocol established by the lead woman.

We can be thankful in today's modern world, where women have come such a long way baby, that the demands on a hostess have been scaled back so that she is no longer responsible for the conversationally directional tendencies of her dinner guests.

cover girl

2010-11-11T14:06:00.001-08:00

I am very thrilled to say that I am now, finally, officially, a cover girl. The rag in question is FOCUS magazine (Victoria BC), and I am Miss November, which I suppose is better than misbehaving, although I might rather be misbehaving.
The occasion that sparked my appearance in/on the magazine is my participation in a group art show at the Vancouver Island School of Art called "Rare Birds" which opens in Victoria tomorrow night (friday Nov 12) and runs (or flies) until Dec 6th. The other avian-obsessed artists are Roy Green, Dianne Kremmer, and the dynamic duo of sculptors Kimm Nightingale and Joke Mensink.

But wait. There's more! I am presenting my slide show "I Never Met a Blank Canvas I Didn't Like" in Victoria on thursday November 18th. Details about both events can be found here.

Victoria's poet laureate Linda Rogers, a regular contributor to FOCUS magazine, and brilliant Canadian scribe, has written a fabulously insightful article about me and my artistic/performative antics. You can download the PDF and read all about it here.

I am on page 12. Not too far in, but in decent enough.

Check your face at the door

2010-11-07T15:03:00.000-08:00

This is from p. 231 of Family Circle's Complete Book of Beauty and Charm (1951):
"Check your facial expression as many times a day as you can. Then make the effort not to return to a frown, a worried look, a displeased expression, or whatever you have been wearing instead of the pleasant, expectant look that is the mark of a charming woman".

All I can say is, our girl pictured here is in trouble. Clearly she has not been checking her facial expression as much as she ought to.

tooth fairy refuses pickup

2010-11-04T08:24:00.000-07:00

I was at my dentist a while back and she reported to me that one of my upper rear molars was in need of crowning. As it is, I have more crowns than the entire British Royal family combined (not counting the corgis). Further, the tooth in question had been operating more or less in a decorative capacity for some time now since its corresponding lower berth companion was removed a few years back.
My dentist reluctantly agreed to extract the molar, and thus it appears above, alongside a regular strength tylenol tablet for purposes of illustrating scale.
I tried to put it under my pillow last night, but it was so bulky I had trouble sleeping. The tooth fairy left a note...something about excess weight/height and union regulations.

The Homemaker and Nervous Strain

2010-11-02T21:07:00.000-07:00

In Family Circle's Complete Book of Beauty and Charm from 1951, there is a chapter called "Special Beauty Problems of the Homemaker":

"The beauty problems of the woman in the home fall into four general categories: hands, complexion, diet, and nervous strain. Surely the homemaker has a variety of tasks to perform. If you let them get the better of you, you are inclined to be tense; sooner or later the marks of this tension will show on your face. A great deal of the beauty of the homemaker depends on her attitude toward the important job that she does."

Speaking for myself, I make it a habit never to let my household tasks get the better of me. It's an integral part of my beauty regimen.

A Horn by Any Other Name

2010-10-05T21:53:00.000-07:00

So the other day one of my wild turkeys got close enough for me to kiss and being a woman of proper breeding (we had not been formally introduced), I of course did not. But even so, at such proximity I couldn't help but notice the amazing (and only mildly suggestive) protuberance rising pretty much straight off her forehead.
Oh I'd seen this feature before, but there was something about being so close to it that gave me pause. And whilst pausing, I remembered that only last year, I myself was host to a startlingly similar protuberance which I took to our local doctor who sent me to an eye surgeon who told me that what I had was a cutaneous horn.
"Of all things" I said to myself whereupon he draped a sterile cloth over my face with a hole cut out just big enough to accommodate the horn, and then set out to remove it all the while chatting with his lovely assistant as though I were not there, under the cloth, awash in a swirl of relief that I would no longer have to explain to people why I was knitting such a tiny toque.

I think wild turkeys have a plethora of admirable traits but I must say, I hope this is the end of my attempt to emulate them too literally.

flaunting it

2010-10-03T16:23:00.001-07:00

So with (Canadian) Thanksgiving weekend bearing down on us, you would think that any turkeys running free would want to remain thus, and toward this end, would assume a discrete profile.

Not so the wild turkeys who frequent my yard. These birds appear to be flaunting their lifestyle, parading their free-range capabilities for any and all to see.

Perhaps these turkeys have been reading my blog through my patio glass door, and they know they've taken up residence with a freshly minted vegetarian.

Nothing safer than a new, lentil thumping convert.

And speaking of Thanksgiving, here on my island (Gabriola) we celebrate the long weekend by throwing open the doors to over 50 artist studios and inviting the public to come and see what we have been up to. For more info, check here.

some things never change

2010-09-18T21:23:00.000-07:00

pass me the tofu

2010-09-18T13:40:00.000-07:00

I've been making a slow approach to vegetarianism for a long, long time and the train is finally pulling all the way into the station.

A cocktail of circumstances has guided me here, but at the top of the list is the simple fact that I can no longer keep myself divided up like a side of beef so I can remain asleep to the reality of the lives of the animals destined for my plate.

I am now weeping my way through the books I was always too afraid to open:
- Matthew Scully's Dominion; the Power of Woman, the Suffering of Animals, and the call to Mercy

- The Pig Who Sang to the Moon; the Emotional World of Farm Animals by Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson

- and 101 Reasons Why I'm a Vegetarian by Pamela Rice.

If one of the titles sounds a little off, it's because I gave Matthew Scully's "Man" a sex change; because of course when we use one gender, we mean both, but that's another blog entry altogether.

I've had Rice's book for over five years but it has sat on a shelf keeping time. As Matthew Scully puts it "...consciousness of the infamy won't go away: most people have it ticking away inside them somewhere" (p. 85). The last time I heard banging this loud was when my biological clock went off in 1988.

It's funny because for years, people have assumed I was vegetarian. It's the one 'mistake' that people consistently make when attempting to locate me on the political/social/environmental spectrum. Maybe they knew something I didn't.

Today, one of my wild turkeys (they're not really mine, they just grace me with their presence) hopped right up onto the chopping block and set out to preen herself.

Maybe she knows something too.

Pillbox saves the day

2010-09-13T20:43:00.000-07:00

Here I am, plugged in and ready to go at the recent BOLDfest conference in Vancouver, a conference for the older, bolder lesbian set. Well, you don't actually have to be old, bold OR lesbian to be there. It's not like they checked our ID for date of birth, or interviewed us about our social orientation. It's a self-screening sort of thing.
But since I am relatively old, and getting bolder by the minute, and all the while, a card-carrying second-wave, pre-post, feminist lesbian, I more than qualified to attend. I performed my Charm, Beauty and Poise show for the girls and a decidedly raucous and inappropriately ebullient time was had by all.
It is a little known fact that as much as 87% of all good breeding escapes through the top of the head.
Hence the pillbox.

Photo by Carole Finnegan.

2010-08-28T20:49:00.000-07:00

Here's a terrific exercise for the aging muscles of a gal's neck and chin. It's from page 66 of Reduce and Beautify your Figure (1954):

"Speak slowly the letters Q and X. Repeat 20 times. Make faces at yourself, twisting your mouth and chin, stretching your mouth and lips, using all the different muscles you can think of."

A Simple Cure for Dissatisfaction

2010-08-15T12:39:00.000-07:00

I came across this bit of wisdom in Today's Clothing (J.B.Lippincott Co., 1949 page 292), one of my many vintage Home Economics textbooks. I especially love it that the image was originally published by Better Homes and Gardens, the people who are still bringing us, well, better homes and gardens.

But who knew? Here I've been trying meditation, psychotherapy, hot baths, positive thinking, gratitude, volunteering, visualization, somatic experiencing, behaviour modification, 85% dark chocolate, yoga, and kissing my dog on her lips when really, all I need to do to improve my satisfaction is take proper care of my hat.

Life was obviously simpler in 1949.

Finally a caloric explanation

2010-07-27T20:28:00.000-07:00

I just found an interesting factoid in one of my vintage Home Economics Books, Family Meals and Hospitality from 1949. I mentioned in an earlier post, that I am hard at work on a second book - working title Dangerous Curves (my first was Storm Clouds Over Party Shoes, Etiquette Problems for the Ill-Bred Woman). As part of my research, I am obliged to scour my vast collection of old books aimed at women. It makes for some very interesting reading to say the least.
Anyways, in amongst the many chapters in Family Meals and Hospitality which cover such topics as entertaining on a post-war budget, feeding the convalescent, and preparing appetizing yeast breads, was a little chart showing how many calories are burned while engaged in various household chores. For example, mopping burns one and a half calories per pound of weight per hour. Scrubbing comes in somewhere between two and three. Hand sewing provides a tragic one half calorie per hour per pound of weight.
Now, without doing any math or running a white-gloved finger across my horizontal surfaces, you can safely surmise that there are very few of these type of calories being burned here in my home. My only hope against the ravages of menopausal weight re-distribution (unwanted chin hair alone must account for some of my gains in the past few years) is that typing rapidly burns one calorie.
I am working as fast as I can.

it's a jungle out here

2010-07-06T10:09:00.001-07:00

I didn't mind so much the mouse making a nest in the engine compartment of my 1985 Toyota Tercel, a car so old that Windows 1.0 was still a glint in Microsoft's eye. My local mechanics discovered the nest when I brought the vehicle in for servicing. They of course would not disturb it, and recommended we summons a HAZMAT team. Mice droppings are the new black when it comes to disease, at least the droppings belonging to the deer mouse. The deer mouse, largely rural, is grayish to light brown on top, with a white belly, large ears, a furry tail and eyes that appear to “bug out.” Of course, I didn't actually see the droppings leaving the mouse in question, so I can't be sure of their pedigree. But I do live on a rural island and so it's safe to say that these droppings did indeed come from a deer mouse.
But I digress.
As I said, I didn't mind so much the nest being under the hood, but when she decided to take up residence in my favorite hat, it was a nest of a different colour. Imagine my surprise when I grabbed the hat from my glove compartment, flung it onto my head, and was promptly showered in a gentle rain of multicoloured fluff, flecked with the aforementioned dreaded droppings. The situation could only have been worse if the mouse had been home or -god forbid - entertaining at the time of the incident.
Where is the HAZHAT team when you need them?

Measuring Up

2010-07-02T21:49:00.000-07:00

Every summer, my favorite art maven here on Gabriola, Kathy Ramsey who owns ARTWORKS, hands over the same item to an entire possee of artists, and asks us to create something from it. I love the challenge. One year, we were given a box of kleenex so - inspired by my years as a less than buxom teen - I found a vintage lethal weapon pointed bra, stuffed it full of every tissue in the box, and then mounted it on a wooden plaque with an engraved sign reading "Best rack 1963".
This year the object was a wooden ruler and I extracted head to toe criticisms about women's bodies from my collection of old books and assigned them to the corresponding body parts on an old photo. I realize you will not be able to read the text easily unless maybe you use a magnifying glass, but trust me, the comments are brutal. Here's the statement I wrote to go with it:

Women have been trying to measure up to some impossible ideal or other ever since Eve asked Adam if her fig leaf made her look fat. Primitive cave drawings have been discovered recently which clearly depict women using crude seaweed straps to cinch in their waists.
OK so I made that up.
What I didn't make up are the passages of text in my piece. They were lifted from my vintage charm, beauty, poise, and etiquette books.
According to the Canadian Women's Health Network, girls as young as 5 and 6 in this country, are engaging in weight control measures.
Post Feminism my foot.

practical palmistry for women

2010-06-25T15:33:00.001-07:00

I found this odd little book the other day...all about palmistry, or chiromancy as it is also known; the art of characterization and foretelling the future through the study of the palm. And I thought to myself, wouldn't it be more useful if the interpretation of our palmar features helped women predict what trouble areas we might encounter down the road, say like, down the old age road. I mean, wouldn't it be great if we could know right now, what we might expect to encounter in our golden years so that we could target our current beauty intervention with more efficacy. I mean, what if your get too fat groove ran like an arctic pipeline clear across your hand. Wouldn't you want to see that now and make the requisite caloric adjustments?
So I took the liberty of altering the book cover and, well, you see the results above. Apparently the practice of chiromancy is generally regarded as a pseudoscience and I suppose I have only added to that tendency.

A little photoshop is a dangerous thing.

dog meets bird meets dog

2010-06-19T21:11:00.001-07:00

I was working away at my computer the other day when I looked down to find my little dog Rosie, lying comfortably on the small brown mat near my feet. This is quite common, her lying on the mat. What was uncommon was the large wild turkey lurking a foot or so away and separated only by a sliding glass door. They seemed as mesmerized by each other as I was of them. Of course, I felt a distinct urge to wax anthropomorphic and so I did. In my mind, the conversation between them ran like this:

dog: where's your back legs?
bird: how do you preen that mess?

OK so the bison was stuffed.

2010-06-16T20:09:00.000-07:00

Alright, so the bison story was bogus; a hoax, a swindle, a ruse. But this baby is the real thing. And that shadow you see here? That's me, asking permission to take the photo. I thought maybe (as is the custom in other parts of the world) some underprivileged child would rush out of the woods to collect a fee or offer to take my picture with the animal, but it didn't happen. As far as I can tell, there are very few underprivileged children in Banff. I think there's a by-law about that sort of thing.
Anyways, I appreciated my brush with wildlife, such as it was.

Artist Almost Mauled by Banff Bison

2010-06-16T15:05:00.000-07:00

I was walking in the town of Banff this past weekend (for my opening at Canada House), minding my business as it were, when suddenly I was confronted by the monstrous hirsute creature pictured above. I was trying to remember everything I had ever learned about what to do in such an instance. Sadly, all the information I could glean from the recesses of my mind, pertained to bears. But it was all I had...so I ruminated just the same. However, in my panic, I quickly became confused, about whether it was the black bear or the grizzly that could climb trees. And one of them you are NEVER supposed to look at in the eye. I was awash in uncertainty as regards protocol, a tragic situation for any girl. And just when I thought things might take a truly tragic turn, the voice of the Parks Canada attendant broke through, reminding me that I had not yet paid the museum entrance fee.

Phew!!

be afraid. be very afraid

2010-05-23T17:52:00.000-07:00

It should have been a routine operation, an excursion into the fridge as part of my usual preparation for dinner. I was reaching for a potato when I drew my hand back.
There it was, as plain as the quest for women's equality is long. The face of satan. Those perfectly symmetrical horns. That expression....well, it was a little blank.
It had to be a red potato too.
I couldn't look away. There was something in his gaze, even though it was well, sort of non-descript.
But still, taking no chances, I quickly closed the door and ordered takeout.

Girl Power (or not)

2010-05-20T21:23:00.000-07:00

I was listening to CBC radio this morning in my car and in the course of a mere 2 hours, I heard three distressing items about the sorry state of affairs for the female gender. First off, the Federal Government has just announced the 19 successful candidates for the Canada Excellence Research Chairs program, a program designed to woo high-powered scientists from all over the world. All very well and good I thought until they mentioned that no women were selected for the jobs. Next up, I hear that of the 19 films (what is it with #19?) being considered at the Cannes film festival this year, not one of them was directed by a woman. And then as if to add insult to injury, it was reported only this week, that female dogs are earning just 86% on the male dog's kibble for tricks of equal value.
Well, OK, that last one is bogus, but seriously, the other two are true.
My only solace lies in knowing that Mattel Corporation recently unveiled Barbie's 126th career as voted on by her fans from all over the world. . Yes, Computer Engineer Barbie will be released in the winter of 2010.
Perhaps the tide is turning afterall.

Part Your Lips and Breathe in and Out

2010-05-18T20:54:00.000-07:00

So as part of my research for a book which I hope to publish down the road (working title Dangerous Curves), I am reading every one of the 102 vintage books in my personal collection. These books are all about etiquette, charm, beauty, grooming, sewing, home economics etc. and - as you might expect - are aimed at women because apparently men come fully-formed into society and are in need of no improvement whereas women require constant correction. Wasn't there a hippy tea by that name in the 1970s?
I am sure by now you have noticed the pug above, and may be wondering if perhaps I have inserted the wrong image for this blog post. Please stand by.

These old books are just chock full of tips for women, and I mean every square inch of her, and it occurred to me tonight as I was extracting yet more of them from the toxic slag heap of instruction, that it could take years for me to disseminate this material, and in the meantime, women are going without the valuable information that I could be making available to them right now. Therefore I've decided that when I come across a particularly salient nugget of guidance, I will post it here on my blog where women in need will be able to find it.

And still you say to yourself, what could this pictured pug possibly have to do with this blog entry?

Well, it will all become clear as tonight, I bring you your inaugural tip # 546-a which comes to us from Debbie Drake's Easy Way to a Perfect Figure and Glowing Health, p.104, Prentice-Hall (1961) and reads as follows:

"To renew the youthful characteristics of deep breathing which keep the voice firm and resonant, practice this simple exercise: Pant like a dog. Part your lips and breathe in and out rapidly. Repeat often. "

It's always good to be reminded to repeat the breathing in and out. I intend to make it my personal practice right up until I die.

There is so much we can learn from dogs.

another single mother

2010-05-12T15:12:00.000-07:00

As if to illustrate the deep and enduring meaning of Mother's Day, one of my girls, my wild turkey girls that is, has hatched in the past few days, a crop of tiny turkeys. I can only assume this one single mother must have gotten a little wilder than perhaps was advised, and now she is paying the price, forced to raise a large family on her own. Turkeys raising turkeys!
The sting of illegitimacy has driven her out of the pack and into my backyard where she can be seen here scratching out a living with a few of her brood.
Where was family planning? And will she be able to turn her life around despite having taken this reproductive detour?
My mind goes to these and other burning questions.

The rank and file

2010-05-09T18:56:00.000-07:00

So I heard someone on the radio yesterday talking about book rankings on Amazon.com and I got curious about where my little tome - Storm CLouds Over Party Shoes, Etiquette Problems for the Ill-Bred Woman - was fairing in the pecking order.

2,550,202

That's exactly the sort of curiosity that killed the cat.

Turkey Has Let Herself Go

2010-05-06T13:34:00.001-07:00

She showed up yesterday on the railing of my back deck, walking around without a care in the world, seemingly indifferent to the tragedy unfolding in and on her person. She is a figure accident waiting to happen, and the real heartbreak is that she may not even be aware of how perilously close she has veered to the cliff's edge. Apparently she has never heard the disparaging term 'turkey neck' and the concept of waddle has completely eluded her.

She has let herself go and she clearly doesn't give a damn.

60 is the new 40

2010-04-15T18:00:00.000-07:00

Well, a lot has happened in the past while. For one thing, I turned 60. Who knew this could happen? I had a swellegant party and we ate the most magnificent cake (pictured above). It was pretty funny too because in all my considerable prep for this party - including learning how to use an MP3 and creating playlists of all my favorite disco tunes - I failed to supply forks for my many guests and we were forced to eat this cake with our bare hands.
That's one way to stay young.
Fortunately for me, there were no finger-painters in the crowd and the cake stayed pretty much where it belonged.

ceramic couples hold group wedding

2010-02-15T21:07:00.000-08:00

I had a valentine's event called "HEARTSPEAK" in my studio this past saturday (you can see the remaining works here). The whole affair was supervised by my collection of forever-together ceramic couples who were taking part in a group ceremony. One of my grooms had lost an arm, and the best man turned out to be a penguin...but other than that, I think the whole arrangement was a fitting tribute to love and betrothal. I am not certain how the tiny bowling pin and looming canine fit in, but sometimes, ours is not to question. Love works in mysterious ways.

Taffeta

2010-02-11T16:16:00.000-08:00

In one of my many vintage etiquette books (Margery Wilson's Pocket Book of Etiquette, 1941) Margery writes that "the thin woman has a great friend in taffeta". Now, why an etiquette book should be concerning itself with the size and fabric compatibilities of a woman's body and not adhering strictly to matters of decorum is the subject of another book, one that I am working on. But since she has, and since I happen to own a taffeta dress, and since I was seen making rather a spectacle of myself wearing it just last night at the Port Theatre in Nanaimo where I was performing my Charm, Beauty and Poise show, I thought it fitting that I picture it here, hanging in Dressing Room A, waiting for me to put it on. There was no star over the door of Dressing Room A, no champagne on ice, no post-performance flowers flooding in, but I have to admit I was a little thrilled to have a room of my own.

And though I am not particularly thin, I know what Margery means. I love my red taffeta dress and consider her a great friend even if she never picks up the tab. But perhaps what is most exciting for me as regards this taffeta dress is when I tuck my vintage crinoline under it and my hemline circumference becomes a force to be reckoned with, flaring out and taking up the equivalent of a small parking space.

This is when I feel the true power of taffeta.

Rare sighting of four-legged turkey

2010-02-08T22:05:00.000-08:00

There has been a sighting of the extremely rare and elusive four-legged wild turkey. The bird was spotted today on the property of S. Norgate of Gabriola Island BC, Canada. Apparently it has been making its way across the continent, sheltered by vegans and vegetarians, all part of an elaborate underground railroad aimed at protecting the bird from exploitation by American Thanksgiving enthusiasts and in particular, dark meat lovers.
The bird, who agreed to be photographed on condition of anonymity, had no comment.

Why did the corvid cross the road?

2010-02-02T20:48:00.000-08:00

This is the number one canvas completed as part of a series of twelve which are destined for a three-person show at Canada House Gallery opening on June 12th. That's a lot of numbers I realize. 1, 12, 3 and then 12 again.

I love birds. Some days my affection for birds rivals that of my love for dogs. The two species each have their areas of expertise. Birds specialize in singing, dazzling beak work, and of course, flight. Dogs on the other hand, specialize in sticks, loyalty and bad breath. I should clarify that bad breath is not a given. It depends on the dog and the agility of its guardian(s). For example, my sister and her partner have two rescued greyhounds named Albert and Ruby. They are small horses really. The jaws and teeth on these dogs are so expansive, and the dogs so willing, that my sister and her partner are able to lift their sizable cheek flaps (the dogs' I mean) and insert a fully operational electric toothbrush. This would not be possible for me because my dog Rosie's teeth are microscopic and her mouth opens only wide enough to allow in the smallest of biscuits. Besides, she believes that personal grooming devices are wasted on her and my efforts should instead be focused on preparing her next meal.
Which brings me back to birds. I wonder if they have bad breath? I've never been allowed close enough to be able to tell. Even if they did, I could forgive them anything in exchange for their song.

2010-01-26T19:50:00.000-08:00

This was the scene a few days ago at the Nanaimo Art Gallery in - just as you would expect - beautiful downtown Nanaimo BC Canada. The occasion was the opening for a group show opened called "Art and the Message". I had been invited to participate and I was very happy to offer up for the occasion, four of my favourite freudian slips.

Not all of the work I do as an artist is intended to have a 'message', even though text can be found reliably strewn about. Sometimes I am quite simply having the time of my life. Sometimes the message is meant for me, and viewers 'overhear' this conversation I am having with myself. At still other times, my feminism rears its strident little head and I clearly set out to make a statement. This one (below) represents all three of these conditions. You probably can't make it out, but the little note collaged onto the canvas bears the lyrics to Brenda Lee's "I'm sorry". I am sure he is.

still life imitating still life

2010-01-26T19:46:00.000-08:00

I was preparing lunch yesterday when my compost container caught my eye. It was so beautiful an arrangement of vegetable waste, I thought for sure it had been created by an elf, or sprite. Perhaps the angel of everyday kitchen miracles. See for yourself.

Artist's Work Dazzles Critics

2010-01-21T18:18:00.000-08:00

I have just been paid the highest compliment on record, as regards my ability to render. And I don't mean to reduce, convert or melt down fat. Nor do I mean to deliver or pronounce formally as in "the jury rendered its verdict". I am also not referring to rendering assistance, rendering thanks, or rendering an apology. It's not that I haven't rendered in all of these ways. I even served as a juror once. We found him not guilty in case you are wondering.

I mean render as in "to represent in a drawing or painting".
Let me explain.
I was busy in the studio yesterday evening when a great ruccous could be heard originating from the living room. I had just given my dog Rosie her all-time favorite treat in the entire universe: a green plastic ball into which a collection of tiny kibbles had been inserted. That's my job, inserting the kibbles. Rosie's job is to then move the ball about the house in as strategic a manner as possible, so as to eject the tiny morsels and make them available for her consumption. Sometimes the ball gets lodged under a piece of furniture or it rolls into a tight corner, at which point Rosie begins pleading her case in a very vocal way. It's a very specific, "Timmy's in the well" , "something's gone horribly wrong" kind of thing. So like the thoroughly-trained woman I am, I went in to render my assistance. What I found there is what you see below.

Rosie is not visible in the photo because she was at the time, maintaining a generous margin of safety between herself and the offending other 'dog' who she believed was real enough to be a threat.

Now that's rendering.
And they said I couldn't draw.

The Blank Canvas

2010-01-15T20:32:00.001-08:00

Well....here they are. A fresh batch of tabula rasa, or maybe the plural is rasai. I have a 3-person show coming up in June at Canada House Gallery in Banff and I am expected to provide 12 new canvases. Here they are, lined up nicely, posing for the camera. I suppose this could be considered the 'before' shot. Each one will undergo a makeover of sorts. It's always an exciting time for me since I don't know what I will do with them until I get started. I don't know what I will say to them, or - more importantly - what they will say to me. I suspect birds will be involved somehow. They are never very far away.
I've been thinking these days about the expression "having her work cut out for her". Apparently it goes back to the early 1600s and is connected to tailoring. So I guess it's true. Afterall, these canvases are cloth and somebody cut them out for me.

Canine Positioning System

2010-01-08T21:41:00.000-08:00

This is me and my left hand, heading down the highway today with my CPS (canine positioning system) clearly working for me, scouting out road conditions from its location there on my dashboard. Sometimes the vibration (the ride in my 1985 Toyota Tercel leaves something to be desired) causes the little china figurine to slowly swing around so that occasionally the dog is looking at me and not the road ahead.
Oh well, it is a fairly primitive system which unlike the more precise GPS, doesn't have 24 to 32 satellites in medium earth orbit. Nor is there a Master Control Station, an Alternate Master Control Station, or a host of dedicated and shared Ground Antennas and Monitor Stations providing positioning, navigation and timing services to users on a continuous basis in all weather, day and night, anywhere on or near the Earth.
I like to think that my system involves the spirits of all the dogs big and small, biters and droolers alike, who have come and gone on this earth, and now enjoy their celestial retirement, offering casual guidance and road-side assistance to motorists who are open to receiving what they have to offer. I am someone who is. I take my help wherever I can get it.

Boa Constrictor

2009-11-05T08:19:00.001-08:00

Here I am at a benefit for the Elizabeth Bagshaw clinic last week in Vancouver. I was delivering much needed Charm Beauty and Poise to the gals who work tirelessly to ensure that women enjoy full reproductive autonomy. They were a most delightful audience and a well bred time was had by all.
If I have an especially glamourous glow about me in this photo, it's because I am sporting my newly acquired, vintage feather boa. And this baby is real....no bogus feathers. Trouble was, it was incredibly hot under all that plummage. I suppose four million water birds can't be wrong.
Perhaps my next presentation should be for "Ducks Unlimited".

many thanks on thanksgiving

2009-10-16T16:01:00.000-07:00

I had a wonderful (Canadian) thanksgiving weekend here on Gabriola. My studio was open as part of the annual Gabriola Thanksgiving Studio Tour. I had about 400 people through.. a bit like Grand Central only without the trains. They came from far and wide to warm themselves by the cheesy glow from the very cheesy fake fireplace I acquired this year on one of my many thrift-store hunting expeditions.
It never ceases to thrill me how many people feel they cannot live without art, no matter how low the TSX goes. To them I am exceedingly grateful. And yes, that is Freud on the wall there on the left. The piece is called "Freudian Flip". It's a Mary Tyler Moore/Sigmund hybrid.

Housekeeping Horror

2009-09-23T08:58:00.000-07:00

It has come to this. Perhaps I should back track. I have never been what you'd call a pristine housekeeper. I have been particularly lax in the vacuuming, dusting, dishwashing, polishing and waxing departments...which upon second glance, leaves little else.
So maybe it shouldn't have come as such a surprise when yesterday, the beautiful fall sunlight came streaming through my front window and cascaded across one of two old burgundy easy chairs. Not the one I sit in, the other one used by guests. Up until that point all was good. But things took a decidely sinister turn when the aforementioned sunlight glanced off the handywork of a certain spider who shall remain nameless. I thought to myself, this can only mean two things, both of them tragic: that I am a terribly slack housekeeper and - perhaps worse - that visits from friends are insufficient to prevent the formation of cobwebs on my furniture.
Thank goodness I have other things going for me.

writing on the wall

2009-09-04T09:23:00.000-07:00

I was just admiring the wall which sits behind my canvases while I work. It has all the markings and makings of a fabulous painting. Too bad it's busy holding up part of a room otherwise I might frame it and send it out to one of my galleries. What is all that paint doing there you might be asking. Does she miss the canvas? How bad can her post-menopausal eyes be?
I use the wall like a giant palette which means I mix colours on it. Also, before I put my brushes into water, I discharge excess paint onto the wall which is a fancy way of saying I put it there. The marks are pure random, unsupervised, energy. If only I could tame it to the page.

Bite Me

2009-08-11T14:42:00.001-07:00

Ever since I was a girl in dungarees, I've been a tasty target for biters. Ants, mosquitos, spiders, and even the odd toddler - have all, at one time or another, found me irresistible. So I wasn't really surprised when I began scratching at my back yesterday. What DID surprise me, was when I looked in the mirror and found....well, you can see what I found there....a veritable TRAIL of bites, a pathway of pinkish disturbances, a meandering corridor of chomp marks. And they don't stop at the panty line either. However, since my blog is rated safe for all members of the family, I will not show you just how far this x-rated little beast got. Let's just say the whole affair has been a bummer.
I know he is one of God's precious creatures, but at the risk of sounding unenlightened and vengeful, I hope I sat on him.

What is it with you and Sigmund?

2009-08-09T09:42:00.000-07:00

You might well be asking that question yourself. What's a post-menopausal dyed in the wool lesbian feminist doing, cavorting with the likes of Sigmund Freud? I can assure you it is strictly platonic. Sigmund could not be reached for comment.

Artist Waxes On

2009-08-08T22:01:00.000-07:00

I had a swellegant opening last thursday at my solo show here on Gabriola Island. Apparently I had some "splainin" to do and here's the evidence courtesy of the local paparazzi. I know it appears as though I'm preparing to catch a volleyball, or launch into prayer, but I am actually discussing with a few interested patrons, the ideational tenor of the painting, and how its implied synesthesia speaks to a post-premise ideologue which simultaneously constructs and restricts conceptualization.
Just kidding.
(photo credit Christy Wilson)

Raven Appears in Tea Leaves

2009-08-03T19:12:00.000-07:00

I hardly ever go and get my tea leaves read. Actually I have never had my tea leaves read. It's not that I don't believe in that sort of thing. I own a tarot deck and I have friends who think I'm a bit paranormal. So imagine my surprise when I took a sip of mint tea this evening, and saw at the bottom of the cup, an avian apparition in the shape of a raven. And not just ANY raven, but one that I have painted.
Life works in mysterious ways.

Headless Brides Terrorize Guests at Double Wedding Ceremony

2009-07-08T22:30:00.000-07:00

It was Beatrice Pierce who wrote in 1934 in her best selling It's More Fun When You Know the Rules, that "Girls with brains are all right, but the brains mustn't be too evident."
Well someone has clearly left nothing to chance with the two girls pictured here. Their heads have been removed altogether, thereby promoting ease of operation of the new brides.

Henry

2009-06-30T16:18:00.000-07:00

I am struck with the fierce attachment many of us have to our pets. I specialize in canines..although I can hardly use the plural. SInce 1975 I have had only one dog. It would actually be more fitting to say that she has had me. Her name is Rosie and she came into my life in december 2001. I knew things would change. I didn't know my heart would break open.
I write about dogs today because I just finished work on a commission for a woman whose love affair with a small, elegant, boston terrier has exceeded all expectations. Henry is his name and love is his game.
I suspect Rosie would approve.

Bringing Aid to Women of Nanaimo

2009-06-23T15:28:00.000-07:00

Here I am, last night, delivering much needed Charm Beauty and Poise tips to the girls of the Nanaimo Business Women's Association. Sad that there are so many women out there who have let themselves go.

sitting down on the job

2009-06-10T19:43:00.001-07:00

This is what i saw out my studio window this evening. It's not uncommon to see deer outside my place. This is a small, rural island I live on. But to see one sitting down..now that's unusual.
Make yourself at home I say. This land is your land.

Sigmund Driven to Edge

2009-06-03T10:49:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm afraid I may have pushed Sigmund to the brink of his tolerance for artists mucking about with his likeness. He has thrown up his hands and his cigar in sheer exasperation and is perched perilously on the ledge of my back deck and all because I sent out into the world, a large canvas showing him reincarnated as a bird. You'd think he'd appreciate the gesture, you know, trying to free him from all of his mental encumbrances. This is the gratitude he shows me.
I suppose I need to work more on my giving to get.

What's a nice girl like you doing in a recession like this?

2009-04-11T08:27:00.000-07:00

For a painter, totally reliant on my income from art, I am having what amounts to way too much fun these days, when you consider that we are in the worst economic downturn since God was a girl. The galleries that represent me have all gone a little limp and sales are sagging like an old brassiere. One of my galleries is throwing in the towel/bra altogether, after over 20 years in business.

Some folks say the art market may never quite recover. But as Gloria Gaynor put it so eloquently in 1978 when I looked like this and had just burned my bra, i will survive. And how I will do that is through diversification....which loosely translated means 'a girl does what a girl has to do'. I am painting smaller works and getting them out to folks via my web, holding my own art shows in the homes of friends who will let me, and producing mixed media speaking events which I am taking on the road.

Yes, it's true, this recession has turned me into a one girl band...but the music never sounded sweeter.

earliest known blog entry

2009-03-01T12:32:00.000-08:00

This is me in 1953 getting comfortable with a typewriter which I am certain weighed more than me. I was very short at the time, so several pillows were pressed into service to bring me to a better height. This was before we knew about ergonomics otherwise they might have had me stabilizing my tiny core by balancing on a ball. I don't know why the little measuring spoon is so close at hand unless I was planning to add a dash of irony to the entry.

sigmund, we have lift-off

2009-02-28T16:28:00.000-08:00

Today a very old friend (she's not old, but our connection is) emailed me a photo of us from 1955 when we were classmates in kindergarten. I guess it got into me somehow. I know this because the painting I worked on shortly after getting the email shows Sigmund Freud as a bird, lifting off. I was originally thinking of having him in a housedress and turning him into a wife from the 1950s; something I am sure he would not have approved of. But instead he ended up flying. If I were on the couch today, he would no doubt have something to say about all of this.

Barbie Love Tryst

2009-02-26T19:59:00.000-08:00

This is a decidedly non-Mattel approved Barbie configuration. They had been minding their own doll business and then the next time I looked, there they were, together. I wonder what sort of brain activity would show up on magnetic imaging.

Strange Factoid

2009-02-26T19:43:00.000-08:00

Apparently, if all the Barbie dolls purchased since 1959 were laid out end to end, they would circle the globe 7 times. I think this is as serious a problem as global warming.

Location, Location, Location

2009-01-03T08:47:00.000-08:00

Here we are at the 3rd day of 2009 and I am up to my knees in papers, files, post-it notes etc, trying to make sense of 2008, well really, if I were more honest, I would admit that I am really avoiding going into the studio. It's a time-honoured tradition of mine, especially after I have had a break from painting. But I have had enough experience to know that I will eventually settle down enough to grab a brush and make a mark, and then another mark, and another mark and before I know it I will be off to the races. It makes me think of the saturday night bath that I had such aversion to as a child. Once I was in the hot water, I quite loved it. It was the getting undressed part that troubled me. I suppose painting is a lot like that.....getting undressed.

Christmas turkey almost behind me.

2008-12-29T22:20:00.000-08:00

The last of the turkey has been turned into soup and I am having my customary year-end, seasonal hard time getting my pants done up. This is where elastic can be a girl's best friend.
I'll soon be heading back into the studio to rummage around in my psyche. I will have to do a lot of other odd household tasks first...sort of like when a dog circles around and around before she lies down.