Richardson Art Gallery

Clouds Serenade Masset 2012

2012-02-04T19:59:00.000-08:00

These are the skies which torture our hearts,
From beneath that embrace,
A moment which never came to late,
Only those clouds above which drift,
They’ll move about in a transient glow,
Occasionally they will look down,
Way down below,
Masset your skies with truth that lies,
Another storm we’ve seen,
Before that wet dawn has been,
These vapors which serenade our impatient breaths,
Leave us warm and we will send you off before our deaths,
They have changed once more,
Flutter and transfer and rumble and roar,
Clouds serenade Masset,
You have merely made all below very wet.

Queen Charlotte Islands Sojourn 2012

2012-02-04T18:08:00.000-08:00

We just came back from the lovely Queen Charlottes and there was a lot of rain and some beautiful sun filled days. We stayed in Masset and Queen Charlotte City and visited our friends which live in Skidegate. This is one of the oil paintings I did in Masset when it wasn't raining so much. The cloud formation was pretty and I had to apply the paint very quickly, as another storm was moving in. I painted quite a bit and sketched a lot too. It was quite pricey for food and accomodations and we vacationed there for almost two weeks. We flew back by seaplane to Nanaimo and took the Ferry back as foot passengers and met more of our family on the North Shore. Winter on the West Coast so far has been fairly wet and cold but in the interior they have had some bad snow event days.

The Starlings Drift 1988

2012-01-14T17:19:00.000-08:00

Hold still they never would,
Everything surmounts against that winters breeze,
Foliage released long before its tree,
Starlings in their playful diversions,
Drift about those auburn silhouettes,
As the winters light envelops the sky,
And the suns ever so shy,
Oh, those starlings games,
With their voices that imitate,
Even a seagulls search but without fate,
Suspend up there for me starlings and I will play,
To merely hold this brush it would seem,
With watercolors,
Please fill my dreams.

Happy New Year 2012 To You All!

2012-01-01T00:05:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas Everyone 2011!

2011-12-25T23:01:00.000-08:00

Dressed All In Their Snow 1983

2011-12-24T20:37:00.000-08:00

Their liquid body’s heavy in nimbus space,
With drifting motions that create,
But are never to late,
In time they’ll release in a mizzle throughout,
Begin your descent I dare you to doubt,
It is the order from that place,
High-up in that atmosphere,
With the air so thin,
Birds would fear and never come to near,
You’ve all traveled among those beautiful white vapors,
Released for all the showers,
Formed within the hours,
You’ve fallen into winters clutch,
Its air mass frigid with hands,
Who would dare to touch?
They float and fly now,
Like fluttering white ice crystal dancers,
They will fall and dance for all,
Each unique and minuscule,
Their frozen molecules,
Geometrically designed for this time of the year,
Our breath chilled away,
But seen only on these days,
The land and everything touched by this flow,
As they have dressed all in their snow.

The Eclipsed Shroud 2000

2011-12-03T18:46:00.000-08:00

Glorious light shine into that hemisphere,
Only could I chance to seek this space to near,
I have touched those moist beams,
And mused so many times for its turn to gleam,
What is this captured flickering arches smelling of the sea,
Only the sea urchins and starfishes tight hold to the mantle for me,
We will lie bare and fill these pools,
Cavort for the seas maiden games and move,
Please let this tidal sense conquer us from that cold state,
Our warmed embrace of another sensual taste,
Oh, that Ocean Storm recurring back before the dawn,
Our shrouded tears have touched and not shone,
These textures no more but charcoal blooms,
It is merely an eclipsed emotions for whom.

Poppies To Remember 2011

2011-11-11T17:04:00.000-08:00

How could anyone forget?

The falling never lived to know,

Many have lost one dear Soul,

Tyranny of power and cruelty never ends,

It is these wars which always send,

Soldiers' victorious and ever so brave,

Their spirits with us now;

As they are worshipped at those graves,

Another Remembrance Day of many solemn forms,

World Peace perhaps if they'd read a book of Psalms,

And now's the time of poppies dressed in red,

That we wear proud at our breasts,

For our many beloved dead.

Ever Seen the Faeries 2010?

2011-10-30T17:08:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the gossips thought,
Captivating one another with loose lips,
Along those silent flower beds,
Tulips hold onto your secrets and dread,
Such impressive talk they wished,
These flowers with their magical hues,
Reds beaming and supple,
Creamy whites enveloping my dreams,
Nightfall please return to awaken the fliers,
It is their glow and wings mistaken,
To beautiful to capture and ever taken,
Secrets revealed once more,
Many times in that dark film before,
Below the muted landscape,
Sleep filled blossoms with meaningful shapes,
I adore your miniature forms,
Flutter about and before the dawn,
Those colorful shelters hold many dreams,
Its which ones imagining are too be deemed.
　

Happy Thanksgiving Day Everyone 2011!

2011-10-10T15:36:00.000-07:00

We just got back from Florence Lake in the early afternoon. The lake is small and lovely and very close to Alouette Lake and this is a small oil on board. It's still wet and shows the leaves in pretty autumn colours extending over the cold gray waters of the lake.

Earlier this week the farms with their cranberry fields were flooded in the Fraser Valley and the harvest began for this Holiday. We decided this year not to make the cranberry sauce ourselves, it's just to much work and we bought it instead.

The turkeys big this year and what's not finished will make wonderful sandwiches. The other foods accompanying this Thanksgiving meal are almost all cooked and Happy Holidays to you all!

Heartsease 1983

2011-10-08T17:27:00.000-07:00

Lands made too change,
Please but not my heartsease,
It is the soil which remains,
Belonging to no one,
That is the sign spring will play,
Heartsease such charm and plenty,
This wildflower of antiquity,
As well beauty among the beasts,
Fields and pastures when long ago grazed,
Cool brooding meadows once stood,
Forest hold onto your foot,
Purpled-blues and buttery dollops,
They have tasted your magic and frolic,
Sweet dainty petals of tiny heartsease,
The fallow grasses hold this precious flora,
As your flowers are too please,
Finding you again makes my heart at ease.
　
　
　

Flames Towards The Fireweeds 2011

2011-09-17T20:49:00.000-07:00

Hazed filled horizon hold out your hand,
Please wake the sleepers yet no more,
Glory amongst those tainted sparse mountains,
They’ll rise back towards the lake shore,
Unbearable for the noise and crackling seekers,
The wolves protest with distant howls,
Fiery licks soar with silhouettes could take us,
Seems as though the banshees distant screams pronounced,
It has begun the red monsters glow behold,
We will fight back the tears and fear,
These are the Chilcotin nights foretold,
Sagebrushes and briers dry and parched,
Rains worried away and we breathe no more,
Lovely creatures once alive and well on our land,
Hide and take flight whilst stands too forest floor,
It is the meadows compromised by this bake,
Shy in their blush and reds will taint our dreams,
Only the flowers each tier fluttered in pretty ache,
Fireweeds hold back this colossus rage,
And we will all wait and wait and wait.
　
　
　

Their Honeysuckle Thirst 2010

2011-08-27T18:10:00.000-07:00

Honeysuckle kissed the bees and made them fly,
Soft pinks so sweet and yet so shy,
Your petite flowers not just for show,
Springs finally come and please don’t go,
There twin-petal lobe fragrant vessels,
Each flourish enhanced too just so,
Your wild and if tamed who would deny,
We have walked these trails side by side,
A gracious moment that awakes this play,
Today soft treads tomorrow come away,
At last the first mighty honey worker bee,
Are your coordinates set so they’ll come to see?
Tell me by thought,"have you reached your hive,
And relayed the signals for that fly by?"
So now at last those soft yellowy suited flyers,
Workers visit collect pollen and such sweet nectar for we admire,
Their power plants fueled with each little kiss,
Golden nectar collected and stored;
Honeycombed juice swells they’ll never miss,
Their sated with a honeysuckled thirst,
Such sweet, sweet taste, for such harmony immersed.

Johnston Creek Park 1981

2011-08-06T18:24:00.000-07:00

This is a watercolour painting I completed on our trip back from visiting friends in Osoyoos.
The waters of the creek and the trees of the fir, larch and spruce were completed with quite a lot of detail. I liked especially the way the branches would break up this composition into segments creating a stain glass effect.
It was a cool Indian Summer day in late September.
I loved the way the sunlight shone through the dense forest leaves high above Johnston Creek; which made the waters sparkle like many little jewels.
　

Send Us Higher Into The Mountains With Love 2007

2011-07-16T17:43:00.000-07:00

Only the air could change away,
Leaving great clarity for the day,
We would hike those trails cool with sleep,
High summer leaves many without effect,
Springs only touch has just begun to let,
Alpine flowers kiss the meadows,
Some whites so yellow,
Petals dressed in purples and pinks,
Blues dare too outshine that day,
Wild with colour thus a burst of life,
Many which would leave all to think,
That suns glow has pierced everything,
Its definition awakens all that's beautiful,
Bears slumber no more they'll feed such dear souls,
Huckleberries and salmonberries way down below,
Memories flood back for the beauty persuades,
Visions abound each stride and pace weighed,
We the lovers once for our vigorous figures,
Young-looking fueled erotic inspired wishes,
Our bodies still perfect with amorous kisses,
Smooth beauty for the moonlight,
Ptarmigans among the incline tonight,
Such sweet sounds of woodcocks, quails and pheasants,
Fluttering licks another ethereal presence;
And many a wing beats of wild rock doves,
Send us higher into the mountains with love.
　

Nass River Valley 2011

2011-06-25T19:43:00.000-07:00

We spent many weeks up North and just got back yesterday and it was so enjoyable. We arrived there by air and met our friends which live in that friendly city of Prince Rupert. It rained quite a lot but the sun did make an appearance on many days too. There was so much to do in the city and we visited the Museum of Northern British Columbia; the exhibits were wonderful.

With all that lovely wilderness around we chartered a boat and took a sightseeing tour and explored the Nass River. The Nass was exceptionally fast flowing and high with all that rain and snowmelt. We found a safe place to tie up the boat and went ashore to do more exploring and many of us painted. This is a lovely oil painting on canvas of the Nass River and the valley. The waters had quite a mysterious force and were very gray and intense on that day.

Creating Foxgloves Land 2007

2011-06-04T18:15:00.000-07:00

Send me about and around these trails,
Beautiful pathways never derail,
I have seen those familiar colors,
So distant but my memory sends me back,
My body motions me to follow those tracks,
Springs rain never ceased,
And our dreams revealed more,
Then within winters sleep,
I miss those purples so deep,
Pinks so delicate they’d breathe life,
Noble creamy whites never abandoned in strife,
Only the oils could hush the fibres,
And all will resolve into peace,
Just the meadowlarks request a call,
For your answer is here,
And the search is near,
Many a knoll in these meadows,
Send up a flourish of foxgloves too greet,
For the gathering rains leave them so sweet,
My hands gently move aside the towers,
I part these foxgloves all with flowers,
Oh, god your engineer,
That Mother Nature has appeared,
I stand amongst your fortress to affinity,
Smothered seemingly in this tender floral divinity.
　
　

The Pink Water Lilies 1999

2011-05-14T17:27:00.000-07:00

Waters dark with mystery,
the two lovely maidens fly in,
and float amongst the pads,

Morning has awakened the swans to stay,

This spring the ducklings bob and sway,

They'll take shelter on those green pads,

Jumping off with tiny sweet plops,

One of Springs nurseries never must stop,

Mysterious lily shoots with buds,
send all into rapture,

I have seen this show before,

The insect hunters play the role some more,

Our painting party searches these fluids,
dark with tannins,

Russet and auburn ooze deep below,

Where only the turtles and frogs,
dare venture and know,

Even the swans seem to play a game,
searching the waters for their reflections,

That moment is right and sunlights the same,

Pink satiny blossoms burst forth,
only the water lilies outshine all victorious,

Morrell Park with this pond so glorious,

Putting all creatures somewhat to shame,
the beauty which now the swans will claim.
　
　
　
　
　
　

Easter Sundays Daffodil Shows 2011

2011-04-24T17:03:00.000-07:00

In those far reaching forest knolls,
Yellow daffodils reach out to show,
Their petals of colored buttered cream,
Of woodland loveliness for all have seen,
We’ll travel these proverbial trails,
Adventured forth; rains of sweet scent inhaled,
This time at Lockhart Creek trail I’ll feel the need,
For something different from this canvased lead,
All those flowers, those pretty flowers familiar,
Last year but not to this very hour similar,
On this special Easter Sunday for they’ve appeared,
Forest in yellow flourish, pinks and whites to the rear,
What’s this adventure whom lay in these woods?,
Deep down such gems of this Sundays Easter would!

Happy Earth Day Everyone 2011!

2011-04-22T17:02:00.000-07:00

Today it's Good Friday and Earth Day all in one!

The Lily of the Valley 1982

2011-04-02T17:01:00.000-07:00

Sweet vanilla scent the smells from way below,

Motion all to the place we know,

What blossoms turned upside down,

Which way and right side and all around,

Tiny precious lanterns burning my heart in space,

Round dainty, dainty orbs with six petals in place,

Look you lovely painters of the Arts,

Our gardens room begins to start,

Nature you’ve filled us full of those flowers,

These lilies of the valley upon this hour,

Way down below there many more white flowers,

With luscious green bodies that protect with power,

Sway with the motions only their perfume can release,

This the painting my garden gave us with such peace.

Happy First Day of Spring Everyone 2011!

2011-03-20T16:32:00.000-07:00

It is the first day of Spring now. Last night the moon, they call the super moon looked lovely. It shone even brighter and appeared larger and that phenomenon will be back in nineteen years.
In the forest and backcountry all the wildflowers are blooming and many more blossoms to come. The weathers still quite cool and those beautiful cherry-blossom trees in the forest and parklands are blossoming into their familiar pink and whitish-beige flowers.

Expression in the Spells of Beacon Hill Park 2007

2011-03-12T18:41:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when we feel free,
Freer then the Pacific Oceans winds,
That bluster through our nerves,
And challenge us all to take in a deep breath,
We've come along distance to Beacon Hill,
Its mere volume awakes something lovely,
And if those splendid trees could talk,
They’d probably say,
"Artists spread out about this landscape and enjoy",
One could just express and feel the need to be,
Such beauty around us all and me,
Some of the other Artists felt the need to see,
With those animals in and amongst the trees,
A maples branch gently taps my shoulder,
Leaves soft and supple,
Autumns awakening sends us quick,
For that winters hand lays before us to grip,
I dip the paintbrush those bristles tickle the colour,
More reds and ochre adhere,
They’ll blend without formality,
Orange shames the yellows,
Greens and blues know where they live,
This paintings signature requires an Expression,
And the spells at ends day,
Would bid us a fond place we'd always stay.
　
　
　
　

Those Charcoal Shores 1985

2011-02-26T19:15:00.000-08:00

Mere shining jewels stretched along those shores,
Raft Cove lures the many wanderers,
In time her secrets spoiled,
Only the cries from the gulls shine in that element,
Their waterproofed bodies brighter than the afternoon sun,
Ignite our thoughts way back amongst those empty shores,
Red cedars and sitka spruce watch with contempt,
That all is awake and every living being descends,
Back out along the beach,
The surging Pacific Ocean will reach,
They'll never let one sleep,
River otters search their tidal pool caches,
Beautiful wildlife know this rough place,
Meandering through strenuous dusty trails,
Like this charcoal stick held lovingly with details,
Moves on with confidence against the grain,
Each bite leaves some and removes more,
Good rains be gentle with your wet solutions,
Those challenging waves torment us all,
And worry us back along those charcoal shores.

Where Have All The Bees Gone 1988?

2011-02-12T17:31:00.000-08:00

Way up in those trees,

We hear the sounds of those beautiful bees,

Time dares wipe our memories of this place,

Bowen park bring us all back to face,

Those summer days we'd while away,

Children play amongst those lofty sways,

Only a hive blends into the barks trance,

And peers down in a shy glance,

Seethes with life as the honeybees set out with pride,

Pollinating and honey-producing all in stride,

Those were the days,

The past we'd thought would last always,

Where have all the bees gone?

Please god bring them back for they have won!
　
　
　
　
　
　
　

Whytecliff Marine Park 1987

2011-01-29T16:25:00.000-08:00

I remember how warm it was in June as my family, friends and myself went to Whytecliff Park for a picnic. It is located near Horseshoe Bay and we found a beautiful spot for our picnic. The trails leading towards the forest and the beach were all nearby. The children were very little and were told not to eat the wild berries, as some were beginning to fruit and may be harmful if ingested.

After lunch everyone found something enjoyable to do and since it was low tide I went to paint. I located some pretty white flowers growing above the tidemark. I've seen the wild strawberries all reddish-orange in July and finally found them in flower. The white of the paper was left; as it would symbolize the white in the petals of this plant. The vines and leaves always remain the same and I love this composition.

Belcarra Regional Park 1989

2011-01-15T16:28:00.000-08:00

I located an old portfolio in our attic containing a lot of compositions I made years ago. Some have quite a lot of detail in them and the watercolour paper has held up as the paper has some weight to it.

This is a small watercolour painted along the Cod Rock trail at Belcarra Park around Spring. There was so many other trails to choose from but I chose this one as the wild hyacinths were in full bloom. I started off early in the morning and had a long drive to Port Moody where this park is located. It was well worth the effort and everything was nice that day including the painting.
　

Meadowlark of Alice Lake Provincial Park 2010

2011-01-08T15:54:00.000-08:00

Last year in the Springtime my family and myself drove to Brackendale to visit some friends. We were early because there was no traffic on the sea to sky highway and we decided to stop by at Alice lake Park first.
This painting of the meadowlark was done in the grasslands near to Alice Lake. I enjoy painting wild birds but especially the songbirds. This small bird had a very distinctive song and was almost the same size of a gray jay.

Happy New Year's Day 2011!

2011-01-01T15:28:00.000-08:00

It is the first day of the New Year 2011!
This is a small oil on canvas of our clematis in flower I painted last year in July. By early spring the first blossoms will appear and I can't wait.
It is a sunny day today and very cold with the artic air above us creating clear visibility. Those beautiful mountain ranges really look pretty with their recent snowfall.

Wishing A Very Merry Christmas 2010!

2010-12-25T00:00:00.000-08:00

Finn Creek Provincial Park 1996

2010-12-18T20:20:00.000-08:00

The quick moving waters of Finn Creek is located on the North
Thompson River. This is a small watercolour with ink drawn
into the paint surface to create that sense of motion.

Our painting party of ten had quite a difficult climb down the side of the cliffs to the creek bed. But we all came back with some interesting paintings that day.

French Beach 2004

2010-12-11T18:30:00.000-08:00

In the summer of 2004 I went to visit some friends at Sooke. Later on that day I took a car ride to Jordan River and did some hiking on the trails at French Beach Park.
Sitka spruce and red cedars were wonderful in those forests overlooking French Beach. I walked the beach soon after and completed this small watercolour.
The waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca were cold but I added lots of warm colours to this painting just to create some mood in this composition. And the reflection off the watercolour paper was pleasant on my eyes as the light was soft that day too!

Koksilah River Trip 2007

2010-12-05T14:39:00.000-08:00

A few years ago I was driving along Southern Vancouver Island near Shawnigan Lake and made an unplanned but enjoyable detour to Koksilah River Provincial Park.
After parking I hiked down and crossed an old wooden bridge. Below was Koksilah River with its small canyon.
I sketched this small charcoal composition with watecolour washes. I then carefully smudged more charcoal into the paper to leave that effect and I like the end painting.

Saltery Bay 1996

2010-11-27T19:34:00.000-08:00

This is a small watercolour of the rocky shoreline at Saltery Bay Provincial Park. I love painting the interaction between the sea and the land. In this painting I exaggerated the brushstrokes and the composition appears somewhat expressionistic. I painted a few more in oils that day and they did become smudged in the boxes but they still look interesting.

It was a day trip from the Mainland to the Sunshine Coast and we left by the Horseshoe Bay ferry terminal quite early that morning. At low tide the other people in our sketch party explored the tidal pools and they found small marine life swimming around.

Vaseux Lake Provincial Park 1999

2010-11-20T16:17:00.000-08:00

In the spring of 1999 my family and myself went to the Okanagan for just a one week vacation. It was lovely and the weather wasn't to hot yet.
This is a small oil painting of Vaseux Lake where I would paint in the mornings and our motel was close by. The light at that time was soft and the reflections of the vegetation and landscape were mirrored with subtlety. I painted dozens of paintings and sketches at this Provincial Park; we also hiked, enjoyed the spring flowers and saw the mountain goats far up on the bluffs.

Those Mellow Melons 1994

2010-11-13T15:12:00.000-08:00

Discovered more faded sketches of the dessert plate of melons from that Alouette Lake picnic.
The sketch paper of this small thumbnail of cantaloupe has been weather by moisture and time, but I still like the effect.
I'm glad I never throw any artwork out, in time everything has a place and use.

Remembrance Day 2010: We Will All Never Forget...

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

Their Winters Flights 2008

2010-11-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

The frozen walks in the woods,
Send chills throughout the skies,
Only the brave birds which stay,
Will tough it out long into winters day,
Amongst the underbrush all the feathered soldiers,
Figures cast along with relief,
Replicate the wax berries,
They'll feed on in frozen solitude,
Many are received in generosity,
Only are the late birds in these nowadays,
Their predecessors would migrate,
In moments of departure,
Hitching rides back on the storms,
High up to kiss the earth good-bye,
Goldfinches, meadowlarks and swallows have taken flight,
Many more to name such delicate forms,
Birds and life I praise there out of sight,
Hearty wrens, chickadees and sparrows mostly never depart,
But winter along these woodlands of my heart,
There they'll cuddle in the underbrush,
Repelling jackets tawny and brave,
Even the homeless dear hearts will stay,
In their tents of blues and grays,
Cozy and awake to save their Soul a place,
They should've been housed in that village of shame,
Oh, those winters games,
And the cruel which shall be unnamed,
There, their winters flights,
Throughout these cold, cold nights,
Snows roused all into conscious shivering,
And some may feel the storms for a winters forlorn,
It is the season all should be warned.

Bonwick Island 2010

2010-10-30T18:59:00.000-07:00

And the last oil painting from my Broughton Marine Park series is Bonwick Island. It's not technically part of the Broughton archipelago of Islands; but it was visible so I included this one as well.
We were done for the day painting and had lunch and it was enjoyable; we tried something different. We waited for the fish boats to pass by and the plane began taxiing along the waterway. It took around forty minutes to fly back to Port McNeill as the headwinds were quite strong.

Harrison Lake 1991

2010-10-23T16:13:00.000-07:00

My memory will recall in vivid detail,
A Harrison Lake adventure,
Our party surrounded by such beauty,
Washes in truth and time,
With their colours and textures indicated,
The little ones would run and play on the swings,
Their legs kicking out and creating momentum,
A game of who could soar higher was on,
Across the waters from our joy,
Strangers behaving badly along that other beach,
Those scandalous shores would never reach us,
Even our sweet dog behaved wonderfully,
Respectful on leash and knew she was loved,
Mountains shrouding perilously to the touch,
In time they shall fade into the background,
Trails would reel in hikers ever higher to the goal,
We enjoyed the lake with waters tepid all year,
Most people never stayed dry,
Inevitably even a wade enticed all to bathe.

Everyday's a Perfect Day 1998

2010-10-16T17:22:00.000-07:00

They will awake,
the details of the day displayed,
The laughter filled their happy play,
games and gossip put away,
Another image,
Many love to pray,
the pure power involved to make ones day,
Never a bad remark or thought,
to anyone,
in which they have been taught,
Oh, if those angels would never grow old,
but stay the same,
Their wings that never would clip,
and emotions to hold onto for always.

Swanson Island and Crease Island 2010

2010-10-09T16:57:00.000-07:00

Another small oil sketch from the Broughton Marine Park series. Near these two interesting Islands the bald eagles were also fishing for those salmon. With precision each large bird swooped down over the waters with talons ready. Some of the fish were quite heavy but their large wings safely lifted them up and away from the waters. Sometimes birds are expected in waterscape paintings; I decided not to include them in this composition as it would have made this painting too busy.

Secrets Of The Woodland Bleeding Hearts 2003

2010-10-02T16:24:00.000-07:00

Beacon Hill forest would hide their secrets,
And agonize the seeker,
In search of that dream,
Splashes of liquid impressions,
Expressed in sequence,
Only prod us back to a chased reality,
I have been back to these woodlands of my youth,
Pines, cedars and spruce know of my arrival,
And send me back to a riddle in time,
As I travel through the underbrush,
My hands feel and grip the bark,
And lift the boughs which motion me to stay,
Only my legs would carry me forth,
Bounce and spring sending me on that day,
And progress to my reward,
Merely hurdles to test the mind,
But rest in kind,
Windstorms of the past played their games,
With these fallen monuments,
Screamers still cry from their sharpened splinters,
Desiccated forms given way to rebirth,
And all is saved in this place of support,
At last those pale pink flowers,
Miniature hearts draped in sentiment,
Those trees and ferns protecting the secret place,
But in colour the bleeding hearts summoning all to admire.
　
　
　
　
　
　
　

Midsummer Island and Owl Island 2010

2010-09-25T16:13:00.000-07:00

This is another oil painting quickly sketched in the passage at Broughton Marine Park. Midsummer Island and Owl Island are quite close in distance and we noticed that day in summer lots of activity in the waters around us.
The seals were feeding and silver colored large fish were jumping all around in the passage. They must have been the sockeye salmon returning in their millions to the westcoast. This has been the largest return of these salmon back to the Fraser River and its tributaries since the early 1900's.
　
　
　
　
　
　

The Sweet Calls of the Chickadees 2010

2010-09-18T17:55:00.000-07:00

Awakening from the dreams in sleep,
and breath released,
The peonies team with the mightiest heartbeats,
calling out in those cool tones,
and breathe in the delight of that moment,
With each brilliantly little aria,
sonnets in the songs of delight,
If only the sunlight could motion the chickadees,
to stay but play,
merely for this spring day,
Another warm stage announces my sweet singers,
Holding their melodious tune,
so their voices can call in the new day of June.

Broughton Marine Park 2010

2010-09-11T18:16:00.000-07:00

We just came back from a painting trip on Vancouver Island and drove the island highway. The week we stayed in the town of Port McNeil was enjoyable and we chartered a seaplane to the Broughton Archipelago Marine Park. There was just four people onboard and we painted after landing near Eden Island.

This is a quick oil painting of Broughton Island; the largest one in this Provincial Marine Park. We then flew around and landed in many other waterways, painted, had lunch and eventually flew back to Port McNeil; it was only a three hour painting trip but it was very memorable.

The Watery Colours of Ocean Storm 2000

2010-09-04T16:51:00.000-07:00

We would see this wooden skeleton,
Already painted by the elements,

Her hues severely bleeding,
Into their rusty tones,

Many a nail would release and distort,
This beached gillnetter of a carcass,

Only the beautiful vertical presence,
And monumental shape,
Surrendered All,
To the sculptor; which is the sea,

And sent me dizzy into this image,
But dazzled towards the horizon,

Another storm daring all to stay,
And fall into the seas volume.

Prince Rupert 1999

2010-08-28T18:24:00.000-07:00

This small watercolour was quickly sketched along a trail on Prince Rupert's Digby Island. There was a lot of rain on that day in September; and when it cleared briefly I painted this quite dark and rather mysterious composition.

Prince Rupert is where we stayed and the time there was very enjoyable with all that beautiful nature around us. And the waters of Hecate Strait is a major waterway for tourism and we saw lots of whales too.

Dessert at the Picnic 1994

2010-08-21T16:01:00.000-07:00

I feel this watercolour of the cantaloupe dessert we had at Alouette Lake; even compliments the oil painting one and the many more drawings from this series. I've always loved painting this fruit because the golden flesh with all its depth and vivid hues reminds me of summer.

In Unison of the Snow Geese 1999

2010-08-14T16:35:00.000-07:00

They would spread out,

Forming the unity of peace,

Winged animals of flight,

Soaring out in harmony,

We would never tire of this marvel,

People left to watch and express,

Charming colours for this canvas,

With impressions which left are best,

Such movement of the atmosphere,

I have never envied neither nor dare,

If I could soar with my plumage made bare,

Perhaps the geese in the colours of snow,

Could lift me higher,

So I could dream once more,

Reaching to the heights,

And one day entering Heavens doors.

Rain 2010

2010-08-07T16:32:00.000-07:00

Today after over a month the rain finally came. On the westcoast summer was lovely but very dry and the precipitation was much needed.
We have tomato plants growing below the kitchen window and the fruit are beginning to ripen.
I love the scent of rain and how it revives the flowers and plants; hours have passed and even the brilliant greens of the new grasses have began showing through.

The Soul to the Clock 2002

2010-07-31T16:41:00.000-07:00

Every time I look towards the south,
The beauty which once stood there,
Seems to call out to the sensitive man,
Sketches creative in chalks of colour,
Many more sticky charcoal indications,
Should well impress all that is calm,
Invite me back to your parkland as I reach out,
I except the offer as the river swells in song,
Last night across the river,
With those goings-on and screams of calamity,
The night storms and the wailing from the land,
Will mask those savage brutes and conceal their illicit deals,
That we all have known and seen,
Keeping them away from this civility,
And please create that screen,
Even the ghostly flights of the geese which never scream,
That marketplace,
Its imprint lost and hidden by greed,
Sometimes calls out to a stranger,
Only the ones that know the place and remember,
And the breaks of silence which speak,
Elegant hands of the clockmakers,
A human touch and soul left to fuel the clock,
I know its hidden in the loft,
The warehouse doors shut tight,
With its secret locked up for all the nights.

In Praise of the Songbirds 2002

2010-07-24T17:11:00.000-07:00

Voices sweetly converse with melody,
They'll sing back with delight,
Each pose with sweet forms of vitality,
What tiny hearts and a song in tune for the night,
Perching with such frozen elegance,
I wonder what the other people have felt,
This composition reveals something which may delight,
Island of Mayne in these Straits which we've sailed,
Do these waters reflect or embody the murky depths,
Greenish blues collide with the umber greens,
That I have met and many of us which have seen,
The songbirds which hitch a ride on the winds,
Hold to the wild strawberries with care,
I'll hold these sticks of colour and dare,
Mere scratches I hope will delight,
Perhaps a song to mesmerize,
My beautiful sunburst of life,
The gusts persist and tantalize,
Just the rhythm of this land awakes,
Please don't release the goldfinches,
As their sudden flight will take shape.

The Hidden Treasures of Richmond 2007

2010-07-17T16:16:00.000-07:00

I would have never imagined driving along River road in Richmond and coming upon wildflower trails.
This painting was quickly painted in oil and I did another lovely watercolour painting.
We always enjoy visiting in Spring those trails again and what a treasure; every year many more beautiful flowers growing wild.

The Gray Whale...May Love To Stay More in the Fraser 2010

2010-07-10T16:52:00.000-07:00

If these waters could cleanse that False Creek,
Perhaps more vivid dreams could surface,
Only to impress that wanderer,
Its form so beautiful,
And warm-blooded like us,
The months have gone by now,
Its glistening ashen body,
Frolicked and searched,
In that wasteland of neglect and abuse,
Land that seems to revive,
Time heals but will only hide,
Cold facades and concrete replicas,
The soils secrets,
Still leaches their toxicity,
Back into that ancient waterway,
Settlements in this estuary,
From the First people,
Their Nations harmed none,
And left silent talk,
Their spirits may have called out,
People of our times,
Friendly and excited,
Will run to the decks and wave on,
But the whales language still searched,
In its ancestral waters,
And moved on and away
And out to Jericho Bay,
Without play in its liquid world,
Its watery breath sighed,
Please come back another day,
Seen last from Spanish Banks,
Come back to us along this Rivers Bank.

And Once There Was A Cannery 1991...

2010-07-03T17:36:00.000-07:00

As if I was walking back in time,
Only the trails of Boundary Bay,
Still hold that certain mystic for me,
I love revisiting those places painted,
That time would never relinquish
Those faded memories stripped away by familiarity,
Which is beauty,
Resting stoically in places untamed,
And weathered by the elements,
Still lives on in this painting,
And the many more images ready for the reveal,
Perhaps its form no longer rests along that slough,
The luscious land,
The sea with all its baggage,
And the space around,
Companions of my West,
One would love to wonder,
Even the winds hushing breath,
As it flows through the cottonwoods,
Teases the crying willows away from my attentions,
Would leave us all dreaming and wishing,
To stand now at the very spot,
Where the years have gone by but I have clocked,
My youth taken away mercilessly by time,
If closing ones eyes real tightly,
And opening them quickly,
Could reveal the beauty which once stood there,
Please Sun aid in reviving that dream,
I have seen your waves of heat,
Transform this land,
Into that mirage,
Which would help me in my dreams,
And reveal the wooden cannery once more to me.

Pine Tree at Cypress Bowl in Charcoal 2002

2010-06-26T15:33:00.000-07:00

I found another one of my compositions on manila paper, done while on a painting trip to Cypress Bowl. This series of this wonderful and interesting pine tree shows a charcoal drawing. Time has aged the paper and darkened it but I'm glad I pressed quite hard and scraped away with the charcoal stick. I feel the impression left was quite good and even the areas which were left alone; gave space and light during that perfect summer day.

Recollections Of The Garden Water Pots 1996

2010-06-19T15:07:00.000-07:00

When entering my flower garden,
Certain memories are released,
That is the passion that time would not relent,
Goad it back to form and let me dream once more,
Many decades ago the children could see,
And would love to lose themselves,
In the blossoms and vegetation of the planters,
Everything lovingly smelled and collected,
Questions filled that beautiful garden room,
The hydrangeas with their mystic and flowering clusters,
Soft pretty pinks, blues and whites; splendor soothing a childs heart,
Hold strong to ones memories as time will fly by precisely,
As adults the children ask the same wonderful questions,
Searching and exploring especially after the rains,
The spent flowers become cup-shaped seedpods,
Water pots of the garden now,
Drenching or refreshing,
Whomever,
Which loves a game.

The Subtleties in Blue of the Gulf Islands 2000

2010-06-12T14:47:00.000-07:00

A sudden smear,
Would lead to many blushes of indication,
Only that awakening form,
Would reveal all,
In the joy of that expressionistic moment.

When Our Souls Unite 1989

2010-06-05T15:28:00.000-07:00

What a beautiful adventure,
To search,
In this garden of peace,

I leave behind me,

That meaningless wasteland of a city,
A cold concrete jungle with shady recesses,
Undesirables lurking in the darkness,

We all love to walk,
In this luscious oasis of nature,

Human beings,
Perhaps united for the common good,

All bodies are lovely,

Alive and vital,

Vehicles for our Souls,

Perhaps a Romantic notion,

When eyes meet,
Our words would greet,
Thoughts of peace,

Certain connections or friendly farewells,
Enrich us more,
When our Souls unite.

The Goldfinch Rests 2008

2010-05-29T14:55:00.000-07:00

We all love the breaks in the spring rains,
Our umbrellas would all close in that riotous expected conclusion,
As the rays of warmth break through,
Only the kaleidoscope of the parkland sparkled once more,

The joy of a watercolour would resume now,
That oil medium earlier became 'The Goldfinches Rally',
Sated my spontaneity,
Water everywhere now but never a concern,
It always added to the work and gave meaning to the vision,

In the chaos of the deluge,
I would worry away; wondering if the beauty was lost,
In the mountain ash movement,
And under their leafy covers,
They would preen and dry off,
Those goldfinches would fly by once more,

Flashes of sunlight taken flight,
Probably they enjoyed their spring bathe,

Their so curious,
Aware,
But wild,

Eventually one would land close by again,
How lucky I thought I was,
They would think these hands would offer some treat,

The wild strawberries merely wetted their appetite,

But the insects caught in the breeze,
Sent that goldfinch off,
And the colony began to feast once more.

The Towering Pine Tree 2002

2010-05-22T19:29:00.000-07:00

As I sat down for hours in the parklands of Cypress Bowl, I planned to leave that summer day with many works of art.
I usually bring with me in my bag alot of different art supplies. This is another small thumbnail in coloured pencils on some rough cardboard. One had to scrap away and struggle with the surface in order to leave an impression. The medium is soft and you would have to go over the areas quite often; so it took sometime to create.
I still enjoyed the charcoal, watercolour and oil compositions the most...there's fluidity.

Stirring Liquid Emotions 1998

2010-05-15T15:02:00.000-07:00

All is stirring,
on this luscious morning,
The river with its liquid body,
rushes so elegantly,
Three young woman,
converse with emotions of sentiment,
Only the hips of the wild roses,
will form that base,
Later stirred with reverence,
among the other ingredience,
More motion,
pectin introduced to the sweet sugary fruit,
transforms the beautiful rosy jam,
into its familiar viscosity,
Water rolls in a boil,
the jars tumble deep down in that pot,
soon everything becomes processed,
and sealed,
only to be revealed,
And enjoyed later in that spread,
on the homemade bread.

That Camping Sojourn at Boundary Bay 1995

2010-05-08T13:13:00.000-07:00

This series of the abandoned car at the forest of Boundary Bay is completed now. I'm sure I have other pencil and ink sketches done during that summer of '95.
My family and I set up our tents nearby the vehicle which had broken down probably around forty years earlier. Eventually that would become one of my favourite subject matters.
This oil on panel is more detailed then the other compositions. The forest, sky, mudflats, sea, all the animal and insects, and even the lovely cloud formations were painted too.

The Serene Bank 2000

2010-05-01T12:03:00.000-07:00

As to persuade the other lifes from this vehicle,
One would love to search this river of mixed consequences,

Journeying towards the landing,
Far out on those familar waters,
Becomes always an adventure with the same result,

Serenity,

Even the blue heron which seem so peaceful too,
Sees below those sparkling molecules,
And when their spring is released the morsel is enjoyed,

Sometimes when I See and Feel,

Revealing that certain tranquility,

What's beneath all that wonderful sparkle?,

A kingfisher up in that mountain ash would wonder too,
All drama and sometimes a missed opportunity,

The wading marine animals prod and venture along in search for a meal,
Many meaningful splashes from the salmon,
My eyes dart towards those shining indications,
Sometimes a waving tail fin in conclusion,

And a hand wave back in play,

It's been a long beautiful day,

Travellers away for many years,
They'll arrive soon in the waterways of their youth,

Work and days over; as the tide hurries me back up the serene bank.

The North Arm in Spring 2005

2010-04-24T15:33:00.000-07:00

In these charcoal tinted blues,
Even the north arm of the Fraser became true,
It will move me,
And sometimes loose thee,
We may not have seen those hues,
The skies lent a hand in the splashes about this land for you,
Ebb and flow of those greys outweighed that day,
Even this small thumbnail would stay,
A secret in the small hand of a child,
Making such big language for awhile,
To thank,
This rivers bank,
Perhaps for spring this message has been,
The wild lilies gathered about me waiting to be seen.

Flight of the Geese in White 1999

2010-04-17T16:27:00.000-07:00

A random cascade of fluttering beauty all about,
What teaming glorious wing beats,
They're the whitish plumes,
Which seemingly motion in waves upon one after another,
Some black trimmed with precious delicacy,
The rough and almost vague waters grey with distance,
Have seen their migration throughout the millennia,
Even the beautiful cries within the flock hold coherency,
If my wings could burst through these fibres,
I would soar with these adventures,
Climbing ever higher to kiss my Maker,
Loving everything Dearly,
Eventually knowing the journey,
Would lead us to Peace.

Midnight Blues Ride 1995

2010-04-10T16:42:00.000-07:00

What a ride,
The blues of that midnight,
Would not have been,
For the darkness strained on for the visionaries,

Shine on moon,
Your delicate beams shone in an impish scene,
Only the nocturnal creatures scurrying in the brush have seen,

The searing darkness wore out this pretext of a beautiful game,
Of those colbalt and prussian blues,
Sweetly challenging those faded aquamarines for their space,

One could feel the soft kiss of the viridians adventure,
Journeying back towards the soft glow of dawn.

Wild Daffodils of Aldergrove 2009

2010-04-03T14:48:00.000-07:00

We were hiking in Aldergrove last year along a dike trail with the little Campbell River to our left. We had a lot of snow and winter seemed to last a long time but finally the wildflowers began to appear. The snowdrops, crocuses and these beautiful daffodils began to appear; the sign springs arrived.
The weather around the westcoast was still unpredictable but I still painted this watercolour. It was sleeting and still chilly but I'm pleased with this composition and the stains on the watercolour paper from that wet day gives the painting some charm.

Rhythm of the Cherry Tree Blossoms 2010

2010-03-27T15:42:00.000-07:00

You've taken a hold in my eyes,
What a surprise,
Those blues of the skies,
Kiss the pinkish folds of all the different size,
Even the blush of your petals warm the honeybees,
Throughout this beautiful cherry blossom tree,
The challenge is on in the parade of this land,
Springs breath will summon back winters hand,
As one will pronounce that perfect moment below the blossoms,
The caressing winds that release and a shower of pale pinks to toss them.

The Clock within the Spire 2002

2010-03-20T16:40:00.000-07:00

I have seen the crown once more,

Their secret no longer kept,

More lost history,
Created by the greedy,
Its neglect hidden in their back lot of rebuff,

My respect moves me to reflect,

I, amongst many others,
Worked around that proximity,
Took retreat in the cool shade below,

I recall the clock within the spire,
Its movements of precision,
And lovely tune in a song of chimes,
Even travelled across the waters to my sanctuary,

In those days its beautiful erect tower,
A body adorned in fragrant red cedar and inspiration,

One could feel the hot sun hurry us about,
Our break would hold us firmly to the tranquillity of this square,
Some could feel the attraction for this unique clock,
And my fondness for this artifact of my past,

Became a faded dream,
Only revived by this watercolour vision.

The Picnic at Alouette Lake 1994

2010-03-13T16:31:00.000-08:00

This painting of the cantaloupes still brings back fond memories. That was the time my family and myself picnicked at Alouette Lake. I completed many watercolour, charcoal and pencil sketches and studies of this still life that day. But I especially enjoyed painting this in oil. This fruit became a delicious dessert for us later; what a pleasant day we all had at that lake surrounded by those beautiful mountains.

Bluebells and Larkspur 2006

2010-02-27T18:40:00.000-08:00

The blues have their hold in my eyes,
What a surprise,
Bluebells and larkspur tease the land,
Just a bouquet of elegance,
Competing for attention,
Their fragrance of such delight,
Shining brilliantly in the moonlight,
Dawn will bring forth more blooms,
That the springs warmth will nurture,
And the dark chalky soils,
Of Hazelmere will not spoil.

The Shades Of That Sweet Harvest 1998

2010-02-20T19:05:00.000-08:00

Once the shades of that mirage had lifted,
"What is this illusion that I have seen?",
My memory would challenge my heart,
I heard the song once of a nightingale,
It filled that open meadow with tune,
And left my heart crying with joy,
But the warblers prepared for their chorus,
Sincere but a faint reflection,
Soon the voices in melody of girls laughter,
Soared in such merriment,
And they'd be engaged by the sweet harvest of those rosehips,
Even the hush of the Pacific breeze couldn't compete for their attentions,
Such a wonderful presence,
The sisters of confidantes,
Smears of another thumbnail sketch would defy my charcoal impression,
And once again the shades of this mirage would lift,
It would only seem later,
In this vivid sentiment,
'The romantic journey of a visionary',
I love knowing the Human Spirit of Joy,
Has reunited everything that exists,
And all that is witness to the calm of that sweet harvest.

Towers of the Skies 2002

2010-02-13T18:40:00.000-08:00

My whole being in this Cypress Bowl forest,
Would search for a new seeing,

Send me a message,
I would think to myself,

The peace is beautiful,
My mouth would restrain from revealing that message,
As for the listeners would pronounce,
Perhaps a scandalous refrain,

God,

And I do believe in the almighty,

Send me something,

Inspiration,

Or merely a sign,

Heavenly sent,

The guardians of this land are silent,
The firs will watch and contemplate,
Pines just renounce my apparel,
And the aspens distort the sunlight and try to blind me,

This glorious place below these towers,
Reaches to fill that creative void,

I have begun to settle down now,

With the comforting sounds of the porcupine quills,
Scraping a melodious tune along the boughs of the firs,

And this watercolour which will fill my Soul.

The Goldfinches Rally 2008

2010-02-06T18:53:00.000-08:00

The springs deluge,
Would hamper the motions of this meadow,
Sound out goldfinches in flight,
And pass by in sweet formation,
They love to rest and redress,
One especially enjoyed my work station,
It perched on that mountain ash entwined with the wild strawberries,
Those robins and chipmunks had feasted on those delectable morsels earlier,
My sweet yellow jacketed friend,
In your black and white feathery trim,
Your song is so poignant,
As is the preparation of your departure,
My deal with you for next time is,
A small feeder,
In which I shall hang from my easel,
I hope that will keep you intrigued by my side.

Consequences of The Solarized Mobile 1995

2010-01-30T18:12:00.000-08:00

I would reach,
Deep,
Deep,
Into my being,

Pulling and tucking,
At all the beautiful feelings,
Collected from the mere joy of living,

That furnace in space,
With its heat and light,

Oh,
What energy,

All that solarized force,
Encapsulating this part of the solar system,
Flooding onto every particle created,
And reaching even to this corner,
Of that consequence of immobility,

Cajole me back into the realm of space,
My hands and imagination revealed,
Another painting,

"Could you be real?",

I would like to think so,

As it has become the show,

Another image as real,
As the artist seated,
Or the vegetation thriving,
And all the creatures around surviving,

Just an old car with the sun as a companion,
In this special light of that moment.

A Charcoals Delight 1995

2010-01-23T19:56:00.000-08:00

That familiar sound,
Of the sweet scratches of delight,
Falling sometimes towards the earth,
My fingers would grasp another worn down stick,
Permeating the flesh,
With that earth tone pigment,
Those beautiful digits become the tools,
And work in unison,
As the moments proceed,
Another image is realized,
We all know in our hearts where each sketch will go,
More crosshatching and blending,
Tiny indications,
Larger impressions,
A charcoals delight,
I am contented with the results,
Also the muskrat living in the wheel well felt the same.

The Watercolour Ride 1995

2010-01-16T15:04:00.000-08:00

A country ride was never a drive,
The fortunate ones stayed alive,

Buckling never became a fact,
Thanks to Heaven we all use that tact,

This image will live again in water detail,
Papers strength and application entail,

I loved everything I saw that day,
Hundreds of different views in May,

Wildflowers and creatures around me a lot,
All us people in this painterly party greet and talk,

When it is time to depart and drive away,
We're so happy our jalopy isn't one from that heyday.

Ghost Trip of the Travelers 1995

2010-01-09T15:58:00.000-08:00

That ancient quest,
Of that road traveled,
But not maintained,
Where the breakdowns may occur,
Leaving many a vehicle trapped; and thus forgotten,

Ghost car with its last sputtering and mechanical calamity,
In another century only the living may announce,
It will stall and that is where it will remain,

Our artist club will hike along these trails and discover where to paint,
The calls of the gulls out at the seas edge,
Could be the warnings of the inevitable,
How many have heard those same sea cries,

The mudflats have sometime taken these derelicts on a salty journey,
Dumping them mischievously any which way,
Well those mortals did the same,

Nature gradually recycles and chooses which ones to leave as artifacts,

Metal monuments facing the hikers along those trails,

With those pathways overgrown with the wild asters, fireweed and goldenrod,
And some did good in their own wild, rusty, vehicular, flowerpot arrangements,
Occasionally a crumbling roof buried in the soft ooze of the flats could be seen,

Even those people,
Probably now all spirits; many would like to believe,
Are traveling in that ghost car,
Towards a new plain,
Where they will never breakdown.

Two Thousand And Ten Flowering Lights

2010-01-01T16:40:00.000-08:00

In a flash from one year,
Into the next,
The fireworks would strobe dainty flashes of atmosphere,
It was now seconds into Two Thousand And Ten,
Shouting joys from each guest, "Happy New Year!",

The garden with its miniature monuments frozen,
Beautiful abstract forms,

A painting from the night,

With its jet black brilliance,
And hues of dissipating flora,
Will set forth soon,

Even under the snows of this winter,
A glorious year with more flowers,
That will never disappoint the visionaries,

Or the tiny garden fairies.

Golden Flower 1996

2009-12-25T15:09:00.000-08:00

Your golden presence announced far out on the dunes,
In a silent language only a seeker with a hunch,
Would perhaps know the mysteries of that land,

Some would search deeper,
But you shone like a beacon,
Summoning all who were willing to be your saviour,

One would climb the grassy soft dunes,

Those pale yellow petals began to capture more brilliance,
And direct me to your stress,
What a beautiful vision finally revealed,

Those wonderful hands would save,
And coerce out this trapped sunflower from the hard soil,
Cradling it into a piece of canvas,
And knowing, "there is a new home for you now",

That team of bullies and corrupt politicians,
Selfishly taking and never giving back,
Pathing over more of Sea Island for another runway,
Their trampling and destruction on the wildflower meadows and dunes,
Would leave nothing even for the birds and insects,

Golden Flower became another well-wisher,
Displaying throughout this glorious summer in my garden now,

Sometimes one could imagine,
Its friends of the garden world,
All those magnificent flowery heads nodding in greetings,
Leaves of all shapes leaf shaking, as people would with their hands,
A mischievous gust of wind would set in motion; a group hug, or bow or curtsey,
Hydrangeas and sweet peas would talk in an impish play,
The roses and peonies in their beds fading, but still attractive,

Golden flower still stood proud and grateful,
Following the sun throughout the day,
And always turning,
To thank me for my kind gesture.

2009-12-25T15:05:00.000-08:00

Gold River Fall 2006

2009-12-19T16:47:00.001-08:00

Vancouver Island in the fall of 2006, was another interesting, artistic journey. After leaving Campbell River behind we drove along the highway until we reached the small town of Gold River. Usually there were four people to each vehicle and we stopped at many of the scenic rest stops and enjoyed the views. The small river valley and falls around Gold River even in late fall was so picturesque. There were mushrooms all around us so I painted them along with the pine and cedar forests. Occasionally the sun would come through and light up the landscape. Some of the other compositions looked cooler and some had warmth; but the mushrooms always had a colourful and terrestrial quality to them.

The Snows of Goldstream Parklands 1995

2009-12-12T20:26:00.000-08:00

On that day,
The landscape dictated to the painters,
To see more in this land,

Distant forms and dreamy illusions materialized,
My reality and frozen thoughts,
Left the bleak flats unaltered,

The snows relentlessly fell,
And would adventually cease,
Leaving this landscape changed once more,

Are you a mere sequence of colour and change?,

Or is it upon leaving this location,
Just the atmosphere created by time,

Erase all these beautiful visuals I would proclaim!,

But never our memories,
And Art work of that day.

First Beautiful Blossom 1990

2009-12-05T20:20:00.000-08:00

As if the bloom would remind all,
A Spring is delightful,
The thorns dared to pierce that sensual moment,
Only a flowery lapel adornment,
Its rival,
That beautiful Nootka Rosebush,
Dressed to the height of another spring season,
I would never forget the fragrance,
So perfumed and inviting
Those sweet honeybees,
And delicate winged butterflies,
Thought so too,
Even the pastel pinks and circus of greenery,
Remains until this day,
Another memory and image so perfect.

Hawks Hollow 2002

2009-11-28T18:14:00.000-08:00

In November of 2002, I had completed a hike around Deas Island Regional Park. Sometimes when there's a deluge of rain and the park becomes flooded, I'll still paint by using the straps of my paint bags. While I'm standing, the water dish and the watercolour trays will hang against my body. With the pad of watercolour paper in front of me; the painting is completed quite efficiently. The results are surprisingly nice and this small composition at Hawks Hollow is quite appealing.

Domesticity Doesn't Suit You Black-Eyed Susan 1993

2009-11-21T18:10:00.000-08:00

(the ode)
I wonder sometimes when I glance at your intrepidity,
Hope your pleased and happy in your indoor land,
You posed stoically,
And one week now,
Please don't sprout legs and walk back off,
To that wildflower field,
That earth tone carpet with its lushes weave,
May satisfy you into believing,
It is the dark soil of the earth in which you came from,

I don't like seeming selfish,
But isn't all Art derived from that feeling?,
Otherwise nothing would be created,

All those wonderful paintings from your life,
Then time,
And the light,
Made even more,
Oh,
That dreaded change which is inevitable,

And on that certain morning,
Your dessicated blossoms and falling petals,
Now left that indication,
Sorry Black-Eyed Susan,
You may have faded into the bow of defeat,
But her vivid beauty on this canvas,
Still provoked a revision and immediate respect,
I will always see in my mind's eye.

Our Lodgings Near Grice Bay 2003

2009-11-14T17:19:00.000-08:00

All the weary travellers,
Safe in this structure so sparse but practicable,
The bay is so serene,
Even the ravens call out to us in an invitation to rejoice,
On this sojourn,
With this eclectic group of artist,
We trooped all over Long Beach and the forest coves,
Agreeing later to part ways and paint,
Our visions so different,
But this Pacific Rim Park so appealing,
And the end result those works similar,
I hope all is sated,
At the highway diner we greeted again,
Our feelings of the day displayed in paint,
Meares Island has seen the tears of the disheartened,
Mighty protesters fending Meares's sanctity against those callous loggers,
The greedy only leave a selfish legacy and the savaging of that beautiful land.

Tulips and Pansies 1996

2009-11-07T14:20:00.000-08:00

Your premier surprised my vision that morning,
When your delicate shoots sprung to life,

The soft tilled soil nurtured and hardened your inevitable arrival,

Many skunks in their black and white coats gleamed in the moon light,
Timidly leaving those plants bulbs unscathed,

And the warmth of the strengthening sun released you,
To another spring and you sprung surprisingly,

Perhaps the quarrelsome racoons had a deal with you,

To leave the artist in that dreamland space,
Within those glass enclosures some beauty,

Oh, yes I'll paint that,

I will paint anything,

For the need to express is one of the joys of life,
I would like to believe for the living,
And the feeling of those wonderful hands,
The time is now in which they will create,

Now the sumptuous petals of the tulips,
Caress the dainty; almost butterfly like ones of the pansies,

And keeping with tradition a coin for luck,

The fresh water lovingly poured,

And two weeks of your flourish for all to enjoy.

Spring Flowers of Manning Park 1997

2009-10-31T17:58:00.000-07:00

Those early birds greeted me in a chorus of song,
Quite a fetching tribute to another early morning visitor,
I painted elsewhere but gathered and loved the selection,
Wildflower fields brimming with the wild geraniums,
Harebells,
And lupine,
Off in the distance,
Meadows shimmering with yellow buttercups,
I couldn't reach for the stream was fast moving,
The warmth of the sun would send those chills from winter back to that place unknown,
Now the butterflies and insects from their night time torpor,
Would begin to warm back to life,
On the perimeters of the meadows,
The wild deer would shyly graze,
On the sweet grasses and shepherd's purse,
And at the cabin,
My familiar glass vase made a sturdy home,
For that days harvest,
I almost worshipped and praised for their beauty,
And the painting; which soon followed.

Fruit and Veggie Station 1979

2009-10-24T19:36:00.000-07:00

We unloaded the fixings to the kitchen tent,
Meat station waved over to the fruit and veggie ones,
The bugs paraded below the pretty wicker tables and sent,
Sweet wishes something would drop in fun,

Animals outside could smell the food,
Some squirrels would play with our minds,
The racoon would mosey on in always in a mood,
And look frightening with their dark gazes in search of a find,

Everything looked paintable one could say,
And so much to choose from but never a real labour,
That still life looked more alive today,
Accompanying the salmon and steaks with all its simple flavours,

That bay at Porteau Cove swarmed with more campers seeking fun,
Ants would line up expecting to be rewarded by someone,
Burners are all on and the cooking has just begun,
Caramelize and basting the fish and meats almost done,

While everything on this make shift party had taking place,
What hours of fun and everyones completely fed,
We will stay till the dusk shines no more light for us to trace,
This oil painting of fruit and veggie station all has been read.

Tranquility on Long Beach 1986

2009-10-17T18:20:00.000-07:00

This open-air watercolour painting I did at Long Beach in Pacific Rim National Park is still memorable. After my long hike from one edge of the beach straight across the firm sand to nearly the other side. On exploring that area I came upon lots of sanddollars, starfish and even jelly fish; which unfortunately never made it through the last storm. One can collect shells and check out the tidal pools. For stranded fish and marine creatures, waiting for the next storm to release them back into the Pacific Ocean. The logs strewn about the higher grounds close to the forest, made a great place for me to paint and relax.

Boundary Bay Cannery X11 Revisited 1989

2009-10-10T17:09:00.000-07:00

She sparkled after that tantalizing storm of hail,

I sat hunched but not broken,

But painted an homage to the form,

The beams and planks all sighed in relief,

Also the roof and sidings expelled the soaking back into the slough,

We all waited for and prepared once more,

For Expression,

Only the time will reveal the moment,

Her supports looked rattled but familiar,

Those waves still badger all but licked in a delicious rhythm,

And now the salty breeze returned to awaken back all who dared to remember.

The Water Colours of Ocean Storm 2000

2009-10-03T18:21:00.000-07:00

We visited often this beautiful wreckage,
Perhaps the epitaph,
Of a life so once serene,
We would explore that desolate shore,
There was a feeling they belonged just to Neptune,
The sea god would display his hoard of the lost,

Ocean Storm would move sometimes towards the dunes,
Then play somedays with the waves,
Those tricksters lurked in form below our feet,
Could it be the crabs and starfish shifting her form mischievously,
Greasing the paveway with the kelp along the pebbles,

I wondered what form her wooden curves appeared like,
But only now her inners remain and lived on many of my canvases,

On that certain morning all was different,
Cumulus clouds were in the unsettling sky taunting the mortals below,
An eye glared to earth and enticed everything beneath,
That all is calm,
But in fact we were in amidst of the storm,

Ocean Storm no longer was there but returned back to her watery grave,
A sad reality but as it ought to have been,
The essence of her soul would now reclaim once more her beautiful lost form.

As the Light Shifted 1996

2009-09-26T18:12:00.000-07:00

Those beautiful wildflowers of Langley lived many times, in quite a lot of my compositions. I remember during a break from that watercolour, the Wildflowers of Langley 1996. The sun began to set behind the row of large pine trees along our property line. My studio darkened rapidly. And on a whim; I created this almost abstract painting with its sketchy qualities.

Spring Daffodils of Hazelmere 1988

2009-09-19T19:21:00.000-07:00

The vendors along the road side with their colourful signs of directions,
Would summon the prospected buyers to lurch off the highways,
Into the make shift parking spots,

Looking at those yellow flowers of spring,
Elastic and pretty,
Saying, "each bundles ten dollars!"

With that certain squeaking sound from the stems,
Tightly bundled together and ready for the sale,

We just left and drove on past and greeted the sweet campbell river,
All grey today,
The banks delicately festooned with the late march snowfall,

Peeping through,
Those stubborn daffodils would not be silenced,
Into another sleep,
Those bobbing pale petals,
With their orangey-yellow trumpets,

Stood proud and erect,
Ready for the selection and pickings,
By all who would venture along the rivers bank,

We love the hunt for the wild daffodils,
And those vendors had arrived earlier in the quiet dawn,
To grab all the abundant Spring yellowy gifts,

I'm so happy some flowers eluded their greedy snatches,

Their vehicles left tracks of chaos and hurry,
Which muddied that snowy dike trail,
But their funny footprints showed a higgledy-piggledy dance of confusion,
Which probably the herons and kingfishers chuckled at, high up in the cottonwoods.

Hi Friends:I've been so busy maintaining my different projects.I'm so especially fond of this Blog-site the most; a Virtual Art Gallery.Here's more...

2009-09-19T18:47:00.000-07:00

The Watercolour Memories of Cypress Bowl 1985

2009-09-12T19:39:00.000-07:00

That image faded into a wash of distant pines and firs,
Only my vivid memory remained,
The keeper of my dreams and the silent witness,
Would be those stoic pines and timid firs,
They'll all smile back from their dizzying heights,
Whom amongst you saw a man revealing his inner emotions?,
Those luxurious hues spread veraciously on canvas,
That elusive ideal image cried out as a continuous birth,
Somewhat like that of an unknown new being,
Born into a natural world,
Articulating their presence their here,
The sounds in which the baby needs to be nurtured,
Oh, those views with their impressions,
Sending those soft colour of washes reveling to the command,
Of a personal representation,
Thanks to the Heavens I would think to myself,
That day the earth radiated all that warmth,
And created the mirage only that medium could manage,
To bring forth in the soft treatment and emotions of that day at Cypress Bowl,
I still tremble with that certain Feeling of Art,
Which one has to create in their own style,
Each tree reached to the Heavens,
Upon venturing back along that secret gravel trail,
At the bowl those trees would greet the tired traveller with his gear,
And all the growth different now but those feelings still familiar and nearer.

Wild Yellow Marsh Irises along the Nicomekl River 1996

2009-09-05T19:19:00.000-07:00

We all plunged down along the soft lushes banks in the spring of '96,
Traversing into the shallows near the rivers edge,
As the blood hounds wallowed clumsily and jostled into our bodies,

Only the greenish-grey waters of the Nicomekl gently kissed our heels,
The painting party ventured out with individual bags of colour and liquid expressions,
And lay claim to their particular views which I found everyone especially breathtaking,

An open-aired joyous interpretation tantalized us into silence,
And the work of that quickening day begun,
A rocking motion created by the breeze moved the bag perched in the centre of my easel,

The tree swallows visited our sight,
With playful aerial dances they especially glided by our hands,
Curious to the motions and perhaps wanting to assist in dappling a wing into the palette,
And leaving their mark on the canvas board,

I wondered if they would accidentally fly through the composition,
Into a make believe world of hope and beauty,

They played and fed on the insects and made sweet tweaking sounds on every swoop,

Hours past by and marsh irises and the river appeared and lived on that surface now,
One would never want a day like that to end but the clocks ticking on,
And the inevitable task of packing up began,

Some of the other members would destroy their own moment with every critic,
I, on the other hand loved that painting and change nothing,
As it was the study of a moment along the Nicomekl,
On a perfect Spring day.