My New Wild West

Another move, another view. Last summer, I said goodbye to the warehouse studio I built with my man, and we moved to a very downtown apartment. From my new windows, I can see two bridges, three church spires and the famous roofline of a certain Chateau-style hotel. Paris of the Prairies. I am grateful for the roof overhead. Down in the streets, not everyone is so fortunate. Bells from the churches and City Hall toll throughout the day. When I hear them, I try to be mindful. 

My studio has shrunk somewhat to fit into a spare bedroom. But it is enough. The light filling it is much more than I am used to though, gallops in from all directions in this new, south-facing abode. And the large florals that I was making back in the warehouse studio have refused to shrink for anything. The dahlias and hydrangeas have a feeling of wanting to bust off the canvas, as though reaching for the light. Sunlight is the new sheriff in town, shaking up my palette and sense of colour. Bella, the real-life fig tree we live with, is revelling in the light and producing little berries. She’s already over six feet tall and seems to swagger in my living room. This is my New Wild West.

But when the bells ring, I try to hear them. A few weeks ago I had a back injury and it has lead me, many days, no farther than flat on the floor, watching the sun move from there. Mostly I’ve painted and shifted colours in my mind. I am once again, at long last, more upright than not, finding hope in the growing late-winter light, overjoyed to be putting down marks again. In deep gratitude….

If you want to see the new canvases up close, studio visits are still very much possible at the new location. So don’t hesitate to reach out. Come for a look, and tea!