I’ve been meaning to start a series on artists who inspire me in my daily life, as both a a painter and someone who appreciates and collects art. Some of these artists have directly impacted my work, while others are simply artists whose work I am in awe of and they have inspired me to push myself and strive for something greater in my own work.

Art has always played a pivotal role in my life. My Father was an artist. I grew up in a home filled with art. My Mother loved portraits, and so there was no shortage of faces up on our walls. It’s no surprise, that I also gravitate towards portraits. Although, I tend to prefer contemporary portraits in my own home.

As a collector, I look for art that immediately elicits an emotional response - the kind that is pulled from both the heart and the gut. I find this kind of response typically comes from a face or figure. I’m not one to shy away from art that harbours some kind of sadness, and rather find it comforting to witness the human condition in its genuine form staring back at me. And although I do not think that an artist must suffer in their own personal life to make impactful art, most of the artists I will be featuring in this series, certainly had difficult lives. Just like we read to know that we are not alone, I think we create for similar reasons. Creating is a way of releasing the things we do not know how to speak of - or do not feel we can speak of because they are just too painful. It is also a means of connecting to others. I think for many artists, the simple act of creating is cathartic and in some cases, absolutely necessary.

Which brings me to my first featured artist - Charlotte Salomon. Charlotte was a German-Jewish artist born in Berlin to a prosperous family. Her life was marked by tragedy from an early age and unfortunately it spanned her entire, albeit, brief life. Her Mother committed suicide when she was a young girl, succumbing to the same fate as Charlotte’s Aunt, Great-Grandmother, Uncle and her Grandmother’s nephew. When the nazis came to power in 1933, Charlotte stopped going to school and her world became incredibly insular. In 1938, her Grandmother killed herself by throwing herself out a window, fleeing the nazis. Her own life was marked by so much trauma, it’s actually difficult to comprehend all that she went through in her short twenty six years. In a confession letter, Charlotte had referred to ongoing sexual abuse at the hands of her own Grandfather. This letter also contains a confession of poisoning her Grandfather while staying with him in Nice in 1942.

The exact date is unknown, but Charlotte experienced a nervous breakdown that led to her doctor suggesting that she take up painting. She took his advice, and within a year, she had produced 769 gouache paintings which she entitled Life? or Theater? and in the space of two years, she had painted over 1,000 paintings. It would be her life’s work — her Gesumtkunstwerk; fusing poetry, music and the visual arts into a culturally significant body of work by a young woman who was considered an alien race and therefore did not even have the right to exist within her society.

In September of 1943, she was transported by rail from Nice to to the Nazi processing centre at Drancy, near Paris. She was five months pregnant. She was transported to Auschwitz on October 7th and most likely was murdered in the gas chamber on the day she arrived.

I think we can all agree, that despite the suffering Charlotte endured in her brief life, her work is a testament to the enduring human spirit, as her work is lively and whimsical with its bold lines and vibrant colour palette. What I especially love, is the immediacy of the work and how layered the narrative is - there is so much there to unearth. I find myself going back to her work, and seeing new meaning. To me, her work is equivalent in its multitude of layers and enigmatic presence as to the human emotional landscape.

My hope, is that while creating her life’s work she was given a window of time to step out of herself, and I can only hope that the act of making art lifted herself out of her grief/trauma, even if only momentarily. I like to picture her in that tiny room, humming to herself, feeling the tidal pain washing over her and then ebbing and flowing away from her.

I have mad respect for Charlotte. And I am just so grateful that her work was kept in safe hands during the war and then passed on to her remaining family post war.

I don’t know about you, but I feel very fortunate to have a copy of Life? or Theater? in my home. Charlotte herself, may have viewed the autobiographical paintings as highly unusual — and some would say they are - but they are so much more than that. They contain multitudes of expression - joy, sorrow, longing and love. They also contain the very heart of the artist herself. When I spoke of work that tugged on both the heart and the gut - this is exactly the kind of work I was referencing.

If you are not familiar with Charlotte’s work, I highly recommend you get your hands on a copy of Life? or Theater? and invest some serious time in delving into her extraordinary paintings and getting lost for a while.

And thank goodness for that.

I know there are certain people who reflect on their past, and think of their best years as behind them. We all know or have encountered people who will refer to a certain part of their lives as their ‘golden years’. From my experience, it’s usually in reference to either their teenage years or their early twenties.

I am not one of those people. I am so grateful that those years are behind me, and I wouldn’t ever want to go back there. You couldn’t pay me enough, to go back. And it’s not to say I didn’t experience some truly wonderful and exciting things in the past, because I did, and of course I am happy to have had those experiences. But those years as a whole, do not compare in the slightest to my current life - not by a long shot. My current years are by far my best years, and it’s my future that I am most excited for - there is so much I still want to do/experience, and I can’t wait to see how my next series of chapters unfold.

Now that’s not to say, that I am not impacted by my past. Of course, I am. It would be impossible not to be. I truly believe, most people, spend their lives enmeshed to some degree in what has already passed by them. But for some people. their past is not a welcoming place they want to revisit. It is not a place they willingly want to go back to, nor is it a time they necessarily want to relive. As I mentioned in a previous post, I live with ghosts, just like everyone else. But my ghosts are not happy ones. They are in fact, incredibly sad ones. And these ghosts - just like grief - have become woven into the very fabric of my life. And for the most part, they are a quiet presence. And as I am someone who does not care to dwell on my past, we have had to come to an agreement. From my end of the bargain, I have done my best to work through it and/or bury it, and for the most part, I have successfully done so. It’s the ghosts that are there to remind me, and remind me they do, but they’ve agreed to take a more lassez-faire approach to their haunting and so we get on quite well, really.

So, even when they do peel themselves from the sofa and start disrupting the roots of my pain, here’s the thing - I am no longer the person I used to be. All of what happened, it happened to the former version of myself. Yes, I am still me. And in that sense, the things that happened, did in fact happen to me. But as we grow, we change. And as we change, past hurts do not impact us in the same way. It’s called boundaries. And as I have aged, I have implemented more and more of them. The person I am today, is still marked by sadness, but that sadness is very much a footnote now. I am much more hope than anguish these days.

And so, making this new body of work for Yester, Morrow has certainly been interesting. As I started to make work for the show, I started to pull from my own life. Which meant, not just looking back but revisiting certain periods of my life. Which naturally, has caused certain memories and its associated emotions to come to light, but overall it’s been a very cathartic experience and it’s really made the adage ‘time heals’ more meaningful than ever. Because it does. Because within that ‘time’ is when people and their circumstances grow and change, and as a result, our entire perspective and therefore personal narrative changes. What has certainly come through to me with this new body of work, is just how hopeful this cast of characters is. Yes, they are marked by sadness (they wouldn’t be my people if they weren’t) but more so, they are full of expectation and desire. They are actively choosing to look ahead.

This is a closeup snapshot of a painting with three figures. The title for this piece is: The Feelings That Stay With You Now, Get Lost Overtime Somehow

It will be part of my upcoming solo show Yester, Morrow at Red Head Gallery in Toronto in early September.

My father had been a talented hobbyist artist, and I recall him being both surprised and intrigued by my early abstracts as a teenager. My creative stint didn’t last long, and I quickly forgot about it. Then in my early twenties, I decided to pick up the paint brush once again, and this time around it led to a few sales and a solo show at a local cafe. The truth is, these earlier bouts of art making were half-hearted, and so it was no surprise to me or anyone else that yet again, I soon found myself packing up my art supplies and moving onto other pursuits. Not once did I ever think to myself that I was an artist, or that it was something I wanted to do as a profession. My first love had always been books, and if you had asked me back then what I wanted to be, the answer would have been - writer.

I have always loved art, and whenever I would travel, I would make a point of attending art exhibits or checking out local galleries. I grew up in a house with plenty of art on the walls, and my own home is a reflection of this. I am an art collector, and I am fortunate in that my home is full of wonderful art. Art has always brought me joy, and even though I no longer had any interest in making art myself, I knew I would spend my life engaging with and appreciating other people’s art.

This all came into question after I had found a new neurologist in Toronto who was taking a new approach to brain injuries. I won’t bore you with the details, but it took me years to find a neurologist who actually was invested in helping me find ways of improving my health/overall well being. One of his suggestions was to take up a new skill-set that would build new neural pathways, as well as offer relaxation and decrease stress. My first thought was to take up the violin, as it was something that I had always wanted to learn. Unfortunately, at the time, I was still very sensitive to noise and had limited ability to listen to music etcetera. My thoughts then turned to art. I had always made abstracts, because I wasn’t confident in my drawing skills. Taking up drawing would allow me to hone a new skill-set, as well as finding a cathartic outlet. I remember leaving that appointment feeling something I hadn’t felt for many years - hope.

As my days were pretty much open, making art became all consuming. I spent hours each day sketching with pencils and pastels. Whenever I would sit down to draw, it would always be a face that would end up looking back at me. I am not going to lie, those first few months of drawing faces probably increased my stress levels, as I found it very frustrating to draw people. During my appointments with the new neurologist, I underwent several tests. I quickly realized I no longer saw the world in the same way I once had before. For whatever reason (the brain is such a mysterious organ), I could no longer draw a clock with the hands pointing at the right time. All my attempts, ended in complete disaster. I had scored well on most of the other cognitive tests, but the drawing score was abysmal. My early paintings consisted of lopsided eyes and extra fingers per hand. I didn’t see it at first myself, but my husband Simon would point it out to me, and I recall how shocked I was by it. I didn’t know if I would ever see things in the same way again, and I remember thinking that these quirks might not be such a bad thing. I took up a daily practice of drawing, and over time, these quirks mostly went the way of the dodo. I also have an essential tremor in my head and hands, and after the brain injury, the tremor became more pronounced in my hands. My early works consisted of more squiggly lines than they do now, as I have developed a more steady hand when drawing, which I think just came from daily practice.

As the months turned into years, art healed me - and I don’t just mean the brain injury. I also live with PTSD, and making art has been fundamental in helping me live a more relaxed and grounded life. Art also gave me purpose. Having to retire from work at the age of 36, it did a number on my self-esteem. Turning my art making from a hobby into a profession, did wonders for my confidence. I am someone who never thought of themselves as being driven, but when I reflect on my work and life, I see that I am incredibly driven. When I want to do something, I throw all of myself into it, and I always think of Mary Oliver’s poem The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac (Part 3) where she references the poet Keats with this line ‘Let me be as urgent as a knife, then, and remind you of Keats, so single of purpose and thinking, for a while, he had a lifetime.’

I have set aside all of my doubts, my insecurities, my fears - and I have put myself and my art out there day after day after day, because I want to be an artist and I want to make my mark.

Photo by Shyla Blair

Read more

Read more

Read more

Read more

Last batch of my top picks for the Jackson’s Art Prize Longlist. There are so many wonderful works on the longlist this year, and I feel so honoured that my Patron Saint of Elsewhere is amongst them. Just two days until the shortlist is revealed. I can’t wait to see which pieces made the final cut!

Next batch of works that spoke to me. Colour palette certainly has something to do with the works I connect with, as there is a lot of green and pink in these pieces. I am a sucker for stripes, as well as works that contain even a wisp of whimsy, which I feel is true for all of these.

I really do enjoy looking through the lists and making my own shortlist. I have no idea how the judging process works. I assume they have some kind of criteria they follow, especially when there are five judges on the panel. And I assume they all need to agree on the final 70 works, which I can only imagine is a daunting process for all involved.

My final round is next. I will be curious to see if any of my picks make it to the shortlist. We shall see!

Substack will only let me post nine images at a time, so I will post them all across three posts. I selected my favourite 25 works from the current longlist, which contains 1,000 artworks. I chose these artworks based on what I was drawn to - what held my interest and evoked some kind of emotional response. My head wouldn’t allow for me to do any deep diving and find the artist’s name etcetera, so I’m just sharing the visuals. But this is why I love the Jackson’s Art Prize so much - I discover so many new artists and I just love seeing so much fantastic artwork in one space. It is so worth looking through the longlist. You are certain to find some gems. I hope you enjoy my picks!

Like Miriam Margolyes recently said ‘Read a fucking book!’, and there’s never been wiser words spoken. If there is one subject I could go on forever about, it is why reading is so important. I could write a tome about it. But for the sake of you readers, I will do my best to keep this short and sweet.

I grew up in a house of readers. My Father in particular was an avid reader, and his enthusiasm and devotion to the written word was passed down to me. And because our house was full of books, I always had a new read readily available at my fingertips. It is fair to say, that as a child, I was more drawn to the worlds that I encountered in books, than the one I was waking up to each and every morning. Reading for me, was the perfect escape. There are many reasons why a child will become drawn to reading, and frankly whatever the reason is, every single parent should be paving the way and priming the conditions, so that their children become keen readers.

Why, you may ask. Well, listed in bullet points are all the reasons why being a lifelong reader will serve you well as you try and navigate this beautiful and interesting, yet increasingly troubling world.

• Reading promotes and nurtures critical thought. If you want to raise a child that will approach life with the ability to question things, and form their own opinions - and have the confidence to verbally express said opinions - then get them reading from a young age. If you want your child to have a discerning and sharp mind, and to make decisions based on thorough research, and be able to filter out the bullshit - then get them reading. If you want a child who is open to new ideas, and is forever seeking out new information, then get them reading.

• Reading promotes and nurtures empathy. One of the best ways to instil empathy in your children (beyond showing them within your own family interactions) is to get them reading from a young age, with a focus on books that teach them about people and ways of life that do not resemble their own. The more diverse the narrative and the lives contained, the better. Banned books should be essential reading for kids. Do not hide the truths of the world from your children, just because you yourself do not agree with them or they make you uncomfortable. Your children need to make up their own minds about these things. They are their own people. And sheltering children only leads to a narrow viewpoint of life, and frankly that leads to a penchant for pettiness, prejudice, judgement, and all sorts of unsavoury personality traits.

• Reading will make you more articulate, and frankly, in any given situation, being able to express your thoughts/ideas coherently is going to be of service to you.

• Reading offers us solace in difficult times. As C.S. Lewis said, ‘We read to know that we are not alone’, because as humans we seek shared experiences and emotions - we seek connection. If your child is struggling with bullying - have them read books with you about this subject. If your child is grieving the loss of a loved one - read books on this subject with them. The reality is, most people build walls up around them, and children can sense this. But in books, kids will get to see people saying and doing things without those insecurities/self defence mechanisms that prevent people from saying/doing the things they ought to.

• Reading is a way to fight misogyny. Obviously, the best way to combat that is to teach both your sons and daughters about how it shows up in their day to day lives, and how specifically boys are socialized from birth to adopt misogynistic beliefs/behaviours towards girls and how girls are directly impacted by it. The more books your sons read from a female perspective, the better. If you are raising a son today, I can only imagine your wish is for him to be an empathetic child who is actively working at not playing to gender stereotypes and not becoming a misogynist himself. So, celebrate the female narrative - each and every day.

• Reading will help curb the onslaught of ADHD behaviours - ie. not having the attention span to read a book. Take away their screens. Hand them a book. It will not only change their lives, but will change them for the better.

• Physical books themselves, are what I like to refer to as nostalgic vessels, that can transport us through time and as a result become treasured keepsakes. Certain books will stay with children for the rest of their lives. They can be seen as physical markers, reminding your children of specific moments/milestones along their journey into adolescence and adulthood and beyond.

• Books are beautiful. A child’s bedroom becomes all that much more warm and welcoming when there is a bookshelf or bookshelves adorned with varying sizes of bright and colourful books. It can be a rotating bookshelf, if the books are taken out from the library. Books can also be used to make a fun and snazzy Christmas tree in their bedrooms over the holidays.

• Library cards are free. Books can be free. And reading - beyond all of the above - it is one of those rare activities that focuses/quiets the mind. It drowns out all of the exterior noise, and for the few minutes/hours we are immersed in a book, nothing else matters. What an absolute gift.

*The above photo is a screenshot of a print I just ordered via an account on Etsy called Wilbraham Collective from the UK. I have always loved the classic Penguin cover, and as soon as I stumbled upon this account I knew I needed to have one of my own.

If you follow my art account on Instagram, then you may have read about my ongoing search to uncover more about my Dad’s family. In my twenties, I had started to do some ancestral digging and began my search online for other Cohane’s within Canada and beyond. My Dad never spoke about his Dad, and so there wasn’t much to go on. It wasn’t until my early forties, that I discovered (thanks to a DNA match) our surname had been changed by my paternal grandfather from Keohane to Cohane. He had moved from the West of Ireland to the north, and perhaps he wanted his name to sound less Irish? Having joined ancestry.com, I was able to pinpoint the area where my paternal grandfather had lived prior to leaving for the north - Cork. And some further research showed that his family had originated on Whiddy Island, an island in Bantry Bay.

Since I can recall, I have had a strong affinity for two things - water and horses. Seeing or being close to a body of water or to horses in a field, it immediately grounds me - I instantly feel calm, and if I could, I would have a property that was on water but also overlooking a field with wild horses. The strange thing, is that I have also been terrified of both of these things my entire life. I never liked being in water, and so I essentially avoided it as much as possible. I would wade into the shallow area of the ocean or take a dip in a pool, but I was never a strong swimmer and deep bodies of water have always creeped me out. It’s only been in the last few years that I have enjoyed doing laps in a pool. I don’t like just being still in a body of water, but if I am busy doing laps, I am fine. And the same goes for horses. I absolutely feel drawn to them, but cannot actually go anywhere near them. I love seeing them from afar, but when given the opportunity to get close to them, I am oddly petrified.

Discovering that my Keohane ancestors lived on an island, it made me think perhaps this was why my father, my sister, and I have always felt this need to be in close proximity to water. It reminds me of Yeats poem The Lake of Innisfree, particularly the last stanza

‘I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.’

And as strange as this sounds, I never once looked up the meaning of our Irish surname until tonight. And when I googled it, the AI overview produced this:

The Irish surname Keohane is an Anglicized form of the Gaelic name Mac Eocháin, meaning “son of Eochán“. The name Eochán is a diminutive of the personal name Eochaidh, which means “horseman” or “horse rider”. Therefore, the name suggests a historical association with horses or equestrian skills. It is primarily associated with County Cork in Ireland.

And readers, upon seeing this, I laughed to myself. Because as I read this description, my eyes were drawn from my laptop to the new bookends on our credenza - vintage MCM horse heads. And to the left of that, a Christopher Cape painting depicting horses in a field.

Who knows, maybe it’s just coincidental, or perhaps these things are passed down through the generations - just in the same way generational trauma is? Or in the same way my paternal grandfather painted decorative furniture - as did my Dad, and as do I.

Now don’t mind me, I am going to go listen to The Sunday’s version of Wild Horses, while finishing my cup of tea.

For as long as I can remember, I have loved Virginia Woolf’s face. Particularly her eyes. There is something contradictory in her gaze, as it is both earnest yet inaccessible. I wish I could have access to the inner workings of her mind. There is no doubt, that she was immersed in a rich and complex inner narrative, which is evident in her prose. I first read Orlando as a teenager, and I finished that novel thinking V.W. was absolutely brilliant. The introductory passage - how could you not fall under the spell of her writing?

“He—for there could be no doubt of his sex, though the fashion of the time did something to disguise it—was in the act of slicing at the head of a Moor which swung from the rafters”.

Her writing made my brain tingle, and it was writers like herself and Iris Murdoch that made me want to be a writer.

Jump ahead several decades, and my house is full of V.W., with multiple copies of certain beloved titles. I also have a few V.W. photos, as well as a cupboard of failed attempts at her portrait. So when I discovered that not only was she a wonderful writer, but she had also been a member of the Bloomsbury group - well then! And then to discover her sister was the painter Vanessa Bell! And that her Great Aunt was Julia Cameron! Honestly, talk about crushing hard.

This crush has lasted decades, and I suppose it is safe to say that Virginia Woolf is my muse. She is a constant source of inspiration for me, and I dare say I will forever be trying to reproduce her enigmatic gaze on paper. I don’t know if I ever shall successfully paint her, but there’s a certain thrill in my repeated attempts.

With that being said, my latest piece On An Autumn’s Evening, Three Strangers Come Knocking which was very much inspired by the photograph above, depicting Virginia with her half sister Stella and her sister Vanessa - it’s the closest I have come to capturing that inexplicable quality which makes her so mesmerizing to me. And I couldn’t be more thrilled that it’s going to be making its debut at Art Toronto later this month. As I have said in a previous interview, the pieces that I create where there is both an emotional and cerebral connection to the subject - they are my favourite pieces. When I stepped back from my desk and saw the final version of On An Autumn’s Evening, Three Strangers Come Knocking, I was overcome by emotion. Just like Virginia Woolf, there is an enigmatic depth to the work which I just absolutely love.

I don’t know about you, but when I look at this photograph of the three young sisters, it feels otherworldly. You have three young women, who all appear to be lost in their own inner narrative. Yes, they are standing physically close to one another, and yet they couldn’t be further apart. And the imagination is a funny thing, because when I was painting On An Autumn’s Evening, Three Strangers Come Knocking, I envisioned these three steadfastly marching through a field at dusk - which also brought to mind the Bronte sisters and I dare say there may be a bit of them channeled through this painting. So, yes, they are quickening their pace, as darkness is descending upon them, and perhaps they find themselves lost, and arrive at an unknown house, late at night, knocking on the door. Would you let them in?

On An Autumn’s Evening, Three Strangers Come Knocking will debut at Art Toronto this year. If you are attending this art fair this year, please come by the Janey Booth 73 (Across from Lounge) to see my work alongside the incredibly talented artists: Katarina Holbrough, Emily Pope, Micaila Abboud and Yvonne Weiss.

For our vacation this year, we decided to go back to Scotland. My experience of Scotland to date, has only been through visits to the beautiful city of Edinburgh. It is one of my favourite cities in the world, and I would have been happy to spend another vacation there. But, I have always been curious about Glasgow. Although, truth be told, the only knowledge of the city I have is from reading Stuart Murdoch’s ‘Nobody’s Empire’. Essentially, I knew the band Belle and Sebastian were formed there, and that was good enough for me. Further research revealed it is also one of the more interesting cities in Scotland for both art and food. I love art, and Simon loves food, so we’re both really looking forward to discovering what the city has to offer on both fronts. And then when we saw that the city is referred to as the dear green place, we knew we had made the right call about making Glasgow our main attraction for this trip. We fly in and out of Glasgow, so we’ll spend our first few days exploring the city. I am keen to see The Burrell Collection, GOMA, and the mural trail, and Simon has already put together a list of restaurants he wants us to try.

As much as I love travelling to new cities, I also wanted to see some of the Scottish countryside this trip. For my 45th birthday, I booked us a day trip to Oban. We’ll take the scenic train from Glasgow to Oban. This particular stretch of the country is supposed to be gorgeous, so I don’t imagine I will want to read a book on this journey. We’ll have a few hours to explore Oban, and I’ve booked us in for what I hope to be a delicious birthday dinner at Cuan Mor. Oban is heralded as the Seafood Capital of Scotland (not sure if this is actually true?!), and I plan on testing this theory out by sampling as much seafood as I possibly can consume while there.

We will also be scooting over to London for four days to see my family. There are always things to see/do in London, but the main draw is to spend time with family, see some art exhibits, and kick about Camden and Kentish Town. Towards the end of our trip, we have planned a day trip to Edinburgh, as I want to see an art exhibit at The Ingleby Gallery before it wraps up, and Simon has also curated a list of new restaurants he wants us to try. And you can’t visit Edinburgh without visiting The Milkman. Their matcha lattes are spot on.

We fly out in two weeks, and I’m counting down the days.

Life brings many surprises. Thankfully, some of them are lovely in nature. And frankly, who doesn’t need more of this in their lives? I’ve said it before, and I will say it again - art has saved me, over and over again. Whether that be via the written word, or the act of making art, it’s been a reliable source of joy in these difficult times we find ourselves in. If it wasn’t for art, I don’t know what my life would look like. Thanks to one of my neurologists, I took up drawing back in 2021 as a means of building new neural pathways. I quickly realized, that the act of creating was not just helping my brain heal, but it was also incredibly cathartic. For someone living with a brain injury and PTSD, finding something that was restorative on both a cerebral and emotional level was amazing.

In my last post, I said that art had never been my dream. I’ve been thinking about this since last evening, and I want to expand on this. I grew up with a literature and poetry loving father, who introduced me to the classics and brilliant writers/poets from a very early age. I read voraciously, and as a result, I coveted the idea of becoming a writer myself one day. In my teens, I started to dabble in poetry. And later as an adult, even though I worked in publishing, and essentially surrounded myself with books and writers from morning to night - I never wrote anything substantial. I could brush it off by saying I just never found the time, but I think there was more to it than that. As much as I loved the idea of writing, and becoming a published author, I never experienced that sense of urgency to put words down on paper. The poems continued - they continue to this day, but it’s only ever snippets here and there, and no real clear vision of what this hypothetical novel would look like.

What I haven’t said on here, is that my father was also an artist. He was absurdly talented in this way, but beyond the art that was in our own home, I don’t think it ever saw the light of day. When I was 15, I started to play around with art. I discovered if you applied enough acrylics to a hardboard, you could scrape away the layers and produce a lovely textured painting. I think the best way to describe my works from this period in my life, is to say they all looked as though they were aerial shots of rugged landscapes. The thing that most surprised my father and friends, was my choice of colour palette. There was a lot of pink, purple and greeny blues infused in my work.

Jump ahead to my twenties. I was at uni, and I started to paint again. This time, I was using oils and canvas, and I was producing abstracts. This went on for about a year. I had one show. I sold several of them. But I wasn’t taking it seriously, and if you had asked me back then if I thought of myself as an artist, I would have laughed and said something along the lines of “I will be a writer long before I am an artist”.

Jump to my thirties. I often would dream of painting. I would often close my eyes and see paintings. I couldn’t say if they were real paintings or not. I just saw glimpses of them. Even still, it never crossed my mind that I should be making art or dare I say it, be an artist.

So, in my early forties when this neurologist suggested I take up a skill-set I essentially sucked at, I immediately thought of drawing. Once again, I found myself making art. And as surprised as I was when people started contacting me about purchasing my works, I suppose it shouldn’t have come as too much of a shock. When you look back over my timeline, art has always been there. Even when it was in a long hibernation period, the urge to paint was there. Even if it was never my dream to be an artist, this act of creating still managed to find its way into my life. Whether it was painting a picture or doing a home reno paint job. Ask Simon, or any of my former partners - if there was a paint job that needed to be done, I was first in line. In our current home, I have already painted the front door, the staircase, the foyer closet doors, the upstairs washroom vanity, the mantlepiece in my studio, and most recently, the little cabinet in my studio power room. Everything in pink and sea foam green…

So, when Lara (an art collector turned gallerist) contacted me in the spring of this year about being in her new gallery space JANEY, I just had this feeling that good things were going to come from our working relationship. And boy, it certainly feels like my initial feeling about Lara and her gallery was spot on. Within weeks of connecting with her, she had organized her first group exhibit called The Empress, and had brought me on board for her gallery’s inaugural show. She also applied for Art Toronto, and our group show will be exhibited as part of the art fair this October. This will be the most exposure my work has ever received, and I am so grateful for this opportunity to showcase my work to a new audience.

The artwork above is one of the pieces for this upcoming show. It is my biggest work to date, and Lara’s vivacious personality has clearly rubbed off on me, because I am committed to working my butt off for her, and am convinced I will create my best work to date for her.

But going back to something I said earlier in this post. Although, I never felt the sense of urgency to write my novel, I do feel an almost daily sense of urgency to paint. It’s as though there is a driving force propelling me into my studio each and every day. I feel an eagerness and excitement about sitting down at my desk, and putting paintbrush to paper. I often think about my father when I am in the studio. I think about all of the wonderful things he introduced me to, and imparted to me. If my father were alive, I don’t think my current profession would surprise him in the least. My hope, is that he would support the idea of it. That he would be proud of me.

I always thought I was like him. I now realize I am more like him than I ever could have imagined. I too, am an artist who loves literature and poetry.

There are few television characters that I love as much as Maurice Moss from IT Crowd. The actor who played him - Richard Ayoade - is a lovely human being who I find very striking/charismatic in appearance and personality. I wanted to capture some of that in this portrait. I hope I have managed to do so.

On first glance, Simon said ‘This should go in the Toronto show’. And so, I think it will. It’s if nothing else, a very vibrant and fun painting that will hopefully engage an audience.

As an ode to Moss, I have entitled this piece: 0118 999 881 99 9119 7253