Painting Type: Default

As a member of the Gibsons Paddle Club one of my happiest times is to be out in their Voyageur canoe and paddling on the ocean.  Our club has outrigger canoes like one would see in Hawaii, we’ve got dragon boats and we have the Voyageur.  More traditional to Canada, the Voyageur style of canoe speaks of our very history.  It is a part of our Canadian heritage.

In 2007 we stored our Voyageur on the northern shore of Porpoise Bay in Sechelt.  From there the canoe would ply the waters of Sechelt Inlet pretty well twelve months of the year.  We actually stored our canoe at a small marina owned and operated by the people of that surrounding community.   It’s called the Shores Community Marina.  As a token of our appreciation for allowing the canoe to be stored there, we’d agreed to come to their community picnic each year to take people for canoe rides.  Most folks have never been in such a large canoe so it’s a real joy to take up to 10 paddlers at a time out for a bit of a paddle.

We take a very short journey; certainly a lot shorter than we experienced paddlers are used to. We leave the marina and paddle out and around a small island there in the Bay.  It’s called Poise Island.  We’re gone for all of 10 to 15 minutes.

It was in September of 2007 that I was steering such a group around the island when the painting came into focus.  As I steered the canoe around the island, the calm water and the vibrant greens demanded all my attention.  It was low tide so there were even greens and yellows on the rocks.  The tide line on the rocks looked like it had been etched using a ruler to make it as straight as possible.  And of course it was the arbutus tree that completed the paint box composition.  I had the paddlers stop and relax just long enough for me to take but one photograph and we were off again.  That pause though was just long enough to secure the image that would become my painting, the painting that will forever speak of the beauty and tranquility of POISE ISLAND.

My wife Joy and I have known Blane and Henny Hagedorn since 1984.  As an RCMP officer my career postings moved us every few years and in that particular year we were most fortunate to be posted to Gibsons.  Since that summer of 1984 we have known Blane and Henny and their family, and best of all we have become very good friends.

My RCMP career ended in 2002 when I retired and in those years since I have enjoyed good health and an appreciation for the world around me.  I can truly say that, since retiring, in an overall sense, I have enjoyed the very best years of my life.  Good health, good friends, a happy, healthy family and life’s circumstance all have aligned in a wonderful synchronicity.  I take nothing for granted though, as these blessings are always fleeting things.  I enjoy the moment and I am thankful.

That said, in the summer of 2007 Blane invited me to go with him on a fishing trip of a lifetime.  Aboard the beautiful yacht Indecision, Blane’s pride and joy, we left Secret Cove Marina for a magical two-week fishing excursion in the waters surrounding Bella Bella. Perhaps my favourite posting of my career, Joy and I had been posted in Bella Bella from 1979 to 1981.  I’d spent my off duty time there doing what I have loved since I was a kid.  I’d fished.  Now, all these years later I was back there in these vaguely familiar waters with Blane and his two friends   Keith and Ted.

For salmon fishermen these had to be the best of times in terms of where we were, whom we were with and the wonderful base we were fishing from.  I have never fished from such a luxurious place of comfort and amenity. Though the fishing was good, we all agreed it wasn’t what it was 25 years ago, and sadly it probably never will be that good again.

With all of that considered, while we plied those waters I found myself remembering, sometimes re-finding places and images of the past. The trip turned out to be more than I had expected.  At times it was very emotional for me.  I found myself back to those times in the late 70’s.  I remembered people, places, incidents, fish caught and friends long since gone.  This trip turned out to be more than just a fishing trip, it turned out to be a source of nourishment for my spirit.  I came back richer than I had been when we’d left Secret Cove two weeks earlier.

One of the places that touched me as an artist was at the entrance to Gunboat Passage.  As we fished and trolled there waiting to meet up with Keith and Ted this place served as a spark.  It ignited memories of the past.  I’d been here many times before.  All those years ago, when I’d be motoring the police boat, “The Outlook”, on a patrol between Ocean Falls to Bella Bella, I’d seen this small island marking the entrance to my return channel.   Indeed, I’d used this very island as a navigational reference point in my travels and patrols.  Now, all these years later, this small island that had been so insignificant in those years past took on a special meaning to me.  Highlighted by the sun against a backdrop of darker waters and islands, the little island just had to be painted.  It was, to me, a place of beauty, tranquility and of meaning.  It was my link to the past.  I did several paintings as a result of this magical two-week period in my life, but “The Entrance to Gunboat Passage”is the one painting that truly captures the sentiment of the trip for me.

I present this painting to Blane and Henny to be hung in their home away from home, Indecision.  I hope it always serves to remind them of my sincere gratitude for a fishing trip of a lifetime.  As others enjoy this wonderful craft and the waters of the west coast, I hope this painting brightens their experience.  Know though, that it isn’t the boat, it isn’t the water or the weather or the good food that makes these times special.  No, those all pale in significance when you consider that it’s the friendship that is the thing of untold value.  Today, as you travel on Indecision, be thankful for your family, your good health and your friends.  Without them you have nothing.

Being a person who loves the out-of-doors I can enjoy my surroundings whether standing on a mountaintop or walking a deep, remote valley.  A stream full of trout or a forested trail, it matters not. Just being there is the important part.  It is where the rhythm of nature matches the cadence of something within me.  Usually, it means I’m in the perfect place at the perfect time.

That all said there are some very special places for me personally, places that speak louder than others to my spirit.  These are locations that I’ve found and visited perhaps only once, others I’m able to visit more often.  For me, a visit to Sedona, Arizona was such a place.  So too the Lightning Lakes of Manning Park at sunrise own a very important place in my heart.  Then there’s a little creek back home in Peterborough, Ontario, that creek I used to fish as a kid.  These are places I can visit often, simply by closing my eyes.  They are places of wonderful peace and very personal adventure.  Their beauty and serenity will live within me for all my days.  I hope everyone who reads this is fortunate enough to have his or her very own “special” places in this world.  For me they are a dependable, soothing source of comfort and solace.

One such place for me is in Tofino, British Columbia.  It’s a small beach really, particularly in the presence of its much bigger cousins Chesterman Beach, Cox Bay or Long Beach, but for me it’s the very best sunset beach in the Tofino area.  Few people even know of the beach, let alone how to get there.  It’s right in the Town of Tofino, and a cool green-forested boardwalk twists its way through the dark west coast rain forest to take you to this very special little place.

It was a sunset visit to Tonquin Beach that inspired this painting.  Perhaps one of my most stylized paintings ever, this image is intended to project the mood of a Tonquin sunset rather than just the realistic image. Remarkable to me was the bank of clouds and fog in the distance out over the open Pacific Ocean.  As the sun flashed its last rays and ducked below the horizon, it held its brilliant grip for just a few fleeting minutes longer right there on the glowing outline of the cloud-bank.  The warm light, calm seas and fresh cool air of the evening created not only a lasting memory for me in my mind, it was the inspiration for this painting that refers as much to that magical little place called Tonquin Beach as it does to the glowing cloud bank in the distance.  For me, Tonquin Beach is the “Silver Lining” to the wonderful west coast environment of Tofino and the west coast of Vancouver Island.

It sits just off the shores of the Sunshine Coast about 62 kilometers northwest of the city of Vancouver.  Merry Island is home to a lighthouse that surely is a sightline fixture to all who live on Redrooffs Road in Sechelt, British Columbia.  With its bright white and red construction, this little lighthouse is visible, as it should be, from all up and down the Salish Sea in that particular area.  Work first began to construct Merry Island Lighthouse in 1903 so it’s well over one hundred years old.  To say it’s a local landmark and fixture would be an understatement.

In 2011 I had occasion to walk the beach below Redrooffs Road with a client who had purchased several of my pieces.  He asked if I’d do a painting of Merry Island Lighthouse.  I committed to him that I’d let the image come to me, but at that time nothing touched me in terms of a painting that would speak about this special place on the British Columbia coast.

It wasn’t until January of 2013 that I was able to see the image that demanded my artistic attention.  I walked that same beach again, this time with another friend.  The ominous, dark winter sky highlighted the snowy winter coat of the mountains of Vancouver Island.  The lighthouse itself seemed to be a part of that landscape and the white and red structures made their silent statement.  That was the image to be painted.  It wasn’t a big sky or a huge expanse of water that caught my attention. Rather, it was Merry Island in its splendid isolation.  It was those buildings of stark contrast with the dramatic backdrop of huge mountains that spoke to me.  That’s why the image is so long and narrow.  It speaks only of the place, the solitude and the very presence of Merry Island Lighthouse.

I finished this painting on November 1^st, 2012.  That’s a significant date to a lot of us who paddle outrigger canoes here in Gibsons.  You see that’s right about the day, when the time change happens, that we can no longer venture out in our canoes to go to the other side of Keats Island.   Paddle Club rules, in the interest of safety; dictate that area to be out of bounds until spring.  Other, more sheltered waters are allowed for winter paddling.

It’s just over 3 kilometers to that little bay on the south side of Keats.  We usually paddle there on different courses to make it more like 4 or 5 kilometers.  It’s a favourite place though, a place of solitude, peace and tranquility. In fact, I’ve got my own name for that little bay “Tranquility Bay”.  It’ll be next March before any of us see our favourite paddle destination again.  That’s when the club rules allow us to paddle out there for the spring and summer months.

Like many others, I’ll wish the winter away dreaming of better paddling conditions.  As we paddle through the winter rains and snows, Tranquility Bay waits patiently.  I remember when the morning sun had a friendly, comforting warmth as it rose to greet us in Tranquility Bay.  I remember the laughter of our crew energized by both the paddle and the environment as we drifted and rested in this special place.  I remember too the times we’ve seen bald eagles holding court from some lofty perch as we relax below them in the calm waters of Tranquility Bay.  I remember the seals as they’d curiously pop their heads up with huge, wondrous eyes, as they’d watch us from a safe distance.  I remember the school of baitfish touching and gulping the surface of the quiet bay.  So large their numbers that their activity sounded like light rain falling all around us.  We’ve seen deer on the shore of the bay and I remember the day we saw the huge turkey vultures resting on the jagged rocks of the cliff, wings outstretched, they were warming and drying in the morning sun.  Most of all though, I remember the friends, those of us who venture out on the water two or three times a week throughout the year in our canoes.  I remember the friends and that feeling of all of us being together in the perfect place at the perfect time as we just relax in Tranquility Bay.

I painted this image in the fall colours that were the last we saw of Tranquility Bay just before the time change this year.  All winter, and every winter from now on, this image will forever speak to me. Forever more it’ll always say  – “REMEMBER WHEN”.

It was the summer of 2012. Once again I was proud and privileged to be a part of the annual PULLING TOGETHER canoe journey.  This year our journey would take us to the territory of the Sliammon First Nations near Powell River, British Columbia. Our paddling course over those six days of canoeing would take us to some beautiful locations in Desolation Sound and the journey would turn out to be one of the best yet in so many ways.

Foremost I suppose was the hospitality of the Sliammon people themselves.  For the duration of the journey we would be camped at one location.  For the first time in some 12 years of participating in these journeys, we’d be setting up our tents once and taking them down once.  For over 250 paddlers this was a treat beyond description.  It allowed us to meet and interact with the local people in a much deeper and more meaningful way than previous journeys had allowed.

The trust, friendship and hospitality of the Sliammon People will forever be something that none of us will ever forget.  The sheer majesty and beauty of their territory too will be in our hearts and memories until the day we pass.  Perhaps most significant and indicative of all would be the trust that these people placed in us during our stay with them.  Our camp was on the waterfront on their reserve.  Their beautiful community hall became our kitchen and meeting place.  As we walked the village daily their open friendship was so remarkable and appreciated.

That trust was demonstrated to a pinnacle while we were on the water as a fleet in our canoes.  Escorted by elders and community cultural teachers, we were told that we would be taken to many sacred and secret places. Some of these locations had been desecrated in the past, some looted.  Ever mindful of their significance, the elders asked that we forever keep secret where they’d take us and even what they’d teach us.  With those words spoken, over the next few days of paddling we were blessed to be trusted with many of these very special, and I might add, spiritual places.  Their location and their stories will be with us alone forever.

I wanted to recognize that special journey so I simply painted a tree on a point in Desolation Sound. I’ll not tell you exactly where it is.  It is real.  It does exist.  This image simply represents all the magic and emotion we experienced in those few glorious, sunny days of paddling.  Sliammon, thank you.  Your secrets stay with us.  This little painting merely represents all of those wonderful “Secret Places”.

In April of 2016 Joy and I had an opportunity to take a short holiday in the Oliver, BC area.  We’d visit wineries, eat good food and just plain relax as we explored the wine country of this beautiful part of the Okanagan Valley.

We both love the out-of-doors and never miss an opportunity to experience the open air of where ever we’re visiting.  When we asked locally about a good hike, universally we were told of McIntyre Bluff.  It was easy for anyone to tell us just where McIntyre Bluff is, they’d just point.  It’s an obvious monolith of rock at the east end of the town.

An hour and a half hiking on a well evident trail took us to the top.  It’s one of those hikes where just about every step is up, some steeper than others.  Were we there in the heat of the summer we’d be looking for rattlesnakes along the way.  Even though it was a warm day, they weren’t really of concern at this time of year.  Still, I had my eyes and ears on alert.

The top of the Bluff provides an immediate reward for the hiker.  We’d been visiting wineries all up the valley between Oliver and Osoyoos for the past few days and now, from this lofty vantage point, we could see in one majestic panorama where we’d been for the last three days.

I explored the summit further and walked around the ridge of the Bluff.  That’s when I spotted Vaseaux Lake and the thread of the highway just about a thousand feet below.  Framing the image was yet another tenacious tree.  Such singular trees always speak to me in some very personal way. Gripping the rock virtually on the edge of the precipice, the painting was immediately evident to me.  It seems I’m drawn to such images over the years.  The tenacity and defiance of these solitary trees seems to speak of a “personality” of these individuals.  That’s how I look at them; they are almost individuals.  Apart from the crowd, alone to face the elements, these loners take a stand and somehow make it.  This particular tree is fighting I can see, as evidenced its brown needles. I’m hoping that’s just temporary bruising from its recent winter battles against the elements.

As we’re in wine country, it struck me that “The Tree At The Top” would be a perfect place to bring one of those bottles of wine from the valley far below.  There in the meager shade provided by this loner at the edge of the cliff, to open that wine and to toast the wonderful valley below would be a magical way to celebrate an Oliver holiday.  We had no wine with us that day but from my vantage point on top of McIntyre Bluff “Here’s to the Okanagan Valley of Oliver, BC”.

In March of 2017 my wife Joy and I participated in a weekend get-away to the beautiful Painted Boat Resort in the Pender Harbour area of the Sunshine Coast.  We were with about 15 other people and we simply languished in good weather, good food and good fun.  It was a few days away to help us all forget a particularly cold, wet, unusually lengthy and ugly winter.

Part of what we did was paddle the big Voyageur style canoe belonging to the Gibsons Paddle Club in all the waters surrounding that beautiful resort.  One such excursion took us on a three hour journey around Beaver Island.  As we made our way leisurely around the island that unusually sunny afternoon we stopped the canoe for no other reason than to enjoy where we were.  That’s when the tree leaning out over the point caught my attention. It had to be painted.  The photograph came home with me but it took some time for the image to take shape in my artist’s eye.

On one of the evenings at the Painted Boat, after a great bar-b-que supper, someone had called us out to the deck of the suite.  It was a full moon lighting the night sky.  In a winter of cloud, wind and rain, such a sight wasn’t lost on any of us.  Hopefully, that full moon on a clear Pender Harbour night would be a harbinger of things to come. Surely spring and summer couldn’t be far off.

And so it came to me that appropriately I had to paint a full moon if I were going to properly remember our special weekend at Pender Harbour and the Painted Boat Resort.  That’s when my daytime photograph of the tree leaning out over the water became a night-time image.  Whimsical in nature, I’m sure that image will remind all of us who were there of our great weekend at the Painted Boat Resort and that beautiful “PENDER MOON”.

There’s not much of a story here.  I hope the image says it all.  This is simply an image of the serenity and vastness of the west coast of Vancouver Island, on this day at least.  That scene can change in minutes to one of power and the uncontrollable turbulence of a violent and loud Pacific Ocean.  And while some come to the west coast to witness those storms, there’s awesome beauty in either scenario.

Every year for over 25 years, Joy and I have gone with friends to stay for a three night stay at the Tofino Swell Resort in Tofino.  Inevitably we have to walk the beaches and forest trails that truly are the personality of the Tofino and Ucluelet area.

One of the trails we’ve come to know over the past 10 years or so is The Wild Pacific Trail.  Its trail heads are both in the Town of Ucluelet and on the coast just north of the community.  The well groomed paths meander and snake their way through the west coast rain forest providing vistas and lookouts that are truly breathtaking. This image, which I’ve simply titled “THE WILD PACIFIC TRAIL”, pays homage to the spectacular beauty of this coastal experience.  You can see the small rustic bridge in the image, but the trail isn’t quite so evident.  Such is the forest and dense, rugged foliage of the west coast.  There’s an old saying we’ve all heard before, to “become one with nature”.  I can’t think of a place where that’s more likely and possible to happen than right here just outside of Ucluelet.  This is but one image of virtually hundreds I could select on any given day of exploring these treasured trails.

If ever you’re going to the west coast of Vancouver Island, Ucluelet is a must stop, just to experience “THE WILD PACIFIC TRAIL”.

I find a lot of the images I paint from the seat of a canoe.  Canoes take me not only to beautiful places; canoes take me to a creative, peaceful place in my mind.

In March of 2017 a group of us took up residence in the world-class resort called The Painted Boat in Madeira Park, British Columbia.  We brought along with us our big Voyageur canoe and for two days we paddled the waters of Pender Harbour and the Salish Sea.  The waters were calm and the sun, unusual for this winter, was out in all its glory as we paddled one morning around Beaver Island. As we approached the gap entrance to Pender Harbour a spectacular and stately tree leaned out over the water. I had to stop the canoe and get a photograph that would become the painting.  Sometimes, particular locations just “demand” my attention and this was one.

Some weeks later I made my way up to Madeira Park and drove to the property and home where that impressive tree is located.  That’s when I found out that the people who own that beautiful tree have the last name of Dodd.  Over the years, as our canoeing family has traveled together, we’ve come to adopt our own unique names for specific areas we paddle in.  Some of those names are derived from particular paintings I’ve done as a result of paddling those waters.  The Coast Guard would never be able to find us were we to use those names, but within our paddling community we know exactly where those names refer to.

And so, for those of us who in the future paddle together in these waters around Pender Harbour, that narrow passage has its own special name from this day on.  That unique tree leaning out and diligently standing guard over the entrance to Pender Harbour will mark the waterway that we’ll always know as “DODD’S CORNER”.

In the summer of 2016 my wife Joy and I went to Ottawa for a family reunion of all the siblings of the Hill family.  It was a summer to remember.  While there we visited friends, one a former neighbour from the early 1980’s when we’d lived in Ottawa.  Judy Blyth welcomed us to her home for a few days while we were there and each day we explored Ottawa, an Ottawa that’s changed so much in over 35 years.

One beautiful summer evening Judy took us down to the Ottawa River not far from her home.  Just upstream from the Parliament buildings, the river is wide and for the most part shallow.  It’s known as the Remic Rapids.  Little did I know I’d be seeing and experiencing a unique and very emotional art form at the river’s edge that evening.

John Felice Ceprano is an artist (www.jfceprano.com).  He’s a “balanced rock sculptor”.  Every summer evening he’s there in the shallow waters of the Ottawa balancing rock.  His canvas is the river; his “paint” is rock.  He’s been doing this since 1986.  Each year his creation develops throughout the summer. Each year nature’s wind and the rising river naturally dismantle the sculptures. The force of the river easily moves the rocks, and the riverbed is altered with each passing winter, releasing new rocks to be used. He does not alter the site; nature is the boss in that regard. The rocks are all from the site, and all sculptures are made by his hand.  People come to just sit on the grass of the riverbank and watch as his magical touch creates an ever-growing image.  Then, as the sun sets in its last few minutes of the day, those rocks turn hot orange, red and brown.  That’s when the cameras come out and folks wade around in a quiet respectful way as they capture each angle and nuance of the images that Mr. Ceprano creates.  It came as no surprise to me that I was moved by this most tactile artistic expression.  I knew there was a painting there and I waited patiently.

With mere seconds left before the sun would be gone, the rocks were at their most intense radiance.  I put my camera right down to the water’s surface to take the photograph that would become my painting.  Without this story, the image is almost an abstract painting.  Just know that every rock you see in my painting is actually balanced.  It’s almost counter intuitive when you see those rocks.  They defy gravity and the laws of physics it would seem.  With nothing to “measure” the rocks in my image, scale is left to you the viewer.  There’s no sense of just how big each sculpture is. My painting is done that way on purpose.  It is what you, as the viewer, see.  Mr. Ceprano is an artist who touches people with his mystic art form.  I hope my painting, an homage to his artistry, does the same for you.

 

For those of us who’ve been fortunate enough to travel on canoe journeys here on the west coast of Canada within the traditions of the First Nations culture, these words have meaning to us.  The mere sight of that phrase “We’re tired and hungry” conjures up visceral memories in each of us. We’ve been in this canoe.

It is customary when one travels by canoe from one First Nations community to another to do so in a proper and good way.  That means, as a canoe comes ashore in new territory, on some Nation’s land, it’s done within the proper traditional protocols of the canoe culture.  Your canoe approaches the shore and the people of the territory are waiting on the beach; but never do you touch the shore without first asking their permission.  Your canoe, and the crew, with paddles held high and standing off a few feet from shore, first need to be identified and introduced.  Through your canoe spokesperson, you inform those on shore where you’ve come from and where your journey will ultimately take you.  The Chief, or some other high-ranking person, will speak to your crew and, hopefully, welcome you ashore to share food, stories and lodging.  Then, with permission granted, your canoe is turned around and you come to shore stern first.  It’s the culturally respectful way to do things.  And those of us who’ve done this over the past 20 years or so have practiced and respected this ancient tradition and protocol each and every time we travel on the water.

Your day perhaps began 10 or 11 hours ago.  Perhaps you’ve endured wind, tide, open water, turbulence, heat, rain or cold.  Your body and your mind have been tested and stretched to the limit.  These welcoming ceremonies, depending on the number of canoes in a given fleet, can take even hours to play out.  And, though I personally have never experienced being refused permission to come ashore, a canoe can be refused that permission.

And so what about the title I gave this image?  Each canoe is represented by someone standing to speak to the waiting delegation on shore.  That spokesperson speaks in a voice to be heard by all.  As we all wait, with our paddles held high on the gunnels, in eager anticipation of being able to beach the canoe and stand on the firm ground for the rest of the day, many speakers open their introductions by identifying the canoe, telling the crowd where we’ve come from, and then come the inevitable words of our plea to put our canoe on their beach.

“We’re tired and hungry.  May we please come ashore?”

THE RED ROOF IN OYSTER BAY

 

 

It’s March 2018.  For the second year in a row a group of friends, all paddlers with the Gibsons Paddle Club, have gone “Glamping”. That’s right, we take our voyageur style canoe, Dolphin Spirit, and go for two glorious nights of relaxation at The Painted Boat Resort and Spa in the Pender Harbour area right here on the Sunshine Coast.  No matter the weather, it’s always a treat to return from a long paddle to the comforts of the resort and the energizing circle of good friends.  It’s certainly a step up from the tent we’re used to, thus the term “Glamping” rather than “Camping”.

 

One of our paddle excursions this year took us to the previously unexplored waters of Gunboat Bay. Our crew hadn’t seen this area before from the seat of a canoe.  We slowly paddled the shoreline of the long finger bay, one of the many extensions of Pender Harbour itself.  At low tide, the extremes of this bay are merely mud flats.  But at high tide it’s a gorgeous, hidden treasure of tranquility, serenity and natural beauty.   At one point we went off up another bay, Oyster Bay.

 

As we paddled and explored the entire bay areas we traced the shoreline as closely as the high tide would allow.  That’s when I spotted the red roof in the trees with the pilings out front framing the scene.

 

“Hold the canoe.”

 

From my seat in the canoe I took several photographs knowing that I had to paint the scene.  Hidden in a dark corner of Oyster Bay, the red roof and green mosses and grasses caught the light.  It had to be a painting.  Like some heavenly spotlight pointing out my image to me, the light is the story here.

 

This image will serve me for a long time as a reminder of good times with good friends in a canoe.  For me, the canoe is a magical meeting place where we all feel the energy and power of physical exercise, fresh air, natural splendour and valuable friendship.  This simple composition will, I’m sure, serve the same purpose for each person who was in the canoe that day.  And, I can’t wait until next year when we do it all again.