Heading upstream to the back of beyond

 

Serendipitously, I'd already booked my 4-hour bus tour of the Capilano Watershed when my summer camp "Hydration" theme came to me.  These tours are free but carefully controlled and managed as is Vancouver's water supply itself.  I'd taken the tour most recently in 2023 and was very excited to travel back again into this protected zone.  After that earlier trip, I'd used this scene at Palisade Creek as subject for a summer camp painting in the manner of Adirondack artist Levi Wells Prentice. 

 

In the adventurous spirit of Summer Camp 2025, I'd also decided by this time to go out on a limb, like these watershed eagles.

 

The plan:  While I continue to check out Hydration Locations, I'm going to investigate the unfamiliar territory of abstract art.  Okay – I started with a deep browse into famed artist Gerhard Richter, still going strong at age 93, and getting a lot of publicity for recent exhibits.  I must say I greatly prefer his "photo-realist" works, like "Reading" to his abstract with a capital "A"." 

 

But it was very interesting to see this painting of his:

 

…and note its suggestion of woods and water, and similarity to the quick sketch I made as the watershed bus bumped along, with rocky streams visible through the roadside trees.

 

 

The very next week, sitting in the waiting room at my eye doctor's office, I appreciated, as always, the original works of art on the wall.  (This seemed quite an innovative practice in the late 1970s, when I first saw the current doctor's predecessor-father). And as things were sliding along smoothly with my "Rough and Tumble" collage, I wasn't too surprised to see here another abstract painting that suggested flowing water and forest trees.

 

Onward now with the inspiration of the watershed!  What most stayed with me from that trip was the concept of great cycles – and the many practical cycles that have been developed in the name of conservation.  There's the reclaiming of wastewater – and the incredible "Track and Truck" program by which thousands of salmon are captured at the base of the impassable dam and transported to spawning grounds where eventually the small fry are transported back… Oh, but this is subject matter for someone else's blogs.  Take a look at this YouTube mini-tour and you'll see some of the game-plan in action—as our tour group saw the cylindrical traps and specially rigged trucks by the side of the road.

 

Thinking about cycles didn't help me at all in the early stages of my painting.

 

 

 

But what did help was a memory that astonished me.  For decades, I hadn't thought of it -- a passage I'd found in a book by Canadian author Timothy Findley.  He cited it as a "hymn" from a work by Euripedes.  It had been deeply meaningful to him as it was to me for the many years when we spent weekends and all our available time at a cabin in a mountain valley north of Vancouver.  With the thought, I immediately recalled the whole piece from memory (although I've never found its exact source).

 

Earth the most great, and Heaven on high,

Father is he to man and god,

And she, who taketh to her sod

The cloud-flung rivers of the sky,

And beareth offspring –

Men and grass and beasts of all their kind,

Indeed, Mother of all and every seed.

 

Earth-gendered back to earth shall pass

And back to heaven the seeds of sky;

Seeing how all into all doth range,

And sundering, show new shapes of change,

And never that which is shall die.

 

With that, I plunged right in – covering up and then drawing out again, "Shapes of Change (Hydration Series)", copyright 2025.

 

My friend L (and luckily, I have a few of those – so don't point any fingers) said once, "I don't know much about art, but my real test is, 'Would I want to see this on my living room wall?'"  Or maybe even, in full wall-size in the lobby of your nearest 5-star hotel?

 

 

Lazy hazy crazy days of summer

 

 

Is this a clown wagon, come to pick us up and sweep us off to summer camp?  No such luck.  It's colourful all right, but it's a moving van come to take my good neighbours' stuff away, ready for the new chapter in their lives.  And mine.  So be it.

 

Summer camp will be a welcome break, and if there's any chance that you think this is just one of my personal quirks, there's a long cultural history here.  Take a read as you keep yourself hydrated.

 

Of course, water is serious business any time of year.  Here in Vancouver, surrounded by water habitats of all kinds, school kids learn about the once abundant salmon streams.  Many of these run under our streets, but thanks to ongoing efforts, some are now being "daylighted". 

 

My game plan for summer camp began to evolve with my late May excursion to Capilano Suspension Bridge  – plenty of water there, and once-rich salmon spawning grounds as the altitude drops and the river nears the sea.  Whether or not it's busy with tourists, this canyon and its forest edges fascinate me – recalling old days of mountainside treks.

 

I found a new fascination, too, on my recent trip – the weathered metal (copper?) cleats that work in tandem with spiffy new hardware to hold wooden stairs and decks in place.

 

By the time I returned back home that day, I'd decided on some basics for Summer Camp 2025:-- (1) Hydration was my background setting.  I'd follow the water to as many settings as I had time for.  (2) My first piece would recall an earlier People's Choice – "Partial Eclipse" which was assembled around a gorgeous piece of rusted metal.

 

And I just happened to have another rusty foundling, about 8" long, waiting for suitable companions – of which I have many,

 

At first, I thought I'd create a kind of tower as a base, using two wonderful cardboard packing pieces.

 

Nah…  Just one of these would be plenty, and I laid it flat to receive a glue job.

Here's a partial close-up in final format.

 

As a grand finale, I held an exclusive private viewing, outdoors at 8 a.m. one cool summer morning.

 

Here it is – "Rough and Tumble (Hydration Series)" copyright 2025.

 

Okay.  So I'll be checking out other hydration locations this summer, and we'll see what comes of my expeditions.  But we don't really need Summer Camp to do dotty things, do we?  It's safe to say, we now have lift-off.

 

 

 

Off-leash dog parks as training grounds for ----?

 

Training grounds for Summer Camp, maybe?  That was the plan for June 2025 – the "East Side Storeys" series was brought to conclusion in May, and then we'd head for the annual interval heralded by "No more pencils, no more books, no more teacher's dirty looks…"  

 

But plans have often gone astray this year.  Certainly, the plans of my very close neighbours have been a jolt for me.   You can see here how close we are!

 

After my fairly successful painting of their old cat Linus, I decided to press on and try to paint their beloved pug dog Bugsy.  The promised photos from the couple's spokesman didn't materialize so I used my own.  Here's the most ambitious –  From a few years back, my camera had been allowed to capture only the dog, not the "Dad" holding him with another neighbour's pug.

 

As a Plan B back-up, I worked in parallel from a second photo.

But only the head, in a smaller square format.

 

Off-leash parks don't always operate on smooth terrain – and by golly, that gallant little Bugsy could not have offered more challenges in his closely packed folds, his fur texture, and the subtle near-monotones of his white-cream-tawny fur.  And there are off-leash rules, too – meant to be broken, like the old painter's rule to "never use black"?  Okay.  I didn't.  I used Payne's Grey with a bit of raw umber for the darks.

 

But long before that, I wrestled with all those folds in two early sketch layouts.

 

 

Okay – first one, first.  That's the one I really wanted to get right.  Here's an early lay-in when I still thought I could do something with the background image:

 

No good. I had to somehow keep the information that the dog was being held, but I simplified it for the final version - "Handful of Bugsy," copyright 2025.: 

 

And here's the final version of the smaller square portrait, "Bugsy - Best in Show" copyright 2025:

 

The two together seemed to make a pleasant Father's Day surprise when I delivered them this morning.

 

And NOW:  Summer camp is just around the corner.  No, you don't need to bring a mask.  No, it won't take place in Venice.  And no, we won't be reprising the Commedia dell'Arte – except for some unstructured high jinx.  But be there or be square – that's what summer camps and off-leash parks are all about!

 

 

That time of year

 

 

The month of May has come to a close, and summertime fun is just around the corner.  In fact, it seems like there's been non-stop fun lately so it's time to settle down and bring to conclusion the "East Side Storeys" series.

 

For the series finale, I'd planned to place figures on a balcony, to be viewed from a lower vantage point. Over months, I'd spotted some lovely old homes that offered different possibilities.

 

 

 

 

 

During the first COVID year, the life drawing studio I attended moved its sessions on-line. Sometimes the facilitator would set up a "mole cam" to capture views that would be impossible to get in person.  I'd always wanted to do something with this pose in particular.

 

Eventually, I chose one of the first houses that had suggested the balcony idea to me.

 

Uh-oh.  When I went back to get a better photo, I was shocked to find a City signboard indicating the house is slated for demolition and replacement.

 

 

And why should I be shocked?  It's the Vancouver story these days.  At least this old house will be replaced, simply, with a somewhat larger new house – not a residential tower from 8 to 44 storeys.  But let's not go there.

 

Every painting in this series quickly took an unexpected turn and went somewhere I hadn't planned.  All right, then.  I gave up on the balcony idea and reverted to one of the oldest, most intriguing houses I've come across.

 

Built in 1906 (thank you, BC Assessment records), it was likely a rooming house for workers contributing to the early 20^th century development and population boom that hit about 1910.   

 

Oh, I do love those bay windows!  Musing on who might have looked out those windows in days gone by, I decided to tap into the rooming house vibe.  Dreamily and surrealistically, the images unfolded – not to "haunted house" standards, but yes, with a little air of mystery.

 

A rooming house of the early 1900s would have had a landlady – a kindly one, let's hope, and she began to show herself behind the curtain.

 

Here, in the final version, she's likely checking to see how many of her boarders have arrived home from work.  Is it time to heat up the chicken stew?   A couple of them are already hanging out, waiting for supper at "The House at the Bottom of the Hill" (copyright 2025 – East Side Storeys Series).

 

I walked by there again today, hoping for a photo to capture the rather steep slope of the hill – to no avail, with the trees in full leaf. 

 

 

More usefully, for the end of this series, I spotted these neighbouring houses, just two blocks away:-- On the right, one of the typical houses of this part of the city.  On the left, under construction, one of the new-style 21^st century models.  Someone else will have to tell that story some day.