"Saw a green pear; thought of you"

Saw a green pear; thought of you. Flashback to a year and a half ago: Green pears had just arrived in IGA's produce department (where I get some of my best ideas), and they made me think of my last-ever boss, whose funky foot-high wooden green pear presided over the meeting table in her office. I almost sent her an email with this title and then thought better of it. But all this time, two thoughts have stayed with me.

The first thought, of course, was to make a painting with a green pear at centre stage. I've just completed it, as The First Painting in the New Studio.

You can view the evolution of "The Green Pear" here. It's an exciting drama in which a stone wrapped in green tissue paper stands in for an actual pear until midway through the process. Then a carefully chosen real pear, painstakingly selected by the artist to match the shape of the pseudo-pear, comes on-stage for the finale and applause. Here's the outcome:

The second enduring thought is that ordinary objects and daily encounters often suggest happy associations with friends near and far.  (Of course, in other cases, there could be unhappy associations, but why go there?) Imagine this phenomenon as a kind of game: "When I see...(example: a green pear), I think of...(my last-ever boss L)." Here's just part of my personal list of things that happily recall friends and (sometimes) their foibles:

"When I see/see reference to.......I think of..........."

Anne of Green Gables
Australia
Big Leaf Maple
Blue, the shade between navy and cobalt
Boxing
Bread Baking
Calligraphy
Cats
Cellos
Cocker Spaniels
Dubrovnik
Eggs being cracked
Family histories
Female solo explorers
Firemen shopping for groceries
Frog motifs
Girl Scouts
"Gluten-free"
Green, any shade
Horseback riding
Ireland
Italian weddings
Joggers
Jugglers
Laundry hung in the sun
Lemon meringue pie
Metronome
Nova Scotia
Paper mills
Papillon dogs
Paris
Penpals
Penske rental trucks
Photographers
Quilting
Raccoons
Rainbow trout
Red wine
Redheads
Roses
San Francisco
Saskatchewan
Schiperke dogs
SPCA
"Sustainability"
Teapots
Tennis
Turks-cap roof ventilator
Ukelele
Winnipeg
Wisconsin

As I made a light-hearted colour study for an upcoming painting, I realized the game works both ways -- and that some day a friend might send me an email with the title, "Saw a hazelnut coffee; thought of you."

Played on the original period instruments

Is there a visual equivalent to music "played on the original period instruments"? Maybe: What about paintings or drawings created with media handmade by the artist rather than purchased? Some artists still roll their own -- grind their own pigments, make their own paper, for example.

When I recently liberated some bedraggled bamboo in our new back yard, I was reminded of JT's and my experiments in creating Original Period Media. My experiment, which the bamboo recalled, was modest and unsuccessful:-- cutting quill pens from goose feathers. Despite an art book's simple and explicit instructions for slicing a small curved niche, then adding a tiny line and hole to collect the ink, the quills produced a sloppy line. No one would want to sign the Declaration of Independence with these babies!

JT's experiments were much more successful, and I still have the results. One summer years ago, working from the same art book instructions, he made me a lifetime supply of drawing charcoal.


The process involves cutting twigs to fit inside nested and ventilated tin cans, then positioning them in an open fire where they'll get enough heat to carbonize but not so much that they burn up. I was pleased with the first batch so he made several more, sampling six different kinds of plants and trees at our cabin. Here's my boxed stash:--


Setting up my new studio this summer, I had fun reacquainting myself with how each of these handled. Willow seems most congenial -- although "cooking time" as much as raw material is an important variable in producing a stick that's soft but not too soft. However messy charcoal can be, I still love to plunge into a charcoal drawing now and then, as I did the year he made the big supply, drawing the evocative lights and shadows on the road at the gate to our cabin.


Another of his experiments, ideally suited to cabin life, was producing a few small jars of bistre -- the brown-toned ink familiar to Renaissance artists. It's like a tea boiled down from the carbon that collects inside a wood stove. My art book advised mixing the finished product with gum arabic as a binder/thickener, something that's done with commercial watercolor paints. I think I'll give bistre drawings a try again, too -- another adventure in my new studio quarters.


Based on my failed quill pens, I won't waste time trying to cut a bamboo pen -- despite the inspirational model of Van Gogh's reed pen drawings. What's more, I know I could never match the ingenious version -- definitely an original instrument -- readily available in Vancouver's Chinatown.