w o r d s

When I was about 13, I fell in LOVE with a book by Eve Forward called Villians by Necessity, which my grandmother had bought for me at an everything for a dollar, going-out-of-business book sale. It was a fantastic tale of good and evil, light and dark, magic and criminals; the main characters were an assassin, a thief, a druid and a twisted lady-vampire. I literally carried it with me everywhere for a long, long time, drew on all the pages, marked off all of my favourite parts, lent it to my friends (aka, insisted that they also read it) and memorized passages (which I still remember). I also drew some pretty terrible fan art.

This book inspired me to create my first character, a blonde, blue-eyed assassin named Nick Macabre--except that, because I was 13, I pronounced it Maca-bray and thought it sounded like some kind of bony stingray. I went through a serious assassin phase after that (what is that?); I even asked the same grandmother who had bought me the book to sew me a black cloak for Halloween (and I felt excellent skulking around the darkness wearing it and Doc Martens--I suppose it's no wonder that I later also went through pseudo goth phase).

In reality, I'm a BIG believer in non-violence (and always have been), but there was something so terribly romantic about a thoughtful, articulate man, well educated in the ways of weapons and poisons and snuffing corrupt political figures. I guess that was just my teenage bad-boy phase; instead of crushing on punks in leather, I was into medieval anti-heroes.

f l a s h . b a n g

Thunderstorms: in my childhood, I dreaded them.

The heralding humidity made my skin prickle and my habitually nervous stomach churn into overtime. I remember the summer sight of heavy pastel evening, the sky a low canopy of clouds, cotton soaked in ink. Once the storm started, the rumble and abrupt BANGs were always cataclysmic to me; I felt as if I was the only one on earth who realized that this event was the apocalypse.

My mother loved them, and would celebrate their coming by opening the house's windows to listen to the rain and the low BOOMs. Once, when I was about ten years old, the anxiety that this caused me was so terrible that she had a friend on the phone tell me that he was a meterologist and that no, thunderstorms wouldn't kill me, and that yes, it was alright to open the windows during them.

When I was a few years older, I devised a sort of coping ritual; in the muggy heat of summer vacation, I decided that thunderstorm time would be art time. Along with my younger brother, I spent those nightmare evenings in my bedroom, watching cartoons on my tiny tv and drawing. I created a comic character named Mr. Olive Head; he was a news reporter who was basically an olive with a hat and a microphone.

By the time I was in my 20s, I should have been able to fully cope; this wasn't the case. Once upon a May sunset, I was caught out near Spadina Ave. underneath ominous clouds. The date whom I was with was completely nonchalant; every CRACK of thunder or bright flash made me flinch involuntarily and his comments made me feel ashamed of my reaction. I walked towards shelter as quickly as possible, wondering why I wasn't allowed to be afraid and beginning to question the lack of validity that others gave to my feelings.

w o r d s

Words words words. I love beautiful language, when words are carefully
selected and vivid and delectable.

For me, certain words evoke very specific mental images. For example:

m y s e l f

A few years ago, I decided that, as an artist, the only subject matter that I could truly express and feel comfortable doing so was myself. I was (and still am) young enough to realize that I was seriously lacking in lofty world-views and cultural opinions; I felt at the time that any social message that I attempted to express or explore through my work would end up being too transparent or half-formed, and the piece would suffer. So, instead of looking out at the world for inspiration, I looked inward.

Self-portraiture pleases me for several reasons:

I. Documentation of fleeting personal changes and brief moments (as pictured above)
II. Expression of secret thoughts, desires and opinions
III. Exploration and the search for a personal place in the world

It's just the same in the general process of living; all that I have to offer is myself. I can't be any more or less than who I am; I must act in accordance with what makes me feel whole and calm and good. I want to be exuberant and giving and electric; I want to create and capture those feelings in my work.

...


I like to think that all work is self-portraiture; the artist's experiences, beliefs and choices influence their work so that it becomes a reflection of their person, regardless of the work's subject matter.

I began to think about this in my second year of Fine Arts at UW, when my class was assigned the challenge of presenting Drawing as both a verb and a noun.  My group and I devised a project in which our classmates were given inkblots and then asked to draw what they saw in the images; as predicted, each participant created a different piece in response to identical inspirations. This supported our hypothesis that each person's life experiences would shape their perceptions and influenced their output. Simple.


Every girl I draw is me; every word I write is a reflection of my own mind.

s u m m e r . t i m e

I have a love hate relationship with summer time.

On one hand, I love the beach and lovely fresh produce; on the other, I hate getting sunburnt, being chased by bees, sweating profusely, thunder and lightning... (Anecdote: when I was about five years old and living out in the country, I once played outside for hours during a heatwave wearing my snow suit because "the bugs were bugging me").

But June also happens to be my birthday month, which always makes it feel a little bit extra special to me; this year I'm going to try and harness that positive energy so that I can carry myself through the heat with a smile on.

So far this summer I've gone camping hit up a couple of garage sales (one of my all-time favourite things to do!). Here are a couple more of the things that I'm gunning to do this summer:

 I love making lists and I can't wait to start ticking items off of this one!

And I'm curious to know, what fun things do you have planned this month?

h e l l o

Well, it's been a while!

My instinct right now is to sheepishly apologize for my absence and say something lame and self-deprecating in order to save face. A year or so ago I would have done it, but today I'm fighting it.

This is because, basically, I've finally given myself permission to be myself.

This sounds silly, but let me explain; when I was a little girl I was strong-willed, sure of myself, and vocal. If I wanted something (or didn't!) I would let it be known without hesitation. I knew what made me happy (reading quietly, drawing, cats, etc.) and what didn't (pickles! bugs! thunderstorms!) and I'd always let the people around me know. I don't think that I was rude or mean (at least not any more than everyone is at that age) but I was decisive and confident and polite, which I think is excellent.

"I'm a Terrible Person," Became My Mantra

As I grew up though, somehow the confident and decisive parts fell away and I was left quiet and polite; I became the girl who always followed the rules and did what she was supposed to do. I evolved into thinking that my own wants and needs were secondary to those of others. I focused on making people happy in a toxic way, believing that speaking up was rude, that my opinions didn't matter, that I wasn't as good or important as everyone else was(and that I didn't deserve to be). "I'm a terrible person," became my mantra and I constantly felt anxious and downtrodden; the more worry piled onto my heart, the more silence seemed like a refuge, and the more I felt trapped in my own psyche. I was stifled, nervous and unsure, regardless of how many people told me that I was sweet, lovely, thoughtful etc.

As an artist, this was devastating; I compared my work and my presence to my peers and felt that I came up far too short. Progress and practice seemed pointless; self-promotion felt obnoxious and hollow.

And while all this negativity went on inside, I remained that quiet, submissive girl who was convinced that speaking up about her anxiety and expressing herself would cause her to drive the world (and job opportunities) away. My truth was shameful and my real self seemed worthless. I was torn between who I was, who I wanted to be and who other people said that I should be.

I Have Something to Say

I'm not entirely sure what the breaking point was, but this past year (my lowest lows and some pretty excellent highs) has inspired massive amounts of personal growth and change. I've rediscovered the powerful little girl that I used to be and her brightness drives me on. I see now that my own happiness should be the top priority in my life; I'm speaking up more often and find that simply expressing my opinions (big and small) is an immense relief of pressure. My new mantra is "I have something to say," and it makes me feel strong, in control and excellent again. Instead of agonizing over what people think about me, I realize that the only person I need to satisfy is myself. I do what I want to again, and it's exhilarating. I can still be quiet (sometimes) and polite, but now because I want to be, not because I have to be.

And so, here I am, ready for action! 

_
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l u n a t i c

Cover redesign for the book of a thousand great quotes.

The Old Patrician: "Yes, he says to the executioner: 'Kill him slowly, so that he feels what dying's like!' "

"Most people imagine that a man suffers because of out the blue death snatches away the woman he loves.  But his real suffering is less futile; it comes from the discovery that grief, too, cannot last.  Even grief is vanity."

c h o c o l a d e . h a a s

Happy Easter y'all.

l a s t . n i g h t

Thank you to everyone who came out yesterday to the OCAD U Zine fair! 

Here are two illustrations from my new zines "Last Night", which debuted there. You can find the rest of them (and lots of other things ;) !) here.

z e b r a s

Birthday gift for a friend: mixed media zebra fish with cutouts. I really enjoyed building up layers on the coloured paper with pencil, marker, paint (especially my lovely interference blue, which I rarely use). Drawing fish is fun.

o c a d . z i n e . f a i r

Come by, say hello!
Thursday March 1st, 11 - 6

w a l k i n g . o n . t h e . m o o n

"I hope my legs don't break...walking on the moon."

Rock pier, Mar del Plata, Argentina, 2010.

d i f f e r e n t . t h i n g s

Argentina, 2009.

o l d . t i m e

Like a faded film star.

l a k e

Quote from 1998 version of MERLIN starring Sam Neil, Helena Bonham-Carter, Miranda Richardson, Martin Short and lots of fun people.

. . . 

Beloved Memory: 

When I was 13 I saw Martin Short and his family at a restaurant in cottage country; he was yelling at his son for not wanting to eat his hamburger. Poor guy.

s w e e t . s h ar y

Going to see Shary Boyle next week; so excited, can't wait!

n o r m a l . p e o p l e

Self-portraiture, trying to capture an elusive feeling. The feeling I feel when I listen to melancholy notes of movie soundtracks: wistful longing.

. . .

I blame the "Water for Elephants Soundtrack".

s o m e b o d y

Can't stop listening to this song; bringing back lots of memories. Nice to know it's not just me.

r o c k e t . m a n

It felt very important to make this, this morning at 10 to 6:00. I've been listening to Elton now for 24 plays x 4 minutes & 42 seconds = 1.768 hours. I picture the William Shatner cover -- you know the one, don't deny--where he moon walks and sips liquor and looks all rugged and handsome like, speak-singing. I'd raise your kids on Mars, Bill....any day.

. . .

I am no pro but I am falling in love with type and I want to make beautiful babies with letters and love. New project: arrangements with song lyrics?

d i g i t a l . d a r k r o o m

Remember kids: scanning is photography! Scanning fabric is fun; so is tinting it pink in photoshop.

i . s p y

I spy with my little eye...
A lot of pictures of me actually. Me: in a pretty baby contest; nuding it up at the beach; posing with William Wallace; decked out in authentic Native garb; being stoic in self-portraits; wearing a tablecloth as a veil.

h a z a r d s

As of late, this song is the only one that get's me through the day. I still wish this album had been made into a movie or stage play. The Decemberists: The Hazards of Love: (The Drowned).

p o l k a

Painting picture frames, soon to be available on Etsy!

m a n y . h a p p y . r e t u r n s

Thank you to everyone who's taken the time to stop by the blog these past few days. It means a lot to me that my work is touching so many people (even if in small ways). 

Cheers to a brand new, W O N D E R F U L year jammed pack with creativity, courage and personal progress :)

g r e e n . q u e e n

New series in progress: golden girls.

r o m a n

Roman soldier & wolf headdress. Detail from a Christmas present painting. Acrylic on canvas.

l i v i n g . i n . t r e e s

Album cover design for Living in Trees debut EP. Find them here.

g i n g e r

Coloured version of a sketch.

" s " . i s . f o r . s t a b

Coloured sketch version with a final version elsewhere.

b l o n d i e

Coloured sketch.

s a d . g i r l . h a p p y . g i r l

 

Cover for my zine "Sad girl happy girl" which debuted at Expozine this past November in Montreal. 

m a k i n g . c a k e

Coming soon to a glow-in-the-dark sticker near you!

s k e t c h y

Imagine these 4 ft tall...then I could die happy!