EARLY INSPIRATION
I grew up under the spreading branches of a sugar maple tree. Early spring found me kneeling in the cool, damp earth searching for the first signs of Lily of the Valley and asparagus that grew along the fence bordering our yard. The sweet scent of the Lily of the Valley filled me with excitement! Finally I could lose the itchy wool leggings of winter and put on socks and sneakers!
A family of artists
My mother sewed clothes for herself and five children, often from her own patterns. She painted with oils and played the organ. My father sang a beautiful tenor, took photographs and captured our imaginations with word pictures. As children we learned to sing around the piano and later I played the violin. With inheritance monies my mother ordered a set of handbells from Europe. These are a family treasure which we play together whenever the opportunity arises.
On Sunday afternoons we would do shell crafts. In his work travels my father would search for and bring back the most beautiful and delicate seashells. Using fine tweezers my sisters and I would painstakingly glue these shells into brooches and once we were more adept, flower arrangements mounted on black velvet cloth.
At the age of 12 I moved with my family to Winnipeg, Manitoba and the prairies. Hot, humid, summer days were spent exploring the sage scented Pembina Hills with my cousins. Stepping around prickly cactus and cow pies we searched for lost artifacts. Later the badlands, plains, foothills, and mountains of Alberta became home.
“When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy!”
- Rumi
AN ARTIST’S GAZE
I am a voracious reader. As a child I was drawn to the lives of Heidi, Hellen Keller, Florence Nightingale. I thought I might be a nurse. But no. I studied Philosophy and Liberation & Feminist Theology. I became a Spiritual Health Specialist in a large urban critical care hospital. I was a witness to urgent and often traumatic situations and injuries. So much pain and suffering. My instructor in training asked me “How do you connect with hurt and suffering persons?” I answered, “With my eyes, my gaze”. And I can be still and quiet.
These are the same eyes that scan the landscape and see. This seeing propels a powerful, visceral need to capture the scene.
I was gifted my first camera, a Konica, in Grade 12. It was a cold winter day when my dad took me outside to teach me the settings. My first photos were of a small bare shrub bathed in cool blue shadow.
