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If you are in a museum and see a display of old paint tubes and brushes with a tiny bit of Scarlet Lake paint dried at the tip, you may also see someone nearby dabbing tears from their eyes. This person is an artist and part of their heart just broke, seeing tools left behind by an artist who passed away. It never fails. Whenever I've visited the Whyte Museum in Banff, I have ended up in tears seeing the crushed tubes of paint and the palettes that my artistic heroes once used. The fact that I now paint where...

A boxer, being pummeled mercilessly, hears the bell and stumbles to his corner. As he flops down, exhausted, trying to find the energy to go back out in the ring again, he hears cheering through the ringing in his ears. Those cheers motivate him to continue the battle. When I was first challenging myself to move from watercolour to acrylic, learning the new techniques necessary for success, I spent money I couldn't afford to attend a workshop. The instructor was not only a personal artistic hero of mine, but his knowledge was (and is!) exemplary. We were given the opportunity...

It's strange how we take things for granted, especially as children. We live for the moment and only realize the significance of some things we have experienced decades later. Montreal welcomed the world to Expo '67. I was five, so have only a few memories. My "job", the day I attended the wonderful event, was to remember that my family had parked in the camel section: the parking areas were all drawings of animals rather than numbers and letters what wouldn't have been inclusive to ALL languages. I also have a vague memory of riding the monorail with my Mom, who...

It seems that there are always bits of paper in my hands so I can make a list. It's not only the groceries that are needed to stock the pantry, but notes to myself in real time conversation. I'm still kicking myself that I used a GOOD calligraphy pen to scrawl my library card number on my desk blotter in my impatience of having to look it up yet again. A list enables me to write the idea down so my mind is free to create; finding the mixes of the shades of green I need for a painting, or...

This weekend, I attended a quilt conference; five YEARS had passed since the previous one in this area of the Rockies. It was humbling, to see the love in the room: of the craft, of the art and also the love between all of us who share the same passion. It was amazing to see the presentations from the various guilds and of course the heart stopping beauty of the quilts themselves. In the room, we all became emotional hearing about the quilters who had passed on--it had been five years after all. We noticed how much we had all...