First, a Little Secret

When I was a little girl, I wanted to sit under a tree and write about animals. If Jane Goodall could do it, why couldn’t I? I loved being in nature. I loved animals. The plan made perfect sense.

I practised on Oliver, our dog. After school, I would sit outside watching him snooze and take notes on how his muzzle twitched in his sleep. I speculated about his dreams. I was thorough.

But that plan didn’t work out.

When I was young, if it rained, I would sit by the window and write poems. The harder and longer it rained, the better my poems were — by which I mean the verses rhymed like cheerful clinking glasses.

I kid you not.
I gave it all that I got.

Then I grew up and decided I had to do serious things. 

So I went away to get a degree in biochemistry.

Alas, there was no nature, no poetry, no serenity in a biochemistry lab. Just foul-smelling substances mixed with blood and urine samples.

So I became a journalist instead. I did that for well over a decade — until I couldn’t anymore.

It wasn’t until the pandemic that something shifted. Out of the blue, I felt a strong desire to paint with acrylics. I had never done it before. I didn’t know anyone who painted. But the pull was unmistakable. The idea made me so happy that I followed it like a little cocker spaniel disappearing into the woods.

Long story short, here I am now — an artist based in Calgary, Alberta. I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time roaming the wild spaces of this city since moving here seven years ago. I probably should have been working more, earning more, cooking more, socializing more.

Instead, I watched trees change with the seasons. I watched rivers freeze and thaw. I noticed the way snow settles into branches and how bunnies change their coats. I listened to snow crunch under my boots as I walked through unmarked trails, got lost in the bushes and got chased away by chickadees.  

I spent so much time in nature that, at some point, it felt like my heart couldn’t contain it all. The desire to paint became less of a choice and more of a necessity.

I’ve thought a lot about creativity — especially in relation to my work. In my experience, art is what we do to make sense of what we cannot fully explain.

That has certainly been true for me.

I often can’t put into words — and I am a writer by profession — how deeply nature moves me. Wild places stir something so profound that I have to turn to another language to respond. Painting is that language.

That is why I paint.

To decipher.

As homage.

For love.

If you’re still here, thank you. Thank you for your curiosity and for letting me share why I do this. I hope the love I feel for these places stirs something in you as well.