Flight of the chickadees

For the past couple of weeks, I've been observing a lot of activity in the birdhouse beside my driveway. I had installed it purely as a decoration - a scruffy old thing, poorly made, and simply jammed into the fork of a laburnum tree just a few feet above the ground, tied in place with a piece of string. But something about this fixer-upper must have appealed to a young black-capped chickadee couple because they decided it would be a perfect place to raise their family.

I suspected nothing till the eggs hatched and suddenly there was a flurry of chickadee activity. I observed much to-ing and fro-ing on the part of Mom and Pop Chickadee, bearing bugs and bits of food into the nest to feed their brood and, in an effort to keep things tidy, taking away the you-know-what that all hungry, growing babies produce. Over the ensuing days, tiny baby bird peeps developed into raspy "chick-a" sounds, then finally into full-fledged, three syllable "chick-a-dee" vocalizations. When I heard that familiar sound I knew the babies' time to fly the coop must be imminent and hoped I'd be around to witness the moment.

Imagine my horror a day or two later when I noticed the nest had been vandalized! A piece of the roof had been torn right off and the cord securing the birdhouse to the tree had been severed. I figured a tragedy must have taken place over night - a squirrel or a crow had probably raided the nest and enjoyed some plump chicklets for breakfast. I plucked the birdhouse down, figuring I'd dispose of it, but when I glanced inside I spied a familiar little black-capped head. The nest was still filled with a cluster of perfect, fully fledged, tiny chickadees! I hastily put the birdhouse back and began strategizing as to how I could repair it without completely disturbing the little family.

Then suddenly, as I mulled the problem over, the babies one-by-one began leaving the nest and fluttering little birds were soon everywhere! The youngsters flitted ineptly about, seeking safety while the parents shouted advice and instructions. One youngster made it to a big honey locust tree, another into a rhododendron shrub. One confused baby flew right through the open garage door and I had to retrieve it from beneath the car. But soon three little birdies were rounded up by their anxious parents and more-or-less safe in the locust tree.

In the locust tree.

 

In the rhododendron shrub.

 

Clinging to a window screen.

I was not the only witness to these fledglings' grand entrance into the world. Both my cats were avid observers, enjoying the proceedings from behind glass so no hapless young chickadee could be harmed.

 

A pair of squirrels also arrived on the scene for their afternoon raid on my birdfeeders but they soon left again when I threatened to send the dog after them. I'm sure they were just humouring me. My slow, old dog is about as much of a threat as a tree stump.

When the show appeared to be over, I once again tried to remove the birdhouse but to my surprise there were still two babies inside. What a big brood! This was one prolific pair of chickadees. I decided to secure the birdhouse with some wire and tied a piece of wood over the hole in the roof, hoping the remaining two babies would be safe a while longer.

During the course of the afternoon, I saw one more baby make his/her leap into the big wide world. Throughout the rest of the afternoon and into the evening Mom and Pop Chickadee continued to visit the now-refurbished birdhouse to feed the fifth fledgling who stubbornly refused to leave the nest. By next morning the patched-up birdhouse was still intact and the adults were still on the scene. However by that day's end all was calm, no babies or adults remained, and I was thankfully able to remove the rickety birdhouse and dispose of it.

I hope to see the chickadee family in the days to come and that Mom and Pop will bring their brood to my birdfeeders. Before next spring rolls around I'll install a proper birdhouse in the same location, just in case another family would like to take up residence but in a safer, sturdier home.

Chickadees never failing to make me smile. They're regular visitors to the birdfeeders by my studio window and I awaken to their song each morning. Needless to say are very much a part of my life as an artist. They're regular subjects for my coloured pencils, and a while back I captured them on silk. This little painting was presented to my nephew's twin baby girls for their first birthday.

"Chickadee Twins" silk painting

Fly free little chickadees! And come back soon for a visit.



Wild goose chase!

I just got back from a scenic drive in the countryside. My destination? A wildlife rehabilitation centre. The cause? This:

Meet the reason I stopped traffic last night. I call him Gregory (as in Gregory Peck). This day-old Canada Goose gosling was dashing madly about in the middle of a busy road, separated from his family and in an absolute panic. Cars were whizzing past as he scampered about, unable to make it over the cement curbs. I watched in horror, envisioning a gosling pancake! Thankfully another motorist and I managed to corral the little fuzz-ball who despite his age and size could run at a lightning speeds reminiscent of the Road Runner of Bugs Bunny cartoon fame. When we finally nabbed him I was the one who ended up taking him under my wing (pun intended).

With Gregory tucked inside my shirt, I searched high and low around the nearest pond, thinking I'd find his family. No luck. I took him home and secured him in a cat carrier, then went back and searched again. Still no luck. Given it was late in the day, it appeared that Gregory was destined to be my overnight guest till the wildlife centre re-opened in the morning.

In a phone conversation with the wildlife centre, it was suggested that I put him outside in the sunshine for a while in a sheltered, grassy area of the yard with a shallow dish of water so he could eat some grass, have a drink, and recover from his traumatic first day of life. I have a dog x-pen that I set up on the front lawn and placed him inside, watching for a while to make sure he couldn't squeeze through the wire.

Then I went off to do a few things. I moments later I glanced out the window and what did I see? Wee Gregory Goose was on the loose, headed across the street! He'd made a grand escape and was heading for freedom. Why did the gosling cross the road? Who knows, but thankfully I live on a dead-end street with little traffic. I raced outside and once again chased him down, scooping him up before he could make his get-away. I placed him securely back in the cat carrier with a handful of grass and a little dish of water. He'd have to make do.

After a night in the cat carrier, snuggled in an old fleece blanket (now in the laundry; who knew a tiny bird could produce so much poop), this morning Gregory was delivered into the willing arms of a shelter worker who assured me they had a foster goose on site who would take care of him and raise him to be wise in the ways of his own kind.

And so another episode in the life of a bird loving artist comes to a satisfying conclusion. This isn't the first time I've stopped traffic for baby birds or gathered up an apparent orphan, nor will it be the last. Birds such as the Canada Goose are common and not always appreciated due to their habit of congregating (and pooping) in parks and on golf courses. However to me a young life is a young life, and if I can help I will. This particular experience has definitely given me new meaning for the phrase "wild goose chase".

Good luck, Gregory!

Note: If you come across a baby animal in distress, re-uniting it with its family is the best course of action. Failing that, contact a wildlife rehabilitation centre for advice.

And now for something completely different...

For anyone familiar with my art, it goes without saying that I'm known for my drawings and paintings of birds and animals. They're my passion. They get my creative juices flowing and form the focus of my art practise. However, that's not to say that from time to time my repertoire doesn't reach beyond that scope. It may come as a surprise that I have significant experience drawing two-legged creatures that don't have feathers. Of course, I'm referring to humans!

The husband-and-wife instructors where I earned my fine arts diploma many years ago were classically trained, eastern European in origin, and felt strongly that drawing was a skill essential to working in the visual arts. Both were kind but strict, dedicated to excellence, and unfaltering in their devotion to art making and art instructing. As their student, I was fortunate to have the fundamentals of drawing drilled into me. We did all kinds of exercises, some of which made little sense at the time. For instance, I remember drawing the same brown paper bag a dozen times from the same angle, under the same lighting conditions, using the same drawing materials in the same amount of time. I now understand repetition is essential to training our brains and solidifying our motor skills, but at that time I was both bored and puzzled (bearing in mind I went straight into art school from high school). In addition to and in combination with these exercises, we spent a lot of time engaged in life drawing - hours and hours of it, in fact.

Life drawing, in the common studio context, consists of drawing a live, usually nude, most often female (in my experience), human model. The model strikes different poses for varying lengths of time, from quick, one-minute warm-ups through to longer poses that give more time to explore light, shadow and form. I view life drawing as great exercise for all artists, no matter where the focus of our interest lies. It's a way for us to stay sharp and train our hands and eyes in a way only working from life can offer. Drawing from a photo only gives us part of the information we need to create an image; drawing from life gives us the whole enchilada! It also poses different challenges, making us work hard, tuning our ability to "see" our subject and to better understand it, and teaching us to translate that knowledge from eye to brain to hand to paper. Sure we can draw the every day life around us, and many of us do, but I find life drawing studio sessions to be invaluable.

I belong to a life drawing group that meets once a month for three hours. We come together, and without many preliminaries we and our model for the evening get right down to it. We draw, and draw, and draw, and draw some more. We might glance at one another's efforts but we never compare or judge. We're each there for our own reasons but we share a common interest in our devotion to honing our drawing skills.

Here are just a few of the sketches I've made:

1 minute warm-ups

 

Moving into longer poses

20 minutes or so

So when I recently received a commission enquiry to draw some human figures I was intrigued. It's not that I never include human figures in my art work, but it doesn't happen all that often.

My silk painting "Walking the Dog - April"

An illustration of mine for "Living Water" (a children's book)

When I saw the subject for the commission, I immediately said "yes!" It was a lovely pose with eloquent body language and I felt immediately inspired. This was the result:

Both I and my client were very pleased with the outcome. It just goes to show that every so often it's good to step outside the box and do something different - and that goes not just for artists but for everyone! However, for artists it can offer a chance to explore the skills and knowledge we have accumulated while giving us a refreshing change of scene. It can be almost as good as a vacation!

Now... back to my regularly scheduled artwork.


Road trip!

There's nothing like a few days away - particularly when glorious spring weather is combined with a destination like Vancouver Island. Last week I unexpectedly made just such a trip. The reason for my trip was to assist a friend in need but I felt I also benefited from taking myself out of the studio for a breather.

There are places on this planet that seem to nurture us simply by being there, and I find Vancouver Island to be one of them. Even from on board the ferry, one gets the sense of moving into a different place of beauty and serenity.

Behind my friend's home in the quaint town of Port Alberni is a network of trails where walkers and cyclists enjoy the quiet of the forest with its moss laden trees, beaver ponds, carpets of ferns, and, at the moment, an abundance of my favourite spring flowers: trilliums. Roxy, my cocker spaniel buddy whom I blogged about last year (see Portrait of a Best Friend), is staying with me while her family is away travelling. Both she and my old collie Riley accompanied me on this trip, and the three of us enjoyed meandering through these serene trails on several occasions. Apparently black bears and cougars are common visitors to the area, but the only bear we saw on this trip was one that galloped lickity-split across the highway in front of my car, and we did not have any up-close-and-personal encounters with large wild animals while on foot.


Roxy enjoying a walk in the forest.

On the journey home, we paused at Cathedral Grove - a truly magical place. Just steps from the main road, ancient, moss shrouded, old-growth trees tower above some of the biggest, most lush trilliums I've ever seen. Birds flitted about, including delightful Winter Wrens shouting their spring songs from tree stump podiums, and a gorgeous Varied Thrush that paused briefly on a branch. Kestrels called from the tree-tops and an unseen tree frog added an amphibian song. This place is soothing to the soul.

A massive trillium sprouting from the base of a giant tree

A Varied Thrush on a mossy branch

 

Can you spot the tiny Winter Wren?

Before heading to the ferry terminal, we made a diversion to the town of Crofton to call on another friend. We took the dogs for a stroll on the sea-walk at Crofton Bay where I was hoping I'd see one of my favourite bird species, the Pacific Oyster Catcher. What I did see was this plump otter happily munching on a large fish on the beach just a stone's throw from where we stood. A beautiful pair of Mergansers rested nearby, also observing the feasting otter.

Seafood lunch in Crofton Bay

Merganser couple

 

A silk painting of mine featuring an Oyster Catcher

Back on the mainland I made one last stop. In the trees growing against some bluffs near the ferry terminal is a heron rookery. The trees were dotted with the shapes of Great Blue Herons flapping to and fro or standing guard over their nests. Spending a few moments observing this natural wonder was a fitting conclusion to my trip.



And now I'm back in my studio, feeling refreshed, renewed and ready for the tasks at hand.

What to do when you're in a slump

For the past few days - well... maybe even weeks - I've been in a kind of a slump. I've been going about my business more-or-less as usual but it's been a bit of a struggle. I head down to my studio each morning, coffee and hand, and settle down for the day. However, somehow the creative juices just aren't flowing.

Wren Fledgling in coloured pencil.

I have not been totally unproductive. I have a couple of commission pieces underway and they're coming along nicely (one of them is a bit out of the ordinary for me and I'll reveal it in a future blog). I also finished off this sweet drawing of a little wren while at an art event recently. It's just that the flow of new ideas, which usually comes easily to me, seems to be clogged.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm in a proverbial "slump" or I have "artists block" or some other euphemistic description for just being a bit out-of-sorts. I've never been one to expect that everything needs to be just-so in order to make art. I have a lot of discipline. I go to the studio. I work. I am diligent, focused and productive. But lately, for some unknown reason, I'm off my game.

I know its necessary at times to simply draw back, walk away, and nurture oneself. However, I'm fighting back. Right now walking away is not what I'd like to be doing - or can afford to be doing - with exhibitions, festivals and other events pending.

So far I have distracted myself from my slump by doing such things as:

• fiddling around on my computer WAY more than usual
• sitting in the sunshine (when available), drinking tea
• sitting looking out the window (at the rain), drinking tea
• cleaning out closets
• taking myself and/or my old dog for walks at odd times of day
• lying on the floor with the old dog and/or the cats (should I mention we've had some long conversations or would that bring my overall mental health into question?)
• getting together with friends for lunch, or a walk, or coffee (having legitimate human conversations)
• pottering in the garden
• reading books (dog lovers who enjoy a good cry should read "The Art of Racing in the Rain")
• watching nonsense on TV
• thinking about art-making and new projects, but not acting on the thoughts
• the list goes on...

High in an evergreen, a watchful barred owl.

On my walks I have acquired some wonderful new reference material such as this barred owl I spotted recently which, at other times, would inspire me to get busy on a new drawing or painting. These days I scarcely take time to peruse what I've gathered.

I have read inspirational books that would, at other times, fill me with ideas and energy but now simply put me to sleep. I've commiserated with artist colleagues who would, at other times, make my creative juices gush but now manage to produce only a meagre drop or two. I feel like I'm marooned in a creative desert in search of an oasis.

So now I've figured out there's one thing I can do that will fit into my slumpy state and benefit me in the long run: I'm tidying up my studio. I'm finding it to be quite a therapeutic exercise and a nice break from working on the commissioned pieces, taking care of the day-to-day activities of running my art business, and simply stewing about being in a slump. And judging by the number of boxes of junk I've hauled out so far, it's a task that is well overdue. I have my fingers crossed that getting my studio neat and organized (although not TOO organized; that could be counter-productive) will improve my frame of mind and set the stage for unleashing the floodgates of a veritable deluge of creativity!

And just in case those clogged floodgates take a little while to clear, cleaning the studio will have the benefit of presenting a tidy workspace for the participants joining me for coloured pencil workshops this weekend. Perhaps it's the energy of a creative group of students - eager to learn and appreciative of my insights - that will give me the kick-start I need to climb out of this creative slump and get on with things. 

Or maybe I'll just look out the window some more and drink another cup of tea, resigned to my fate, taking heart in the words of some wise person who once said, "This too shall pass". I wonder if he/she was an artist too.

A Cougar's Tale

I recently completed a new piece of art - a coloured pencil drawing that's just a little bit of a departure for me. While cats have always been part of my repertoire, this kind of cat has not! Here's just a piece of it:

You'll have to keep reading to see the whole drawing, but I urge you not to rush straight to the end because there's an interesting story behind this piece of art that I think is worth telling. The tale of this drawing is actually the culmination of three separate stories  woven together.

Story #1: A few years ago it came to my attention via a local newspaper article that a pair of cougars were living in and/or around one of my favourite haunts - a park just a few miles from home where I like to take long, rambling walks in the forest. I was enthralled by the idea! It's not the kind wilderness area where I would have expected to find these large wild cats but it's a 1,300+ acre, mainly undeveloped park, there's a lot of bush, and the park is surrounded by farms and green belts that would provide a buffer zone of relatively low human population density. There are also lots of deer, rabbits and other wild prey which would give the cougars an ample food supply. For several years now I have lived with the faint hope - more of a dream - that one day during my park ramblings I might glimpse one of these elusive felines. So far that has not happened.

Story #2: Speaking of park ramblings, there's a certain area in that favourite park of mine that's just a little bit magical. You could say that about several parts of this park if you're a nature lover like me, but one area takes on a particular kind of magic in late spring/early summer. It's a place where the tiger lilies bloom and the forest is dotted with their bright yellow-orange blossoms. They rise above the ferns, salal, and other vegetation to put on an exquisite display. My collection of reference photos includes numerous shots I've taken of these glorious-but-delicate flowers. I file the photos away, adding a few more each year, figuring one day I'd find a way to use them.

Story #3: Five thousand miles away in a small Caribbean country lives a Canadian cougar. I happened to make his acquaintance during my recent winter sojourn there. I'm told he was brought into the country as an illegal pet, confiscated from a suburban home by the authorities, and he ended up in the local zoo. While zoos are not ideal places for wild animals, I understand this big fellow was born and raised in captivity, and when I saw him he looked pretty comfortable in his spacious, leafy enclosure. He was certainly active the day I was there and I was able to spend a long time observing him, taking some great photos as he moved about, lapped water from his pond, or simply lounged in the shade. I stopped photographing when he was fed an entire horse leg for lunch. That was just a little bit too graphic for me.

After my day at the zoo and the unexpected bonus of seeing this lively cougar, the pieces started to fit together. I realized that I had all the reference material I needed to bring to life my personal vision of the cougars who live in my favourite park. I could see them in my mind's eye, pacing silently through the forest. And what better setting for a big cat than among tiger lilies! It was an "ah-ha!" moment and this was the result:

So it came about that a dream, a little magic, and a chance encounter in a far-off land culminated serendipitously in a piece of art featuring a majestic feline among glorious wildflowers in a place I love. It captures the contrast between power and delicacy, intensity and serenity, and the diverse harmony of nature. I call it "Forest Wildcats". 

I would never have imagined that a Canadian cougar living out his days on a tropical island would be the catalyst (pun intended) for this piece of art. Such is the random way in which things work out some times.
____________________________________________

This drawing will be on display as part of an exhibition of work by the Fraser Valley Chapter of the Federation of Canadian artists at the Semiahmoo Arts Centre, White Rock, BC, May 3-31, 2013.

Songs of Spring

What a difference a few days can make! Just last week, as I shivered in my fleece sweater and listened to the thrumming of the furnace, I wondered if the chill winds and endless rains would ever leave us. And then suddenly spring arrived. It's like some cosmic switch got flipped and the seasons changed over night. As I write this I'm sitting outside in my shirt sleeves enjoying the sunshine. My old dog is warming her arthritic bones nearby, as is my crotchety senior cat. We're making the most of it and soaking up some much appreciated rays. My favourite season has arrived, filled with promise.

Steller's Jay

Spotted Towhee

The birds are rejoicing too! At this moment I can hear a sparrow's sweet call, the rough voice of a Steller's jay, the cawing of a crow, and what I think is the twittering of a flock of bush tits making their rounds, all of this over the steady drone of suburban lawn mowers, the voices of playing children, and the distant din of air planes and automobile traffic. During the past few days of warmer weather, the birds have emerged in abundance and are making their presence known.


Black-capped Chickadee

On any given morning on my dawdling walk to the local park with my slow-poke dog, I see juncos, chickadees, various types of sparrows, Steller's jays, flickers, towhees, the ever-present starlings, and on my neighbourhood's weekly garbage day there are always numerous crows and sea gulls scoping out any unsecured trash containers. One morning, high above me I made out a flock of swans heading north. I saw a pair of house wrens on a fence and a couple of finches flitted by. And on yet another morning recently, as I observed the antics of a pair of courting Steller's jays, a bald eagle soared overhead. But perhaps best of all, there are robins... lots and lots of robins!


American Robin

Over the past couple of years, I had become increasingly concerned that this iconic bird, once so common here, was in trouble. There was a handful of them around but their numbers seemed drastically reduced. One of my favourite childhood summer memories was waking up to the sound of chirping robins whose "cheer up, cheer up, cheerily cheer up" warble would be heard again later, with slight variation, as each day drew to a close. I missed that sound deeply. Perhaps difficult spring weather conditions here over the past couple of years affected their numbers or there was some problem in their wintering grounds. Happily this spring the robins have returned to my area in abundance. I am both delighted and relieved.

Each morning I'm once again waking up to the robins' lively song. I also hear the redwinged blackbirds in the nearby golf course and the gabbling of Canada geese. Last night, through the open window which ushered in fresh spring air, I made out the rapid-fire "hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo" of a pygmy owl - a male advertising his presence to any nearby females - above the trilling of frogs who were also busy vocalizing their own spring songs.

I continue to be astounded at the resilience of birds. Despite habitat loss, human encroachment, pollution and other modern-day problems, so many species are able to adapt. I regularly see nuthatches at my bird feeder, not to mention what I consider to be shy forest birds, the Pileated woodpeckers. To be able to gaze out of the window of my simple home in an unremarkable suburban neighbourhod and watch these adaptable wild creatures gives me joy and nourishes my artistic soul.


A nuthatch at my bird feeder.

Bookends! Two pilieated woodpeckers on the tree in
my front yard.

A trio of small drawings of nuthatches.

To top it off, what did I happen to see during a walk at my favourite park yesterday? My first trillium of the year - a sure sign that spring is well and truly here. Not only are the birds singing, my heart is too. And I feel some new artwork coming on!

 

My drawing of a much-loved spring flower - a trillium -
complete with a ladybug.

_______________________________________________

Written with condolences to the other parts of Canada where elusive spring is still keeping its distance.

Ups and Downs

Yesterday was an up and down kind of day. I had an electrician inspect my studio to assess why I'm having problems with the electrical system, and he presented me with a substantial quote for the cost of the work needed to sort things out. That was the down part. But on the upside, I received a call from the gallery director at the Federation of Canadian Artists with excellent news: my application for "signature status" had been successful! For those of you unfamiliar with what this means, let me explain...

In a nutshell, the Federation of Canadian Artists (FCA) was founded in 1941 by a group of Canadian artists including one of the nation's iconic painters, Group of Seven member Lawren Harris. It operates as a non-profit society and its mission is to advance the knowledge and appreciation of art and culture to all Canadians. As with any organization, it's had its own share of ups and downs over the decades but is generally recognized, particularly in western Canada, for the high standard of quality it has established and maintains for participating member artists.

There are several levels of membership in the FCA. Supporting Membership is open to anyone who appreciates art. Artists wishing to advance themselves within the FCA, can apply for Active Membership which involves having their work reviewed and, if found acceptable, they can then enter various exhibitions at the FCA's Federation Gallery in Vancouver, as well as those organized by the society's regional Chapters (I'm a member of the Fraser Valley Chapter). Successful admission into at least eight such exhibitions over four years qualifies an artist to then apply for the next level - that of Associate Signature Member. I've been a member of the FCA for several years now, moving from Supporting to Active status, and have been working towards the point of applying for Associate Signature Membership. This year, having met the exhibition requirements, I decided to throw my hat into the ring.

A jury of accredited FCA artists convenes annually to review the year's batch of applications to see who has not only met the qualifying number of exhibitions, but whose work, in general, meets the organization's standards and criteria. It's a nail-biting process as only some of the applicants get through, and facing the possibility of rejection can be a real challenge for an artist's fragile ego. However, I was more than pleased to be among the handful selected for the Associate level from the 40+ artists who put their names and work forward this year. I'm now qualified to place the initials AFCA after my name (hence the reason it's known as signature status) to indicate this achievement.

There's much discussion among artists as to the value of this designation. My thought is that in a profession where there are few rules, having one's work reviewed by a jury of successful professional artists and found worthy of their acceptance has got to be a good thing. It certainly feels good!

The application process involves submitting 10 digital images and, from among those 10, delivering three original pieces to the gallery for the jury to see in person. For me, making that selection was no easy task and it involved considerable humming and hawwing, aided by helpful input from a couple of artist colleagues. Here, in no particular order, are the images I submitted:

Solitary Steller's Jay (coloured pencil)

 

Quiet Reflection: Sandhill Crane (hand-painted silk)

 

Killdeer (hand-painted silk)



Oystercatchers (hand-painted silk)



Forest Carpenter: Pileated Woodpecker (hand-painted silk)

Omens of Change: Raven Among Fall Aspens (hand-painted silk)



Wren and Salmonberry (coloured pencil)

Song of the Tropics: Mockingbird (coloured pencil)

Green on Green: Palm Tanager (coloured pencil)

Urban Flock: Mallards (hand-painted silk)

From this selection, three will be on display at the Federation Gallery as part of the "Success!" exhibition, March 12-24, 2013 (Killdeer, Song of the Tropics, and Urban Flock).

When I learned of my success, I emailed the artists who had offered helpful input about my submission to give them the news and to thank them. One of the congratulatory responses I received included these sage words: "...take time to bask in your success and then get back to the studio!" And that's where I am this morning. After all, I've got an electrician to pay.

Such are the ups and downs of life as an artist.

For more information about the Federation of Canadian Artists, visit www.artists.ca.