Well . . .

Recently a friend who knows more than me about the business of art told me I would sell more paintings if I raised my prices. He meant, I think, that collectors like to be proud of paying a lot of money for a painting, think its value is related to the price. Maybe. I don’t know. But it does make me wonder, once again, for whom am I painting.

Saying raising my prices makes my work more appealing is almost, but not quite, like telling me I would sell more if I painted landscapes. Or still-lives. Even though I have good drawing skills, I would probably be pretty bad at either as I have no desire to do that. And second, my paintings have been abstract since I first left art school many many years ago. Because that is where my passion is: it’s what I want to do. I also want people to see my work.  And not just the wealthy. Selling more would be nice as long as it didn’t compromise my integrity. 

Of course I would like a broader audience for my work. I’ve always had a fantasy that some important curator will notice my work and promote it so that it can be shown in museums everywhere and be in prestigious art magazines and galleries. All this would happen just because I keep painting. I’m good at dreaming. Unfortunately not so good at the self promotion.

As I’ve said many times, I need to sell to buy more art supplies. I do go through supplies very quickly as I paint a lot.  But the thrill of knowing someone is enjoying a painting of mine is definitely indescribable. Then again, if I sold more paintings because I raised my prices, I would have more money to paint more and then could also give my paintings away more often as I wouldn’t need to sell so many. Sound good to me.

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The other side


I live in a very idyllic setting, surrounded by pine trees, beside a fast running brook, facing a big peaceful lake with wonderful neighbours who are far enough away I can’t see them but they are always there for me when I need them. I haven’t been inside a store in at least six weeks and don’t miss it. A walk on the road is always a pleasure but it is not the same as going to a park. Hopefully soon.

By contrast, my daughter, Tamar Bihari, has been posting what it is like to live in the epicenter of the epicenter of the epicenter of this pandemic. Her writing is a poignant, painful yet beautiful read, and gives a good perspective of her life in New York City. I’m sorry she and all of us have to live through this, and do hope we come out the other end in good form. I asked her if I could link to her posts on Facebook. Do take a look. I’d say I hope you enjoy the read, but enjoy is not really the right word.

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The art of today



I finally realized that painting, making art, won’t solve everything. At least, not for me anyway. It won’t bring predictable weather, it won’t solve the covid-19 pandemic, find a cure or a vaccine, open the restaurants and other activities, it won’t be a complete happiness cure. It doesn’t even give me peace of mind when I do too much.

Now that everything is closed down, I have been painting too much  My studio is in my house and beckons. I enjoy the work; it feels good. But I end up drained and exhausted when I overdo it. My usual scheduled-in time-away from my studio isn’t available, not happening. No Pilates, no agility, no walks in the park, no visiting friends. This morning I took time to plant seeds in my garden, to take Romeo for two long walks, chat with neighbors at the proper distance along the road. It felt good, lightened my mind, gave me a better perspective on the state of the art of living.

The paintings are still there waiting for me.

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When the dentist’s office called to cancel, I cried.


Exhibition at Orange Art Gallery, Ottawa, Ontario, March 4, 2020

The last straw, I guess. Everything is cancelled including fun stuff. Even the parks. No more long walks with Romeo running free. So I am painting a lot.

I read on Artnet News that data says “being an artist is the second  safest profession amid a coronavirus outbreak (behind loggers).” The solitary nature of the profession is its saving grace.” It might be safe to stay in my studio and paint most of the day, but it isn’t helping my supply of supplies to do so nor my bank account that feeds the stores. Art supply stores are closed now so I’m ordering on line and hoping things will not take too long to get here.

Maybe I will have to go back to working on paper but I hope not. If I do, I usually use paper that will fit into the frames I already have hanging around my studio. As my mother always said: waste not, want not. This seems to be a season of adaptation.

Speaking of on-line, I had scheduled myself to teach beginning April 8 but the venue is now closed like almost everything else. So I am contemplating teaching via video conferencing. I’ve never done it before and am uncertain how to begin. Right now I am thinking if I give an assignment and then we can plan a meet up on line to do show and tell and critiques. Otherwise, there is the time needed to produce which might be like watching the grass grow. It will eventually grow but it is the product that needs watering along the way.

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Storm stories


It is blowing ice outside. Rather than snow, we have had an intense ice storm building up on the trees. The gusts of wind are strong now, so the ice is flying around, banging into my windows. It’s winter still.

It makes me think of one of a very different yet memorable storm event. I don’t remember the year, except that I had a small puppy, Lila, who must have been maybe three or so months old. Calculating backwards, it must have been thirteen or fourteen years ago, so maybe 2006. A kind friend had been letting me stay in her house in Halifax when I had early morning classes. I happened to be there alone with Lila the night a big storm hit.  So first thing in the morning I had to shovel the backyard so she could go out to play and pee, then I had to shovel the front steps so we could leave the house. Then I had to shovel the car which was buried in at least a foot or more of snow. I was able to call neighbors near my house to find out when the road was plowed and then able to drive home. The next task was to shovel the stairs into my house in order to have access. It’s a  good thing I enjoy shoveling snow!

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Romeo and I have been taking long walks in the woods on a trail around Lewis Lake. It is open to dogs off lead from October through May only. So in the winter we enjoy the other dogs and people who enjoy dogs.

A few weeks ago I was walking with two other people and their dogs when Romeo, my very friendly pup, ran ahead to offer a happy greeting to a woman, her rather large (i.e, overweight) dog and two young children. He thinks it is his job to say hello to everyone no matter the species. Unfortunately she didn’t see it that way. She started yelling to “put that dog on a leash”, etc., etc. So I called Romeo back and we all, three of us, leashed up our dogs and walked quietly on past her as she kept yelling how irresponsible we were and couldn’t we see she had small children with her, etc. Once past, we let the dogs go again and commented on how one angry person can dominate a situation. And it was not a good lesson for her children. And there are not many other places like this where dogs can run free and play which is why we were there. And she should find another place to walk where she wouldn’t have to control everyone else.

I’ve been rehearsing in my mind what I will do when I come across her again. I will tell her how I feel and that we only have use of that park for a few months. Most of the off lead areas have been closed down, restricted, so this is an important free range path.

Maybe the opposite is also true. One person being kind, generous, gentle, understanding, can have a big impact on many others. I think that is the way it is supposed to be done.

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The cost of living



I went to a memorial service for someone very unique last Sunday. He was a very talented photographer and lovely person. Every time I was around him, I felt a warm generous spirit in his being. There were a lot of people there I hadn’t seen in a while because the “celebration” was a few hours travel from my house. The evening was very gentle, with people telling stories, reminiscing about Nat. We could all have dissolved into puddles easily but somehow it did stay light and celebratory of a life lived well.

Even though I spend a lot of time alone, I like people, enjoy being with them, and usually call someone a friend until proven otherwise. But that evening, one person I talked to told me he had seven friends die in the past year. I said: “Seven friends! I don’t even have seven friends!”  Sometimes I feel that way. Mostly what I don’t have is the kind of friend you tell all your adventures too at the end of the day. I guess right now that’s my dog. I did say to someone (someone I hadn’t seen in a long time) that my dog is my best friend, maybe even the love of my life. Now, isn’t that pathetic! But that’s the way it is right now. I do tell him everything because he is here, he’s a compassionate being and listens. I love having conversations with him. His responses are not so verbal, at least not the human kind of verbal. I like to think he enjoys our conversations too. Altogether, he’s a different kind of friend, one who stays young until he dies, or until I die, whichever comes first.

I’m not afraid of dying, I think, but I feel I need to pack every minute with importance, even if it is just relaxing well. And from what I understand, relaxing is important.

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