This one is hanging in our bedroom. The pics here don't show the detail as well as I had hoped (and even got a bright shiny thing in the middle) but it gives an idea of what it looks like.
A closer look
This one has been a work in progress, hard to believe but I have about five layers of paint. Artist introduced me to Acrylic paints.
Again work in progress ...or not. I'm letting this one sit for the moment to see if I have the urge to continue on it.So the above is my attempt at city scapes. As a kid I moved to Toronto and I remember to this day the impact of that move. I am fascinated by buildings and the way they look like man-made geometric mountains.
I grew up in Prince George BC for the most part. I lived four years in a snowy place called Kitamat and then back to Prince George. Toronto was another three year stint.
Now the intersting thing is I hate Toronto. I hate its association within my life and the events that took place to shape and change my life. I hate the fact that it brought people into my life that both as a child and adult turned my world into chaos. However I can say without a doubt at this paticular morning that a cousin will never have the oppertunity to do this again. As much as she may be involved with others in the "family" (I qualify if for my own amusement for some strange reason) I can very simply remove myself from her line of keening.
I loved the city lights and the endless ribbons of freeways,highways and byways all leading into the concrete. I was used to trees, blueberry bushes, and even though Prince George was a small city, within an hour in any direction you could hit mountains and bush. As a child I wished for places like Toronto or Edmonton, as an adult, I harken back to the days of climbing up Cranbrook Hill just to have a couple of blueberries or horseback riding along the trails where we lived out on five acres.
Downstairs haning in our dining room are my trees and a mountain that I did. I miss the mountains but not enough to move up there again. Hubby and I know what we are in for moving North. That's why we came South. But every once in a while the mountains call. Pulling at my heartstrings to come home.
And that's when I miss, the cold crisp air that burns your lungs when you inhale then hangs like a whisper of fog after the exhale...the deafening silence of snow falling into bare branches of the aspen, layering the soft evergreens in a blanket of white...ice fog that shines light like a beacon reaching into the starry night...the smell of freshly fallen snow...Northern Lights that dance to the rhythym of the universe...the way the winter sunrays bounced off the white turning a farmer's field into a sea of diamonds...yes it all calls to the child of the North in me.
Unfortunately the adult knows the reality of it all but it doesn't taint those odd moments when Nature showed how even the cold and isolated can have beauty. Its funny because growing up I never used the term 'majestic' in reference to the mountains but it is a majestic beauty that can strike you dumbstruck just as you look at it.
And yet the softness of the prairies, despite their chilling winds, is very alluring. It doesn't smack you in the face and say here I am like the mountains do. The prairies just quietly display a canvas of colours when the sun is setting...enwrap you in a blanket of stars that never end...the smell of wheat harvesting...the full moon you can watch uninterrupted through the night...and the soft colours of the fields that lay like a quilt. Don't get me wrong, the prairies have a temper that rivals even the North. The violence of the summer storms reminds me that not all is soft here but for the most part its much softer than up there...
...Waaaay Softer....
