Don't you crave those perfect moments? You're cruising down a winding green country road, or strolling along a cool sandy beach, or maybe just basking in the glowing sunset on your front porch, when all at once it hooks you. The rhythm of the waves or the rustling of leaves in the trees, or the colour of the shadows captures your attention, and seizes your soul as a perfect moment of existence. It may be a moment of calm or peace, or maybe of excitement, awe or joy—but that right there, that moment—that’s why I make art.
Seizing that moment, transforming its perfect clarity into a picture, taking that fleeting revelation of structure, that passing juxtaposition of colour and light, and giving it a permanence that can be held and shared—that’s why I make art.
Weaving those moments together, gathering those fragments of beauty into groups of pictures with a story to tell or a song to sing, then bringing forth those stories and those songs, to enrich the lives and spaces of others—that too, is why I make art.
I earned a BFA in painting from Queen’s University, then took an absorbing detour into graphic design, typography, animation, game creation, and web design. The detour then became a pretty great career as a creative director. Yet all the while, I was filling notebooks with moments, with sketches and photos and memos, capturing those snippets of colour and shape that stopped me dead in my tracks and gave me that knot in my stomach, gathering them against a day when I would transform them into fully realized art.
Then one morning, as I was walking in the woods taking yet more pictures to put in those accumulating sketchbooks, in a moment of pure lucidity it hit me. Epiphany might be a strong word, but really, it was just like that. The time had come. The pile of notebooks had become too huge and too rowdy to be ignored. They were asking “if not now, then when?” The art insisted on being created. The moments demanded to be shared. And the necessity of creating these pictures became my daily work.