Finally back in the studio, and had a friend, named Lucy Doan come and do a small photo shoot of me working.

                                                                                                                                                                                 

What NSCAD means to me.

I never really had a plan mapped out for myself. Always living in the moment, I took things in stride and planned only weeks ahead. If you look at my family, you would instantly see that makes me the odd one of the clan. My older brother just turned 30 this year, so I suppose he has finally reached his goal point of his “seven year plan.” He fell in love in grade nine and is now married to his high school sweetheart. Out of high school, he went to University for sciences, and came out with an engineering degree, close to debt-free. Instantly landed a good job and just two years ago, made partner in his firm. On January 1, 2010, my sister in law gave birth to my families heart and soul, my nephew, Logan Elias MacLean.


Growing up I never had a clear focus on what I wanted. I learned to play the piano, then the flute, guitar, a little drums. Today, I couldn’t hold a tune. I took gymnastic classes for a couple years, was on a swim team for a bit. I got really interested in horses and took riding lessons for 3 years; I haven’t been on a horse since I was 12. I auditioned for many plays and musicals. In school I was a cheerleader for a year. Spent a little time on school politics. In high school I was in a creative writing group, and a political science protest group. I began to spend all my free time in the art room in grade 11, but was also taking advanced math and science courses, set on a path towards a science and medicine future.


In grade 12, my art teacher created a series of assignments directed towards creating a portfolio for applying to art college. Apart from enjoying my art lessons, I had no art background. My great grandmother took some courses and made watercolour landscapes, but she passed away before I had the chance to know her. I didn’t even know that there was an art college in my city until my teacher took us on a field trip to see the school in Halifax. Walking through the painting studios, as cheesy as it may sound, it felt like I tripping. Maybe it was all the oil paint fumes, but a little voice in my head was screaming.


By the end of the semester, I had a fairly good size portfolio ready for application.


When I approached my parents about my plans, you can imagine their reaction. I am their youngest child who, while always full of dreams I was constantly flying from one thing to another, never fully seeing anything through to the end. I would pick up dreams like picking wildflowers, never being able to find a favorite. When one started to wilt, I would simply throw it away, and pick a new one.


So you see, when they heard I was applying to art school, they simply heard another distraction. At least when I was planning for sciences, there was a good job sitting on the other side. They were thinking about what kind of job you could get from a painting degree. I was simply excited to learn to paint.


What I didn’t know then, was how much I was going to really learn to love painting.


Sitting in front of a blank canvas, can feel like a first date. Both completely unsure of what to expect from one another. Gazing at a story that has not yet occurred. You feel a jumble of emotions; excited, scared and if it’s a good one, intrigued.


That first stroke of colour instills life in a once completely silent surface. It poses a question, beckoning the artist for more. This sometimes forces us to act too quickly, telling too much all at once. Requiring a moment of recollection you pick up a rag, soak it with solvent, and press it to the canvas, sponging up the unnecessary details, and pushing colours into one solid tone. The old paint stains remain, sitting just beneath the surface. The canvas grit still shows, begging for more layers of shades, tones and textures.


Sometimes it feels important to cover up old mistakes, little secrets, that only you, as the artist know lie there, hidden. Other times, those small intricacies become the most important parts, realizing that they simply required a little special highlight, or a gloomy shadow to bring them to the surface.

If you pace yourself properly, painting can feel like a dance. Knowing just the right moment to go in for the peak move. The exact right moment to give your finale and walk gracefully off the stage.




I didn’t plan to be an artist. I didn’t go to my first gallery opening until I was in my twenties.
I never took an art class until I hit high school. I never really made plans for the future.
I couldn’t stick to a single interest my entire life.

But I will go to the grave, with paintbrush in hand.