The Day After

Blank Canvas - The Apricot Gallery awaits

Sorting the layout

Prints of pieces in Canada hung in traditional Celtic Cross Layout

Buddhist themed work

Excited artist

Guest viewing the work

Celtic Cross layout of the original canvases

I thought this blog entry would write itself. I figured the entire experience of hosting a gallery show of my Tarot Card series would be content enough, but looking back I really have no idea where to start. This show felt like a very nice full-stop to what was originally just an intriguing idea for an art project.

From the High Priestess to the Wheel of Fortune, each card has been an exploration of my beliefs, the beliefs of the world around us and the energy which flows throughout. The sense of utter exhaustion I felt by the end of the two days was partly due to the physical effort involved and partly due to the emotional intensity of it. My blood, sweat and tears went into these paintings and as each guest came in I greeted and discussed with them the finer points of my work.

It was extremely interesting to find out which card drew an individual in and why they felt so captivated by it. For some it was the imagery, for others it was the description. For a few it was a combination of both, but no one seemed to leave without having chosen a card or two for which they felt an affinity.

I'd like to thank each guest I had for taking time to come look and have a chat. I feel like I have gained an even greater understanding of my own work by viewing it through the eyes of so many others.

I am extremely grateful for all the support I've had on this journey. I know I thanked many people upon completing the set, but I'd like to thank a few people in particular for this final step of showing my work.

I would like to thank my psychologist - my most expensive friend and a force to be reckoned with. Her persistence helped me stop making excuses. One of the guests of my show remarked that to put something like this one must take a lot of guts. I want to thank my psychologist for teaching me that fear can't actually hurt you. Without this encouragement I'd not have taken the plunge to move to London and I'd certainly not have believed in myself to think I could and should pull off what I have this past weekend.

I would like to thank my parents - they have always encouraged me to be the best of myself and without their unconditional love I know I wouldn't be the person I am today.

I'd like to thank those who were able to purchase my work. I did these paintings for myself but I shared them for people like you. I am so grateful for your appreciation of what I do and feel honoured that my work spoke to you in such a way that you would love to have it hung on your own wall to admire every day.

And in the tradition of saving the best for last, I would like to thank my partner. Not only did she do some smashing photography of the event, but she has given me huge amounts of support and encouragement throughout the planning and preparation. From all the little thing - like picking up cups for the wine and greeting people as they came in, to the really incredibly big things - like booking taxis and putting up with my fits of worry and anxiety, she has shown great patience and care. I am more grateful to her than words can possibly express.

In the aftermath of the showing I've become quite reflective. During the show many people asked what I intended to do next. I didn't have a straight forward answer for them but I can say that I came to the conclusion that, for now, my paint brushes will be set aside. I have mentioned before that I tend to want to do quite a lot all at once and feel almost paralysed by the abundance of ideas for creative projects which crop up on a daily basis. I feel though, having focused so entirely on this body of work for the past two and a half years, that there is time enough for all my work to be done - one piece at a time.

This week!

This Friday my Tarot Cards will be on display at the Apricot Gallery just off of Brick Lane (Sorry to be flogging a dead horse with this one, but, y'know, self promotion is sometimes a bit repetitive.)

Several of the originals will be displayed as well as prints of the pieces currently residing in Canada. Multiple Hi-Gloss photo prints will be available for purchase and I will be taking orders for canvas reproductions.

I'm extremely excited to be sharing my work publicly for the first time since November 2009. My Tarot Cards are one of my proudest accomplishments but also the result of an incredible amount of support and encouragement from friends, family and fans. My work is an expression of my gratitude, my love of life and my desire to help people realise their own potential. I certainly hope you'll be able to join me on the 19th or 20th to celebrate.

A London Gallery Show

Photos from my November 29th, 2009 Gallery show in Calgary, Alberta

In just one week my Tarot Card paintings will be on display at the Apricot Gallery just off of Brick Lane. It seems like it's been absolute ages since finishing what ended up being a two year art project and booking the space to exhibit the completed work. I suppose it has been, having finished my final three cards back in February, but the time between my last Gallery showing and this upcoming on has been much longer.

In 2009 I truly began to take stock of my life, how I wanted to live it and where I could see myself in the coming years. I embraced my creativity, seeing my abilities as a writer and artist not as something to fill hobby time, but as something which could make me a living.

I also made the decision to move to London, one which has changed my life in unimaginable ways. Living in this city has been and continues to be an incredible education. Where else can you encounter a Henry Moore sculpture on a street corner, watch Kevin Spacey depict Richard III and gaze upon countless original pieces by the great masters of art?

I feel honoured and elated that my own work will soon be available for viewing by the London public. It seems so long ago that I took those first tentative steps into sharing my work and offering it for sale - a time when only eight of the twenty-two Tarot Paintings were complete.

Now I'm taking a new focus, still giving special consideration to my creative works, but with an aim to have a career which not only funds my art and writing, but also fulfills my passion and love of helping others. There's a lot to consider and as I do, I am becoming more and more excited about this gallery showing and what will come afterwards. There is nothing more liberating than the moment when we realise we are in control of our lives and in doing so we are loving the life we're leading instead of looking for a life we can love.

Faunawolf Creations Gallery Show: 5 - 9pm 19th of August and 11am - 9 pm 20th of August at the Apricot Gallery in the Rag Factory on Heneage Street just off of Brick Lane, 5 minutes from Aldgate East Tube.

Exciting Developments!

This is me looking very excited! Why am I so excited? Well, last night I attended the CityPink drinks night at the Adams Street Private Members Club (Very swish) and whilst there I met some very interesting and cool people, as well as bumping into a friend. The result was that a lot of my cards were given out to a lot of people and my gallery show was well promoted for the entire evening.

But even more fantastic than that - and that was pretty fantastic - I got to chatting with Gemma, a representative of the Barefoot Wine company. Established in 1965 and relaunched in 1986, Barefoot likes to partner with not-for-profits and small businesses. They don't pay for any advertising so they get out there by offering their wine at events like the CityPink drinks night, or even at a starving artist's gallery show on August 19th and 20th.

So yes! For those who enjoy a nice robust red or a crisp white, there will also be wine courtesy of Barefoot at my Apricot Gallery showing. Hussah!

Not all that much to say

"I'm considering writing a blog entry that just says 'I seriously have nothing to write about at the moment' "

"How can that be so?" she said, eyebrow arched.

And yet it is. Here I am, sat and staring and trying to stick to my twelve entries in a month. In comparison to February, March seems to take forever to pass and yet, when it comes to getting my entries done, I feel there aren't enough days.

New business card design sample

It's not that nothing has been going on. Loads is going on. I booked a gallery space (Date to be announced in my april newsletter), worked on a new business card design, began preparing art descriptions, and have been plotting and planning marketing ideas and a potential re-build of my website.

But none of it feels particularly interesting to me. It's just stuff I gotta do to keep things moving so I'm doing it, getting on with it.

Like this blog entry being one towards my tally of twelve for the month. I gotta do it, even if I don't feel like I have anything in particular to write about at the moment.

Give it a day though, things are brewing.

The Rag Factory Apricot Gallery

I went to Brick Lane today, an area of London known for it's abundant selection of curry restaurants. The last time I'd come, which was also my first time, was over a year ago when I was in London on my 'toe dipping' adventure. It was already dark then and outside all the restaurants were employees, scooping people off the streets with tantalising descriptions of why their restaurant was the best on the very long lane.

Today I emerged from the tube at almost half four. The sun was warm and glorious all day but had retreated behind clouds. Still, the sky was lit up white and stark and the many choices for dining lay dormant, awaiting six pm, when most people would begin to leave their offices and wander in this direction for a curry and a beer.

I made my way along the bricked road, enjoying the feeling of old stone beneath my sneaker clad feet. I'd worn my rainbow shoes - a bit of my art to be worn for inspiration in light of my task.

Last week my search for a gallery came to an end. This trip today was the final step but my mind was already made up. As soon as I read the description and saw the price, as soon as a quick response came back to my few queries, I knew that I had found exactly what I was seeking.

Located just off of Brick Lane, only a short five minute walk from the Aldgate East Tube station, is The Rag Factory. This collection of galleries has a long history of being artist studios, belonging to the likes of Tracey Emin. In it's current incarnation it has been broken up into rehearsal space for theatre groups and art galleries for less financially able artists. It's central but affordable. I know I'd be hard pressed to find a Londoner who'd not heard of Brick Lane. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the lane is famous enough the world over to be recognisable in most countries.

I stepped past the iron gate of the Rag Factory into an enclosed courtyard with an open roof. A scruffy looking bloke sat on a bench, cigarette in hand. His fingernails were rough and cracked, as were his vintage leather boots. A thick mass of wild and woolly hair framed his face from the top of his head to the tip of his chin. I introduced myself, said I was there to meet someone and get a tour of a gallery space.

His eyes sparkled as he spoke, his voice full and rich. He spoke as only a master of the stage can, his words dramatised in their own wonderful way, "Ah, then you'd be here to see me."

The woman who arranged the meeting, with whom I had been emailing, was his sister. She lives in the Lake District and only occasionally comes to the Rag Factory. This is Silas's project, his baby, and he showed me to the Apricot Gallery with a sense of pride.

I let him know my mind was as good as made up. We discussed some of the technical aspects, the set-up, opportunities for marketing, that sort of thing. Then we went back out to the courtyard where one of his colleagues was taking a quick smoke break. Together the three of us had a nice natter about nothing of any particular import, enjoying the simple relaxation of a conversation amongst creatives and amateur philosophers. Eventually I bid them both farewell, thanking Silas and shaking his hand. I put great importance in a handshake, and his was firm, solid and confident.

I've just now sent off the email confirming that I will take the space for a gallery showing (Date to be announced) and now I must plot and plan and prepare. Now I must begin the real work, because all I have right now is a room full of potential.

Options

I stepped off the crowded platform into the slightly less crowded train, book in hand. Adjusting my rucksack I rested it on one of the padded cushions mounted between two hand rails - a place for leaning. I managed a few more pages of my very addictive novel before the train arrived at its next stop, the stop at which I was to get off: Deptford, an area I actually know quite well. It was ages ago when I first came to attend what I thought was an interview for a job. It turned out to be an interview for volunteer position in a poorly managed and thought out art program. I made this journey several times for a few months, finding the overground trip slightly jarring. Entering London's suburban sprawl is always an adventure.

On the Deptford High Street the feel is similar to Peckham Rye but the crowds are smaller. Hair stylists advertise Afro Caribbean expertise. Two £1 stores run by Indians compete with each other side by side. On the corner a fish market makes itself known long before your see the sign. I duck inside a Vietnamese restaurant, something abundant in Calgary but practically non-existent in London. The man behind the counter smiles, addressing me with a simple, "Eat in or take out?" In this way the restaurant is much the same as any Vietnamese place in Calgary.

"In," I say, slinging my bag onto a chair and settling into the seat next to it. He bobs his head, darting behind a counter to get a menu. Behind him on the wall an extremely large flat screen TV blares loudly, a Vietnamese news channel giving updates on a place which seems like a whole other world to London. I peruse the menu, choose my meal and settle in with my book.

I'm killing time until I have to walk the very short distance to look at a gallery space. In the back of my mind I already feel that it won't do. Deptford has a reputation and Londoners are disinclined to travel long distances and walk winding directions to get to to their destination. This city, for all its opportunity, lacks something I find almost necessary - spontaneity.

I understand it completely, having been invited to a few things in the spur of the moment. The Londoner brain immediately begins working out the commute. When you meet someone new you question which station they live near, how many buses they take, how long their commute is. This is quickly calculated and it determines the viability of a sustainable friendship. When it takes an hour and half to get to someones house, what are the odds that you can 'pop by for dinner'?

I finish my very delicious meal, express my gratitude to the waiter as I pay my bill and head out into the growing dusk. As I suspected, the outlook is not good. The walk from the station is under ten minutes but it passes by a run down, sketchy apartment block and around what can only be counsel housing. In the dim light I'm acutely aware of my phone in my pocket, the wallet in my bag. I keep my head up, face neutral and mind calm.

Rounding the final turn I am upon a street of warehouses. I've no idea what they might have been for originally but now they have been commandeered by the creative. The buildings advertise galleries and studios, a few with open doors which display people working on strange and interesting sculptures within. I am instantly put at ease, my earlier apprehension replaced with a sense of belonging. Here is a place which has been claimed, staked out by painters, sculptures and installation artists.

I quickly locate the one I'm there to see, pressing the button to be let inside. The doorway is dark and there is no way of telling if anyone is within. The high walls of the former factory are solid brick, stretching far to my left and curving around the corner to my right. I press the button a few times before a voice finally crackles through.

"I'm here to see someone," I say. "I have an appointment"

"I'm the only one here but I'll let you in," the man's voice is difficult to understand but the tone is friendly. The door buzzes and I pull it open and step inside.

Up a winding staircase I come to a foyer where a white door is being held open by the man. A salt and pepper beard and hair frames his friendly face, his cheeks round as he smiles and lets me in. I tell him who I'm there to meet and he promises to ring them. In the mean time I can wait.

I sit in what is obviously a tiny office space used by the volunteers who run the studios and gallery. There is a table covered in pamphlets. I take a look at them, seeing if any might be of use to me.

My tour guide arrives, apologising for making me wait. I was early and I tell her as much. Then we do the very short tour of what's available. The warehouse has been divided into several studios. Plywood walls and simple doors set out boxy rooms for artists to rent. The resulting corridor is considered the gallery, the white painted plywood and doors a blank canvas to display work. The lighting is good and the wall space is abundant. The price is even right. But still, the subject of location nags in the back of my head.

I think of my friends and family in Calgary, the people who would unquestionably put in every effort to make it to a gallery showing should I hold one in that city. In that context this space would work. Even the sketchy neighbourhood wouldn't matter because it wouldn't be important. Most people could drive there because parking wouldn't be an issue. If you didn't drive you could take transit or catch a ride with someone else. Either way, I know that I could advertise it well and expect a decent turn-out.

London seems to drain me of my confidence. This massive city is like a strange organism. It swallows you up, turning you into one of the faceless millions. I think of the people I know over here. Who could I invite? How could I convince them to come to Deptford?

I ask for a few more details before shaking hands with my guide and departing, promising to keep in touch. The walk to the train station gives me time to think. It is a really good space. Not ideal for what I want to do with my cards, but workable. It's a reasonable price and the two people I've met who have affiliation with it are really friendly and helpful.

I have a few other places to check out, a few more options to consider. In the mean time I'm going to think about how to overcome the lack of spontaneity, the resistance of going out, and the odd reclusiveness which most Londoners seem to live by. Without spending a fortune by holding it in central London, how am I going to put on a gallery showing which people will attend?

All part of the game, I suppose.