A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 31: No Boundaries, No Walls

asghar-farhadi“Art removes boundaries and makes the world brighter. It is the common language for people all over the world. But politics are the opposite completely. Politicians, their very meaning is based on the lines they draw.”

Asghar Farhadi is an Oscar-winning film director (“The Separation”, 2012). His movie “The Salesman” has been nominated for an Oscar at this year’s Academy Awards. But he will not be attending. Asghar Farhadi is living in Iran and he has been banned from coming into America. Despite his U.S. Green Card, despite his reputation and regard as one of the most influential and creative people in the world; despite his work to promote empathy and compassion and commonality across cultural, religious and political lines – Asghar Farhadi is not welcome.

Artists must stand with artists. We are all about removing boundaries and making the world a brighter place. And we will continue this fight. Not walls, not bans, not prejudice, not deportation, not torture, not intimidation, not hatred, not fear – We will still be standing when all of that and the evil behind it is ancient history.

Art endures. It endures because it challenges convention, promotes empathy, confronts injustice, gives dignity, invites dialogue, welcomes collaboration, destroys barriers and builds bridges. Art is the antithesis of division and tribalism.

Artists – we need you now more than ever. Keep doing what you’re doing. Go public. Don’t be afraid. The beauty and ugliness and joy and pain and wonder and sorrow you present in your art reminds us of our shared humanity, our common planet, our unity of spirit.

Go and create!




A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 30: Mother of Exiles

sunsetAfter the tumultuous weekend of news coming from the United States, I thought it fitting to reprint the poem that is inscribed at the base of the Statue of Liberty. My wife and I were reminded of it as we watched episode two of “The OA” on Netflix, of all places. This simple sonnet was written in 1883 in order to raise money for the pedestal of the statue. To me, it is a reminder that a work of art can endure; that after so many years it still speaks with truth and conviction:
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 27: The Return of Fun and Imagination



Tree House

I work at a day program for adults with developmental disabilities. Back before I was given the opportunity to lead an art studio at the program, I was mostly helping to lead the recreational component of what we do. We would take the individuals out bowling, swimming, visiting museums, doing volunteer work, and many other things. But we also spent time back at the program doing simple crafts and coloring pages. It was at that time that I began to draw again just for fun. Since I had pencil crayons and construction paper available, plus a handy-dandy spirograph set, I let my imagination flow around the motifs of those strange shapes and bright colors. What developed was a series of fantastical drawings, many of which look like illustrations for children’s books, meant to promote a story in the mind of the viewer.

I love stories. One of my favorite things about being a dad was the hours and hours I spent reading stories to my kids. I look at these drawings again and I can’t help but love them. Not because they are the greatest work I’ve ever done, but because they were done in great affection and a feeling of creative freedom. Considering them now, they were a wonderful place to start for someone so long removed from creating art. The fun returned and the imagination was re-engaged.

Here are those drawings for you to see. I hope you have fun with them. And maybe, must maybe, your imagination will be rekindled, too. Let the story unfold…


Asian Bridge


Balloon Tree


Butterfly Rider




Castle Path


Desert Sun


Dragon Bridge


Dragon Fire




Freaky Thingies


Giant’s Town


Grumpy Tree




Monster Loch


Moon Confused




Mushroom Tower




Rocket Sun


Sea Monster







A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 26: Can Jesus Be


Black Jesus by Dariusz Labuzek, 2015

Because everyone needs a little poetry on a Thursday…

Can Jesus Be

If my heart is not open wide

If I support tyrants

Perpetuate lies

Can Jesus still be my guide?


If I demand my voice be heard

If I cannot eat humble pie

Or see the plank in my eye

Can Jesus be my living Word?


If I recoil in disgust from anyone

If I cannot kiss the leper

Or the fearful stranger

Can I claim to know God’s only Son?


If I aim my daggers at the foe

If I hate anyone at all

Or wish ill befall

Can Jesus’ steps be the Way I go?


If I cling to comfort and greed

If I stare at screens

Chase virtual dreams

Can Jesus be really all I need?


If I give lip service to the News

If I twist Good into bad

Untruths sung and said

Can Jesus’ Gospel be my muse?


If I fantasize and play the game

If reality interferes

Deaf to silent tears

Can Jesus be Name above names?


If I refuse to open my embrace

If I say Yes but do No

Or put on a show

Can Jesus lead me in his grace?


If I can recite what I’m supposed to say

If I keep up appearances

For believer audiences

Can I be Jesus today or any day?




A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 25: Canada’s Greatest Painter


He’s the greatest Canadian painter you’ve never heard of. Well,  maybe that’s unfair. If you are Canadian and you are reading this, you probably know who that is in the photo and also have a good guess at the name of the painting beside him. If you are clueless about him and also a Canuck, turn in your Tragically Hip t-shirts to the first Mountie you see: You’re not worthy.

Relax! I’m joking, eh? However, he is the greatest and most influential painter Canada has ever produced. That is the humble opinion of this transplanted ‘Merican. Even though I got my Bachelor of Fine Arts degree and took all those art history courses, I don’t remember ever talking about him or ever seeing his work. But two years into my time here in Ottawa, I went to see his paintings on display at the National Gallery of Canada. I will never forget seeing his paintings live and in person: To paraphrase Bono when speaking of the first time he saw the Clash perform: It wasn’t life or death; it was more important than that.

Tom Thomson (1877-1917) is his name and his story is inspiring and tragic. He was a man of the wilderness and he loved the solitude of a hike in the woods or a canoe ride on a still and silent Ontario lake. He was a mostly self-taught artist who conveyed the natural beauty of his country better than anyone before or since. And he inspired so many, including some of his contemporaries who became known as the Group of Seven. He was a quiet, kind, introspective soul who was a master of color. Every landscape painter in Canada since is a reflection of Tom Thomson and his genius.

Seeing his artwork in person was a profoundly moving experience. I know that sounds cliche but I am not joking when I say I got emotional standing in front of some of the most incredible paintings I had ever seen. Part of that was because I felt I just met someone who I could relate to so strongly; part of it was because at that time I was so far removed from being an artist and found I missed it dearly; and part of it was the sheer power of the work that came from the hand of this master.

Tom Thomson’s life was brilliant and brief. He died, ironically yet fittingly, on a canoe trip on Canoe Lake in Algonquin Park, Ontario at the age of 39. The presumed cause of death was drowning, despite his vast experience in the wilderness. His life and death are part of Canadian lore. But the real treasure he left behind is his passion: his painting.

Below is a small gallery of his artwork. Photos on a blog cannot do justice to the color and energy in these pieces. If you ever get a chance to see his work in person, Go! See! Experience! It may help you discover just how life-changing a work of art can truly be.


Morning Cloud, 1913


Northern River, 1915


Pine Island, Georgian Bay, 1916


Jake Pine, 1916


Woodland Waterfall, 1916


Path Behind Mowat Lodge, 1917


Maple Saplings, 1917


The West Wind, 1917

A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 24: The Creative Process


So often, works of art come to us as fully formed creations. Whether it’s a song we hear on the radio, a play performed, a painting on a wall or a movie on the big screen, art is usually experienced by most when it has reached that nebulous moment of “completion” and has gone public. Of course, we have more access than ever before to the creative process behind so much art on display. In some ways, it may remove some of the magic. But I believe getting an inside glimpse can also help you see all those mysterious bits and angles, those unexpected and unplanned moments, that creep into any artistic endeavor. It’s not so much seeing the “man behind the curtain” as seeing the muse behind the creation.

Part of the joy of creating is going through the serendipitous happenings and the “oops” that become a key part of what you’re making. That is certainly the case for me, though I don’t always take note of it the way that I should. Or, perhaps, there are so many little moments that add up that it is hard to keep track. However, for my latest artwork, I decided to pay closer attention to the stages it went through and how I responded to those stages. Below is the finished product, which I posted here last week Friday:


“Divisible” Mixed Media on Poster/Canvas 2017

I’ll now take you through the process, beginning with…

The Angst – I know, I know- “Angst” is a horribly over-used word when it comes to creating art. It has been so over-used and over-done that it has become cliche. But I use it here in good faith and with the meaning of the word fully intact: A feeling of anxiety, apprehension, or insecurity (Webster’s Dictionary definition). I don’t believe every work of art begins here but the artwork above most definitely did.

Though Canada has been my home for over sixteen years, I am an American, born and bred. I don’t need to rehash all the news from the past year that was hashed to death, suffice to say that I am no fan of Donald Trump. In fact, in his campaign and demeanor, in is words and actions, I was appalled that he got so far as to be a candidate for the presidency. I am not a fan of Hillary Clinton, either, but the prospect of her being president did not fill me with dread. As I considered the concept of a “President Trump” I could only see the various divisions in my home country getting wider and wider; I could only see the hatred and extreme rhetoric growing and growing; I could only see families turned against each other, neighbors fearing neighbors, and the weak and vulnerable suffering. My heart was so full of this angst that the slogan “Make America Great Again” attached to such a person and his political agenda seemed a sick joke. Would the healing flow unhindered in the wake of a Hillary Clinton presidency? Of course not. The damage in the U.S. is too dire for one person, administration or political party to fix. But at least there would be some semblance of decency and attempts at unity. In Trump, I saw the total opposite. Like so many millions and perhaps billions of people all over the world, when America cast their vote and it became clear who the winner would be, it felt as if someone had died. I was angry and I grieved.

I do not state the above to get into a political argument with anyone. I simply state it as the reality of where my heart was at as we approached Inauguration Day. My heart was with people, people I love and people who I believe in and still believe in: the Americans I know in the America I still love. That is the “soil” that was prepared in me.

The Inspiration – There are those who would think this is the beginning of the creative process but I would argue that is not the case. The soil needs to be there before seeds are planted. An artist tends to be an open soul, that is, someone who wears their heart on their sleeve; someone who is very sensitive to emotions, happenings in their world, and to how things are effecting them and those around them. Inspiration grows from the soil of empathy.

In the case of my artwork “Divisible”, the inspiration I received came from an unexpected source. For the last few years, I have worked at a day program for adults with developmental disabilities. It is an environment where we provide skill building and employment opportunities to give people purpose and meaning in their lives. We have a number of small businesses including a woodworking shop, a jewelry making business and a pottery studio. I work in an art studio at the day program. There we give people the chance to express themselves individually, on paper or canvas, and then make their work available to the public through art shows and markets.

It was in the context of this studio that I received my inspiration. One young man we support wanted to make a painting a couple of weeks ago. He asked specifically to paint a picture of an American flag. Now, understand, I don’t believe this request was at all politically motivated. I know this individual well and have never heard him talk this way at all. Perhaps he heard staff talking about the coming Inauguration Day or about Donald Trump, or perhaps he just caught a sense of the general zeitgeist of the moment. Whatever it was, he wanted to paint the U.S. flag. So I got him a canvas and some appropriate paints, printed up a picture of the flag for him to see, and the below is what he created:


I found this work to be amazing. His choice to make the Stripes of the Stars and Stripes veer upward, the expressionistic energy of the brush strokes and stark simplicity was quite profound. It is one of the best things he’s ever painted. And as he was doing it, I began to draw. I drew my own expressionistic, stylized American flags. I ended up drawing four of them, all in oil pastels, all on the motif of the flag. Here are those drawings:

At first I just drew because I felt like drawing. But as I drew an idea started to form: Take these drawings and turn them into one, big expressionist American flag. In doing so, maybe I could recreate some of that angst I was feeling, maybe exorcise some demons, maybe work through the anger and grief and get on with life. I wanted to convey the division I felt ripping through my home country and the pain that rift is causing so many people who really do love America. As so many artists have felt over so many thousands of years, I just had to get this out.

The Pre-Creation – In so many cases with artwork, the real job is in the pre-creation: that time of preparing and planning for what you hope the final product will look like. For the first step, I decided to tear my drawings apart and reassemble them on a canvas surface, preferably with a background of color and texture. With that thought, I set out to find that background. I decided to search my usual haunts: the second-hand stores where you can often find large canvases for little money. I searched through a couple of stores without finding anything suitable. On my way out the door at my local Salvation Army store, I saw the pseudo-artwork below, just sitting on the floor, leaning against the glass of the entryway to the store:


I am not trying to be mean in labeling this “pseudo-artwork”. But the truth is that it is a pre-packaged item of moody colors and fake textures on a poster stretched over a canvas frame. It’s not a painting, it just looks like it from far away. It is “art” for those looking for something to match their decor and maybe lend a faux-hip vibe to their home. It is Wal-Mart Art. But for my purposes, it was just about perfect. It’s shape was flag-shaped. It was fairly large. And it had a dark background that would make a great contrast to my bright oil pastel drawings. It even had a slight hint of the same lines of an American flag already in it. This was an incredibly serendipitous moment and I knew instantly when I saw it that this artwork of mine was meant to happen.

I set about finding a time that I could complete this piece, knowing I’d need a couple of hours to paste my drawings scraps to this poster/canvas I had discovered. While I was biding my time, I was using my woodless colored pencils at work. When I sharpened them, I noticed how much color was in the shavings. I decided to save the shavings, not really knowing what I was going to do with them, but feeling that they might just come in handy.


The Creation – The time came free for me to get to work and make this idea a reality. Armed with my scraps of paper, my background, my pencil shavings and my glue, I got busy…


In the end, I slathered the glue over the top of all the bits of paper I had assembled and stuck on the background, then I took those pencil shavings and literally let them rain down on the artwork; wherever they landed is where I let them stick. Through the whole process I tried to act on instinct and keep a sense of motion and emotion. I didn’t think too much about where the paper scraps were laid down (only to keep a motif of the American flag somewhat in mind) and wanted to leave room for the unexpected to happen. Here is the finished product one more time:


“Divisible” Mixed Media on Poster/Canvas 2017

The Aftermath – This is a bit of a misnomer, as I didn’t just have thoughts about this piece when it was done; things were occurring to me all during the creation of it. But the pondering of what you’ve done brings to mind all the stuff you didn’t plan; at best, maybe you allowed for the unexpected but it still brings amazement when things happen you didn’t intend.

First of all, I was struck by how the human mind works. This artwork looks nothing at all like an American flag. But our brains reassemble it for us so that when we look at it, we see that iconic image we know so well, regardless of the colors being off and the lines of the original going helter-skelter all over the place. What the viewers’ brain will do is the secret weapon of the artist.

Secondly, I thought about the four original drawings and how they were all different in character. It made me think of how there are so many Americas in the perspectives of so many people, both inside and outside the country itself. We all think we know what the U.S.A. is but, really, we don’t. It is so many different things to so many different people. It seemed fitting that I used those original drawings to craft something that hung loosely together.

Thirdly, despite the title “Divisible” – a title I chose as a direct contradiction to the “indivisible” line of the Pledge of Allegiance – there is still a unity that holds the piece together. It is chaotic and messy, jumbled and frustrating, especially to the orderly-minded, but there is still things that hold it together, despite all of that. There are still things held in common; still things that are shared and valued together.

Fourthly, the colorful pencil shavings I spread all around the piece reminded me that the tapestry of people, cultures, traditions, beliefs, etc. of American people are the highlight of the nation. Often, these things are hidden, sometimes on purpose, sometimes not, in the quest for a unified vision as a country. But diversity doesn’t have to mean division. An understanding and empathy of those different from you gives strength, not weakness. That is a fine quality of the U.S.A. that should not be forgotten.

Fifthly, an “oops” was a large pile of shavings landing on the bottom right portion of the artwork. As I look at it the now, however, the shape seems almost human; more so, it looks like someone walking down a path, maybe moving on; maybe moving forward.

Overall, I realized that what was intended at first to express angst ended up expressing a lot of hope. It ended up being about love, not anger or fear.

That is my interpretation, anyway. Perhaps you see something entirely different or you don’t see anything at all. That is okay. Art is meant to be laid out for public viewing and public scrutiny; it will speak to some, scream to others, and be completely silent to others still. That is both the joy and agony of creating for the artist.

There you have it. I don’t believe this to be any kind of masterpiece. But it is worthy because I offer it to you.


A Year of Creating Dangerously, Day 23: To Phenomenal Women Everywhere

Millions of woman marching in solidarity and strength all over the world. The Women’s March was an incredible phenomena. For me it brought to mind one of my favorite poems by Maya Angelou, “Phenomenal Woman”. If you have never read it, or it has been a long time since you have, please take a couple of minutes to do so, whether you are male or female. I have posted it below in its entirety. It is not a long poem but it conveys such self-awareness and self-dignity, much like so many women did as they marched and sang and laughed and cried and yelled and embraced across the globe last Saturday.
What follows are some photos of the phenomenal women who have so profoundly influenced my life.
Phenomenal Woman
by Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.