About the End of the Year

This is the time of the year that we should take stock isn't it? Look back and see what we've done this year. What we've accomplished. Are the art sales up? Or down? What are we doing right? Or wrong?

More than this, I try to look back and see if my work has changed and grown. And if I have. I look back to see what I've learned and if it was what I thought I was going to learn.

I always try to write New Year's Resolutions. Some years I create detailed sections like they tell you in the books on Success: Physical, Emotional, Spiritual, Artistic, Financial. I divide them down into bite-sized pieces that would be almost impossible not to accomplish. It takes a lot of time and thought. I carefully file this list in my pink filing cabinet. By the end of January, I can't remember which section I've filed it under and in fact, I've forgotten what any of those bite-sized bits were. It's not until Dec. 31st that I go hunting for that list.

Mostly I am concerned with spiritual and artistic growth. I suppose that the two go together. They do for me.

My work grew in unanticipated ways this year as I decided to explore the idea of Silence. My September exhibition at Granville Fine Art in Vancouver was called Speaking of Silence. This series is my response to a chaotic world-excessive information, constant environmental noise, bombardment with electronic media, that sort of thing. Silence, meditation, contemplation are where I am focusing. These have always been important in my life. This year, they have grown more important.

Recently, The Menil Collection in Houston, on whose campus the Rothko Chapel is located, created an exhibition called Silence. Their website says: "Silence is a powerful force. It can produce profound emotions or conjure startling sensory experiences, and it seems inextricably linked to the passage of time. A prerequisite for contemplative thought, silence has become a scarce commodity in today’s media-saturated world. The exhibition and catalogue project Silence, considers this important and little-examined subject in modern and contemporary art."

In the fall I spent three weeks at the Cill Rialaig artist residency in Ireland-a quiet, remote location. I loved my cottage with its stunning ocean views and the companionship of my artist friend, Rebecca Crowell. I had trouble though quietening my busy mind. After the residency, I went on to Scotland where I had a wonderful week visiting cousins that I don't see enough of. The trip ended with a pilgrimage-a Christian one this time- to Iona, a small island off the west coast of Scotland, to the Abbey that was founded by St. Columba who brought Celtic Christianity to Scotland in 500AD. It was the perfect ending for my journey. The program at Iona Abbey was called Quiet Week. Led by Stephen Wright, the focus was on the Contemplative path. How appropriate. Silence and Contemplation. Something changed in me. I have no words for the change.

Robert Macfarlane, in his forward to the anthology, A Wilder Vein, suggested that "cognition is site-specific, or motion-sensitive: that we think differently in different landscapes. And therefore, more radically, that certain thoughts might be possible only in certain places, such that when we lose those places, we are losing kinds of imagination as well."

I love the idea that certain thoughts might be possible only in certain places. I prefer though to think that we can bundle up those new thoughts and pack at least some of them home to enrich and deepen the thoughts we have in our own landscapes.

I look forward to 2013 and allowing the time for contemplation and silence.

Meet the Owners of a Scottish Castle

Anne Tristine Nguyen, Ali Orr Ewing, their children, Ava, Atticus and their dog, Harriet Beecher Stowe. Dunskey Estate, Portpatrick, Scotland Anne Tristine Nguyen and her husband, Alistair Orr Ewing are the owners of Dunskey Estate near Portpatrick, Scotland where I will teach a painting workshop in September. Dunskey is a splendid Edwardian castle on 2000 acres of ocean-front land with miles of walking trails. As well as daily workshop sessions in the studio on the top floor of the castle, our small group of artists will enjoy breathtaking hikes, superb accommodation and fabulous meals. Not having met owners of a castle before, I asked Anne if I could interview her to hear a little of their background story and that of the castle. Can you tell me a little of your personal story and that of your husband, Alistair Orr Ewing? Anne emigrated to America when she was ten years old, but it was at an art gallery in Saigon, her birthplace, where she met Al

The Importance of Silence in Art

Gathering Light 60x60" Oil on canvas © 2014 Janice Mason Steeves Michael David Rosenberg, the musician known as Passenger, sings, "See all I need is a whisper in a world that only shouts." In the workshops I teach, I find that one of the most common problems with paintings is that they shout. Most have too much going on: too many small shapes, too much texture, extremes of colour, too many lines, too much, too much. One thing I say most often as I walk around the classroom working with students individually, is 'make bigger shapes'. But not only bigger shapes. Quiet shapes. Where can your eye go and rest in the painting? That isn't a consideration in much of contemporary painting or much of contemporary life. Ours is a noisy world both visually and auditorily. Ours is a world that shouts. People are afraid of silence. I wrote a blog post 3 years ago about planning a retreat in my own home, where I shut off the computer and the phon

Liminal Time

The word liminal comes from the Latin, limen meaning threshold. an in-between place, a place of transition, a time of waiting and not knowing. Dawn and dusk are considered liminal places. Crepuscular animals, like foxes and coyotes are most active at this time of day, a time that is considered a magical time in Celtic spirituality and to Indigenous people which is perhaps the origin of their designation as tricksters. As I write this, the northern hemisphere has just passed the vernal equinox, where day and night are of equal length.We are in a liminal space between winter and spring right now, unsure if we will have one more storm or snowfall before spring finally settles in. We're also in a liminal place as we live through this pandemic with the anxiety and discomfort of not knowing. A time of great transition for the entire world, wondering what we've learned from this and what lessons we'll carry forward. Author and Franciscan friar Richard Rohr describes limi

Janice Mason Steeves

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