About the Artist
People often ask Why am I an artist, and
I cannot answer this question with certainty; I can only describe a relentless calling that I must answer for, as though becoming an artist was out of my control. I needed it to breathe. In the briefest of moments, there was a connection and a freedom to paint. Like bits and pieces of a scrapbook, each painting becomes a marker of encounters with people and life.
For those who, by meaningful coincidence, find themselves captivated by or in my art, be assured you are interrelated in THis story.
Cynthia
PEI
Mediums: ALL
I cannot answer this question with certainty; I can only describe a relentless calling that I must answer for, as though becoming an artist was out of my control. I needed it to breathe. In the briefest of moments, there was a connection and a freedom to paint. Like bits and pieces of a scrapbook, each painting becomes a marker of encounters with people and life.
For those who, by meaningful coincidence, find themselves captivated by or in my art, be assured you are interrelated in THis story.
Cynthia
PEI
Mediums: ALL
BASIN HEAD PEI
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ROAD KING - 24 x 36 acrylic
LADY IN THE KNOT
I was brought up to be strong. With 3 sisters and a brother, I am the so-called Baby of the family. My only memory of living on Gower street was the house itself and the day wee were to move. I recollect the hidden cubbies in the upper bedrooms, great for hide and seek, although my sisters thought the best hiding place for me was in the flour cupboard which could house a small child. The first major change in my life was we were going to move. I was 5 and this was a monumental time in a 5-year olds' mind. We were moving to a state-of-the art house in the Inkerman area. My father worked as a salesman, originally at Holman's, a local department store in Charlottetown and then with the Heinz company for most of his life. My father was well liked. His laughter was quick, especially when watching Archie Bunker and the Flintstones, television shows both misogynistic in nature. I traveled with my father on a many of his sales trips around the island. One could take a lesson from him in regards to "true passion". He was obsessed with wildlife and the environment. I remember going to pick up goslings to be housed in our furnace room until such time as they could be moved to "The Pond", a pet name for the property he and his father commandeered. Mother was not so pleased with this setup. The furnace room was always cluttered with new pups or new baby chicks. We grew up with my father breeding Labradors, German short-haired pointers and eventually German Shepherds all named for face cards. Ace, King, Prince, and what a surprise no Queens or Princesses. He trained these dogs to obey only him and protect him from aggressive poachers. I do believe he wanted to leave it to his grandson, James but alas, it did not happen. My Father obviously felt it would be better off with the Wildlife Federation. My understanding is that my father and James came to a parting of ways because his grandson saw he was a misogynist. He had no respect for women and the way he treated his mate was reprehensible in James'mind. So you were either with him or against him. I feel my father made a huge mistake as James would have been a most honourale steward of this land. People or relatives in particular seemed to make decisions in their will based on if you "towed the line" so to speak. My father, in my opinion, was a narcissist; It was all about him and his wants and needs and when one of their best friends fell in love with my father, so began the divorce war. My mother pleaded with my father so the story goes to stop this affair, but in his words, "she needs me!". She was the person who guarded his ponds from poachers when he was unavailable for the task. She was the one to cook his meals and cleaned his shit-stained underwear, who cooked prime rib roast and all the fixings and most likely at his beckon call for his sex drive and whatever else he wanted from her. This is hard to admit about your father. One only has to piece together the pieces of the puzzle to see the whole picture, a narcissist at his best, controlling just enough, languishing in his ego and self-indulgence.. She loved and adored him, and after a number of years with her, he obviously felt it wasn't enough as he started another affair with a woman who was extremely Catholic, her brother being a priest and all and. She sang in his choirs... My dad loved to sing barber-shop , a longstanding member of the Baptist church choir and the Legion choir... I think this is where the romance began. This lady had no intention of marrying my father up until he decided that he would toss the woman he was living with to in fact set up house with this Catholic woman without a care aout the lives he was destroying. To marry my father, he would have to get a annulment from the Church, in other words, he must bastardize his five children with my mother to in fact to marry.
Perhaps that came from his father who had served in the war and then became a game warden. His diaries are at some archive and I remember my father had a passion for land and in particular a 4 square mile parcel of woodland and wetlands that he protected like a mother bear and eventually donated all of this land to the Wildlife Federation. My mother was pioneer woman, blazing a trail of feminism, working in what were predominately male-held jobs, editor of the Guardian, president of the downtown businessmans' association and real estate. Charlottetown was not a city but a town , very rural-like, where everybody knew your family name and business for that matter. My only brother John was spoiled, perhaps because he was the only boy. John was extremely smart. One afternoon John was outside and found a burning paper in the backyard beside the burning garbage bin,an old oil drum that most everyone had in their yards to burn garbage. He made a decision to pick up the burning paper and put it back in the burning garbage when a breeze of wind took the burning paper and it fell on his jacket. Our next door neighbour heard the screams and felt them urgent enough to jump from his roof to help. He found my brother on fire. I can only imagine the chaos, as I was personally not born yet. We were not rich and my brother as going to need more help than the hospital in PEI could give him. It was the Shriners who became involved to pay for my brother to be sent to Montreal's burn unit. From my oldest sisters' account, he was never the same child after this. She tended to many of his bandages and recalled how he would scream and cry. As he grew up, he began to get into trouble. My sister and I woke from sleep late in the night and pressed our ears to the hall wall only to hear the muffled voices of police bringing my brother home. It was at this time my parents discovered John was not well and was diagnosed as a drug-induced schizophrenic as a result of taking acid. This was at a time where drugs were first beginning to make an appearance. This basically altered his brain and this would began a steady decline until a double-suicide with a girl we didn't even know. We cooked, cleaned, mowed the grass and had to bake something every Saturday or not be permitted to go to the sock-hop, a weekly Saturday afternoon gathering of the teens at the bowling alley called the Roll-o-way to listen to music and dance. This was the whole upper floor of the bowling alley complete with a disco ball.
Perhaps that came from his father who had served in the war and then became a game warden. His diaries are at some archive and I remember my father had a passion for land and in particular a 4 square mile parcel of woodland and wetlands that he protected like a mother bear and eventually donated all of this land to the Wildlife Federation. My mother was pioneer woman, blazing a trail of feminism, working in what were predominately male-held jobs, editor of the Guardian, president of the downtown businessmans' association and real estate. Charlottetown was not a city but a town , very rural-like, where everybody knew your family name and business for that matter. My only brother John was spoiled, perhaps because he was the only boy. John was extremely smart. One afternoon John was outside and found a burning paper in the backyard beside the burning garbage bin,an old oil drum that most everyone had in their yards to burn garbage. He made a decision to pick up the burning paper and put it back in the burning garbage when a breeze of wind took the burning paper and it fell on his jacket. Our next door neighbour heard the screams and felt them urgent enough to jump from his roof to help. He found my brother on fire. I can only imagine the chaos, as I was personally not born yet. We were not rich and my brother as going to need more help than the hospital in PEI could give him. It was the Shriners who became involved to pay for my brother to be sent to Montreal's burn unit. From my oldest sisters' account, he was never the same child after this. She tended to many of his bandages and recalled how he would scream and cry. As he grew up, he began to get into trouble. My sister and I woke from sleep late in the night and pressed our ears to the hall wall only to hear the muffled voices of police bringing my brother home. It was at this time my parents discovered John was not well and was diagnosed as a drug-induced schizophrenic as a result of taking acid. This was at a time where drugs were first beginning to make an appearance. This basically altered his brain and this would began a steady decline until a double-suicide with a girl we didn't even know. We cooked, cleaned, mowed the grass and had to bake something every Saturday or not be permitted to go to the sock-hop, a weekly Saturday afternoon gathering of the teens at the bowling alley called the Roll-o-way to listen to music and dance. This was the whole upper floor of the bowling alley complete with a disco ball.
Lady and the Tub - There is nothing more relaxing at the end of the day than to bathe in an old cast iron tub. The cast iron heats up with the hot water so retains its' warmth like a cocoon and melts away the stress of life. In the renovations at Banook Lake, hooking up the cast iron tub in my bedroom was one of the best decisions. The large window overlooked the lake and every evening after working on renovating the house, I would step into this glorious tub and have the best nights' sleep. I highly recommend getting one of these classic tubs.
NATALIE Natalie, a long dark-haired beautiful vixen with such depth of character. She was struggling to find a good man to share her life with, but seemingly always throwing her pearls to swine; until one day, she realized her value. She was no longer going to wait for a man to figure out whether he wanted to be with her or not. Deep, passionate and strong-willed, it was time she found a man who was passionate and looking for the deep relationship. I thought of Natalie as a great friend. Natalie lived in the upper flat at my Banook Lake House. A classy lady whom I painted and gave to her as a token of my appreciation for her kindness when a tenant at Lake Banook.
Dartmouth Cove/Canal
MacDonald Bridge - Halifax-Dartmouth Nova Scotia - This was my second bridge painting. This was painted on a huge canvas I had found at a yard sale. Since the fiber was weakened over time, I strengthened with a few layers of gesso and one afternoon I decided it was time to attack this beast. No holds barred and after a number of hours of just letting myself paint freely, I was exhausted but happy with the outcome. This is my perception of the view from my backyard. This now hangs at the Wooden Monkey in Dartmouth. |
Founders Corner - Dartmouth
BEAMER
Beamer was an amazing black labrador retriever. My boyfriend Larry and I were enjoying a weekend away and Beamer's mother was roaming the property looking for food. Larry noticed that she was a nursing Mum and must have just had a litter of pups. We asked around for where she might live. With luck, we found the owner of the litter and fell in love with this big boy. Although I was excited to have a new puppy, I told Larry that this was his dog. I would help out along the way with training, but was not my dog. My budget had no funds to take a dog to the Vet or pay for food. We name him Beamer and set up a little home for him and I began to train him to answer to a whistle and teach him not to chew. He was, by far, the best of his breed, though that did not matter to me. I knew he was going to be a great retriever. My dad had raised Labs when I was a child and I had a love of Labs since. Unfortunately, after an argument one evening, Larry took the dog and returned it to the breeder as a punishment. I was devastated over this . Maybe, it was for the best. I think he realized the responsibility of a dog and knew he could not meet these obligations. To this day I still think about Beamer and the joy he brought to my life for such a short time.
Goat Girl
BEACHCOMBING
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I was so very fortunate to have summer vacation at the beach. Bothwell Beach is without doubt one of he most beautiful beaches on he planet, not that I have seen many, but I would put this beach up against such beaches as Siesta Key in Fla. , Varadero, Cuba,. You see, I see beaches as magical places for sand castles, beachcombing, nature. and creativity. Again, I must bring my Father into the conversation. He purchased this property when I was a child from a local farmer, Carl McVane, with friends who purchased land there as well. They all built cottages from he Military. These were insulated buildings the Miltary used up North and were selling off as surplus. It went up in panels and each family helped construct these buildings and eventually each would have a place of their own to bring their family and of course to hang out together as friends. Each took no more than a few days to construct, This property became a point of contention when my parents eventually divorced.
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The wonders of childhood at the beach
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MACDONALD TWILIGHT
PreShrunk at Argyle Fine Art is such a fun event for not only do you as an artist have the opportunity to display your artwork, the event supports Argyle Fine Art as a local business without breaking the bank. The only pre-requisite is that your artwork be 4 in x 5 in. Everyone can afford to have local art in their homes. Collecting artwork becomes a part of our surroundings and expresses who we are as individuals. The MacDonald Bridge in Halifax is an anchor between our two cities of Dartmouth, affectionately referred to as the "Dark Side" and Halifax. The bridge has recently undergone major reconstruction. The MacDonald bridge has a sort of Svengali hold over me and like a moth to the flame, it continues to give me great pleasure to live here and paint this view. I often say I am the cute troll who lives under the bridge and frankly, there is no where else I would want to be. Harbourview community is full of quaint places to eat,eclectic people and artists' charm. A short walk to the ferry, a six-minute drive to Halifax, the Crossing, restaurants, library and bus service
THE LADY IN THE MIRROR
This is a difficult painting to speak about, but I was driven to paint. The soul is pierced by beauty and suffering. This particular artwork unfortunately or fortunately was stolen at my place of work. As an artist, I believe the person who took this connected with this piece of work in some suffering emotional way. I don't think it was because it matched their couch. My heart goes out to this person as the unfortunate part is that the deed falls on the thief as they have to live with themselves and no doubt continue to suffer.
GLOBAL EMERGENCY Perhaps by genetics or osmosis, I find myself consumed at times with the plight of humanity and what needs to change. As a single individual, it is difficult to know how one can impact the world in a way that touches their soul and changes their heart and mind about their future. I have grandchildren and I have hope that some impact will be felt with this painting. I believe its with all my emotion that I painted this. It was an experience when I completed this and no matter who looks at it, they feel the power of the message. The world needs to heal in a bigway. We are in more trouble than just climate change, but I seemingly can only paint one emotion at a time. This still hangs in my home and at a particular time of the year, the sun beams in to light directly on the surgeon's mask as a reminder how important life is. Our world is all we have to sustain us at this point. We are all human and we need to put our thinking caps on to flush out our recovery and future. Am I too hopeful? |
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THE MANNEQUIN
MIDTOWN BREW - Not many of my generation would not have eaten at the Midtown Tavern. It was like having dinner with your friends and family, many getting together before a hockey game or a concert at the Metro Centre. Very loud, but what family isn't. I took the photo on the day before the building was torn down. This business remains in the Grant family. Eric Grant originated from Shad Bay.
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THE LADY DIANE - My best friend and confidante/ Every girl should have such a friendship. My mother always told me that I would make many friends in my life, but not many life-long friends. This is the friend that you can bare your soul to and know that she has a loyalty to that confidence. Though you may not talk for days or weeks, we come back together as if no time has past. We raised our children together, our summers shared between Lawrencetown beach and our pool. She loves the sun and the beach and thankfully no longer caught up in the corporate world. She now spends her time with her grand-kids and gardens til her heart is content. An artist in her own right, though she would scoff at the thought. I treasure her wisdom and love her as a sister.
TICK TOCK
WHAT DOES time mean to you? Imagine there is a bank that credits your account each morning with $86.400. It carries over no balance from day to day. Every evening it deletes whatever part of the balance you failed to use during the day. What would you do? Draw out every cent of course!!! Each of us has such a bank. Its name is TIME. Every morning, it credits you with 86,400 seconds. Every night it writes off, as lost, whatever of this you have failed to invest to good purpose. It carries over no balance. It allows no overdraft. Each day it opens a new account for you. Each night it burns the remains of the day. If you fail to use the day's deposits, the loss is yours. There is no going back. There is no drawing against the "tomorrow". You must live in the present on today's deposits. Invest it to get from it the utmost in health, happiness, and success! The clock is running. Make the most of today.
To realize the value of ONE YEAR, ask a student who failed a grade.
To realize the value of ONE WEEK, ask the editor of a weekly newspaper.
To realize the value of ONE HOUR, ask the Californians who lost their homes and loved ones.
To realize the value of ONE Minute, ask a person who missed the bus.
To realize the value of ONE MILLISECOND, ask a person who just avoided a potentially deadly car accident.
To realize the value of ONE YEAR, ask a student who failed a grade.
To realize the value of ONE WEEK, ask the editor of a weekly newspaper.
To realize the value of ONE HOUR, ask the Californians who lost their homes and loved ones.
To realize the value of ONE Minute, ask a person who missed the bus.
To realize the value of ONE MILLISECOND, ask a person who just avoided a potentially deadly car accident.
