I participated in the Artsburg in Clarksburg on July 16. What a great way to celebrate our art and craft community with fellow artists in the area! Thanks to Loft Gallery to allow me to use their gallery front to display my work. There were quite a few people walking around stopping at each artist’s booth. It was a very good experience for me to actually chat with many of them who stopped by to see my work and hear what they thought of them. Read More
They say leave only footprints, but I feel like I left behind more than my footprints in this place; a little bit of my soul. Little did I know from the moment I glanced at the portraits of the now-gone dwellers, I was finding myself getting emotionally attached to them. Even though she was no longer there to treat me with her much-loved turkey dinner or let me listen to her favourite records, her subtle yet still positive presence was felt throughout the entire house. Read More
My first solo exhibit wrapped up successfully today. What a wild ride it was! A big thanks goes to The Tremont Gallery that made this two-month-long event happen. Also thanks to all who came to see the show and those who purchased my work. Time to start planning my next show. Read More
My first photo exhibition will take place at Tremont Gallery in Collingwood from March 1 until April 30. If you are in the area, please feel free to drop by and have a look at my work. Read More
It’s finally here! My first photo booklet for sale. It’s a small booklet (20 pages), but I managed to include many of my favourite shots. If you are interested in purchasing, please contact me via email. Read More
He was a big man, says the size of his shoes on a pile of broken dishes by the house; a tall man too, says the length of the bed in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man, says the Bible with a broken back on the floor below the window, dusty with sun; but not a man for farming, say the fields cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn. A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves covered with oilcloth, and they had a child, says the sandbox made from a tractor tire. Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole. And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames. It was lonely here, says the narrow country road. Something went wrong, says the empty house in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste. And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard like branches after a storm—a rubber cow, a rusty tractor with a broken plow, […] Read More
