In 1989, I took a black and white photograph of a cabin during a course in Photography at Sheridan College. Photography was my first real experience with making art. I loved it. I burnt through film as fast as I could afford it. I took pictures of everything, but found I had an affinity for buildings. This shouldn’t be too surprising, being the daughter of a second generation builder.
A decade later, I was experimenting with pen and ink techniques, and I found the photograph and used it as a reference. To be honest, I am not sure where that photograph is now. I am also not sure that this building is still standing. It was right on the edge of Burnhamthorpe road north of Oakville – Quite literally on the edge. I remember the farm that sat where Burnhamthorpe ends and this would have been some time before highway #407 swung by. I wonder if a farm would survive in such an urban area? The land values alone would be alarming….
As an artist, I struggled for a long time to figure out what it meant to have ‘style’. It is easy to see the styles which other artists have developed, but, to discover one’s own voice is requires knowing who we are as individuals. To skip this step, art can become derivative instead of inspired.
I think that style can come from finding something you are passionate about, then, allowing it to work through you… When this happens, you are no longer as concerned with what other people are doing. It is akin to seeing yourself in something. Once you have had the privilege to see even a glimpse, the rest is just perfecting your craft.
The greatest gift to making art is the chance that you might find something of who you are. What are you passionate about?