Canoes are a mythical thing to me. They signify an intimate self propelled journey. During any day, I may see post card ghosts of moments past. They flicker and fade. I move on and remember.
This one sold to a collector but you may commission one for your home. Typically my canoes are 15-18 inches long and between 4 and 6 inches high. They hang on the wall and look great in the odd spaces above doors and windows. Speak to me about your color and image preferences.
My dad had an old canoe with caned seats and layers of cracked red paint on canvas stretched over curved wooden ribs, the varnish ambered, titled; “Indian Girl.” He said, “Grandfather taught the Indians how to canoe” and we believed him. Sometimes when I need to find extra strength I close my eyes and breath in imagining a paddle plunging down into a smooth river, sweeping back to pull the boat forward. I exhale and release my breath seeing the paddle pull up and swing ahead water trailing off its tip in small drips- dropping like pearls back into the deep. My myth travels by water and is impacted by the vastness of what has passed before and what may be. Our house is from 1794, its foundation built with ballast stones from the clipper ship’s captain that carried it’s first owner across from England. Before that the point of land was home to a large community of Native Americans. Our property “Secret House” is included as the 200th site purchased by The National Archeological Conservancy. These things linger in my mind.
Precious nature and the treasured time we have to bask in it; this is what I care to make art about.
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