from a cold winter walk.

It’s been a few weeks since I posted a sketch. In fact, it’s been a few weeks since I painted or sketched anything of any worth. That’s what happens when a beloved family member, even one who is a hundred and one years old, falls into a three week decline leading to their passing. Grief can be creative muse, but it was not mine. I went for a lot of walks in January, often taking

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of a hundred little bugs.

Did I mention that I have a biology degree? It factors into this post, so it’s worth mentioning now. Bachelor of Science with a specialization in molecular genetics and minor in entomology, convocation 1999. I can’t say that I’ve used it much in my career, though having it has opened numerous doors. And occasionally it rears up as a useful bit of dormant knowledge in my head such as when I need to help my

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from the big city.

I alluded in my previous post that November had us primed for some travel afar and away, and in as much I had picked up a new sketchbook for that specific purpose. Over the recent long weekend, the family and I flew across the continent from our frozen little Canadian city, to the big city, the big apple, Manhattan in New York. It was a weekend filled with adventure, food, walking, Broadway shows, museums, more

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looking across the river.

Breaking in a new sketchbook is a daunting moment. It’s not as if they are outrageously expensive, but after investing thirty bucks into a new Moleskine watercolour folio, peeling the plastic cover off, and quietly considering how great it was going to look full of lovely urban sketches, I couldn’t help but hesitate to put a first mark on the page. I bought a new sketchbook because we’re going on a plane in about three

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of a million little leaves.

The autumn weather and colours brought me on a long wandering walk this past weekend through the rolling single-track trails of our local river valley. Fifteen minutes of brisk strolling in the direction of the parklike preserve finds multiple opportunities to step into a wilderness that changes with the season. For a few days, literally only days, each year the trail is a glorious canopy of oranges and yellows, and on rare days it is

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