Posted on 2 Comments

The Third Christmas Market and a Visit from the Grinch

Last week was a challenge.

Of all the things I didn’t want to bring home from the Banff Christmas Market, the common cold was near the top of the list. I don’t get sick often, but when I do, it’s usually a full beating of a man cold. This one wasn’t fun, but it was better than most, and I had a few days to lay low at home before the third market. I felt a lot better on Friday but was still symptomatic, so I revived one of my tiger masks to prevent spreading the fun.

When I could tell people couldn’t hear me well and I had to speak up, I apologized and explained why I was wearing the mask. Some said they appreciated my not wanting to spread my cold. Others thought I was wearing it as part of the animal theme. I got many compliments, and somebody even asked if I was selling them.

I had ordered some replacement metal prints that sold the first weekend, and they were supposed to be here by Friday. On Tuesday, after Purolator said the package had arrived at the sorting facility in Calgary, they revised their tracking to say the package was delayed due to weather.

Vendors and attendees from Calgary said the roads were great, and I could find no evidence of a weather issue on that route, especially not one that lasted three days.

Many people are experiencing delays as the couriers deal with overflow and increased demand. The Canada Post strike has screwed up shipping all over the country at the busiest time of year. But when people are already pissed off at a situation, don’t lie to them. It’s insulting.

The Purolator package arrived at my door Sunday afternoon. I’m glad the weather finally cleared up.

Mike at Pacific Music & Art cobbled a rush order of Highland Cow magnets and calendars so I would have them for the last two weekends. UPS said they’d be here by Friday but that morning, they revised their tracking to, you guessed it, Monday.

I had ordered enough replacement stock for two market weekends. I now need to move them in one. As of Saturday morning, I had three calendars left, and those went quickly.

Despite a slow start on Friday, it was an excellent weekend for sales. As I’ve now sold out of a few prints, I’m retiring some to make room for new paintings next year. Others I’ll wait to restock until just before the Calgary Expo. These are some of the immediate retirees but more are coming.
I never know which paintings will become popular and which ones won’t resonate with people. Or sometimes people will like an image, just not as a print to hang on their wall. The only way to find out is to create the painting, release it, and see what happens. When I retire an image in print, it means it will no longer be available on my site or at markets.
Sometimes, a print will become popular for a particular venue, like the Calgary Zoo. My Rockhopper Penguin does very well for them because they have a penguin habitat their visitors enjoy. But that print has never done well for me at markets or the Calgary Expo.
My Sasquatch painting is a popular licensed image for Pacific Music & Art, as they have customers all over the Pacific Northwest, BC, and Alaska. Harlequin Nature Graphics sells the image on T-shirts and has been a good seller for them for years. And while I have sold several prints of that image, it’s never been a bestseller for me.
Art Ink Print in Victoria has been professionally printing my work for years, but they’re a small business, too. They require a minimum order for each image, or it isn’t worth their time. If I continued to stock several different prints that don’t sell well for me, it would cost me more than I would make to keep them in stock to have them on hand for the one or two that might sell at each market or online.
Even when I no longer sell a print, my licensing clients may still offer the image on their products, and my wholesale customers may still order prints from me to sell to their customers. I just have to require the same minimum orders from them that my printer requires from me.

It’s tough to retire prints. I’ve spent many hours on each painting and get attached to each one. This little rat has always been one of my favourites. But when your art pays your bills, you’ve got to make tough choices.
My next-door neighbours, Noble Coin Rings out of Innisfail, are fun to work with. I was beside them last year for my two weekends at this show, and the organizers put us together for four weeks at this one. They also do the Calgary Expo.

We get along well; there are plenty of inside jokes, inappropriate comments and smartass exchanges. We’ve each requested the same spots for next year and the same neighbours. It would be hilariously perfect if we found ourselves next to each other at the Calgary Expo in the spring, but it’s unlikely at such a big show.

One of the things that has affected public perception of my work lately is how much AI has suddenly become a part of our lives, especially for creative professionals. Once these markets are over, I will focus on finishing two paintings before the end of the year. After that, however, I’m planning a video to talk about artists having to adapt to this new technology.

The first time somebody asked if my work was AI was at last year’s Banff Christmas Market, and it surprised me, though it probably shouldn’t have. For years, one of my lines while introducing my work has been, “No photos are part of my work. I only use them for reference.”

In the early days of my career, many assumed that if you were drawing or painting on a computer, you must be manipulating photos and using filter effects. I used to get my hackles up, bite back the bile, and explain that I don’t do that. Each painting begins on a blank digital canvas and involves many hours of brushwork.

Because enough people are asking at this market, I now must add, “No photos or AI are part of my work.”

A great part of the personality of the Banff Christmas Market is the atmosphere they’ve created. It’s like a little Christmas village, with decorations everywhere. Families can book photos with Santa; there’s live music in the courtyard, woodburning fires with blankets, plenty of seating, games, and entertainment. They’ve also set up several creative photo opportunities. And if all that wasn’t enough, trains fly by several times a day, gently shaking the building.

I’m not big on Christmas, but this atmosphere softens even my crusty Scrooge exterior.

Which brings me to the Banff Christmas Market Grinch.

This character roams the show in great makeup and costume, posing for photos. Whoever plays this role owns it and is doing a great job. He’s fun, delightfully nasty, and has a quick wit.

On Saturday, he was going from booth to booth in our part of the show, loudly cackling his insults, impossible to ignore. At some point, I had turned my back to my booth while talking with my neighbours, so I missed him walking up and looking at my artwork.

Suddenly, behind me, the Grinch loudly said, “Wow, AI has really come a long way.”

As if poked with a sharp stick, I spun on my heels and snapped, “Hey, these are NOT AI!”

My neighbours began laughing, and I immediately knew I’d been baited and caught. Like any good comedian who realizes he’s pressed the right button, he took it up a notch. He loudly announced to everybody within earshot, “Attention. I need everybody’s attention. I have an announcement. Pat-a-rique (deliberately mispronounced) is not using AI. Because Pat-a-rique is AN ARTISTE!”

The rest was a blur. I just stood there, blushing, laughing, and taking it. After a few weeks of too many people asking if my work is AI and calmly explaining through clenched teeth that it’s not, he had struck a very raw nerve.

You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch. But damn, it was funny.

Shonna finally got to visit the market on Sunday. She approached my booth and asked, “Are these AI?”

It’s a good thing she’s cute.

There’s one more weekend to go. Though I have sold out of some prints, I still have a wide selection of metal, canvas and poster prints, magnets, postcard sets and coasters. And my calendars and Highland Cow magnets have finally arrived. I’m feeling much better and look forward to seeing more familiar faces and meeting new ones.

And if you hurry, you might just see a whimsical wildlife painter (it’s NOT AI!) revealing the tiniest bit of Christmas spirit.

Bah, Ho, Ho, Ho,
Patrick

Posted on Leave a comment

Bitter Blunders and Bedtime for Bears

Because I haven’t released a new painting in a while, I did not want to publish yet another post promising something new down the road. So, here’s a new piece: a weary-looking grizzly bear in the snow. I’m calling it Bedtime.

I had planned on sharing a different painting this week. Here’s why that changed.

Over the past twenty-plus years of my art career, both as a syndicated editorial cartoonist and a digital painter, there have been plenty of times when something I’ve drawn hasn’t worked out the way I had planned.

The beauty of digital drawing and painting is that it’s often easier to fix mistakes. I can create a new layer, play around and experiment; if I don’t like it, I delete it and try a different direction. Most creatives are familiar with happy accidents, something unexpected that improves an image. It happens all the time.

There’s always an element of discovery in any illustration or painting.

On the flip side, an image can sometimes become an exercise in frustration. Years ago, a bighorn sheep painting had me pulling out my hair. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get the curl of the horns to look right. They were either too flat, distorted, or just wrong, and every time I messed with them, I’d have to spend hours repainting the detailed texture I ruined.

It’s hardly a unique story. Every artist I know goes through this. For traditional artists who paint with oil, acrylic, watercolour or airbrush, it’s even worse. Sometimes, they try to fix something that isn’t working and get to a point where they’ve just ruined any chance of recovery. The canvas ends up in the trash, and they start over.

I began a painting of a group of Ring-tailed Lemurs months ago. I thought it would be finished this summer and again this week. I can’t begin to estimate how many hours I’ve spent on this painting. It has been one disappointment after another. But I finally got through the other work and deadlines holding up my progress and recently spent several mornings on it.

I was within what I thought was two or three hours of finishing, then realized I didn’t like it. That’s a hard truth to admit when I have invested so much time into a piece.

On my iPad, I took it to my buddy Derek at Electric Grizzly Tattoo. He’s a talented and skilled artist, and we sometimes ask each other for an unbiased eye. I can always count on his constructive criticism and willingness to help me produce a better piece of art. I do my best to return that generosity in kind, and when asked, offer my own thoughts on his paintings.

While Derek liked the individual faces, he agreed that the composition had problems. It was tough to hear, but it confirmed what I already knew.

After I got home, I spent a couple of hours messing with it, still trying to save it. But it was a gut-punch realization that I’d almost have to start from scratch. If I released the painting as is, knowing the obvious problems, even if others like it, I would hate it every time I looked at it.

So, while I’m not quite back at square one, it’s close. I’ve been sketching over the piece and trying new things, and I’m already much happier with the composition.

Reworking it, however, meant destroying what I had already painted. I must redo all the fur and hair, the detail in the muzzles and eyes, and add other elements that weren’t there before.

Whenever I finish the newer version, I will share more about this process, including what specifically I didn’t like and my thoughts on what I needed to change. I will also show you the piece I showed Derek and share why we both felt it didn’t work. But I don’t want to do that until I reveal the finished piece so you can see the comparison.

Anytime you do something creative, there’s a chance it won’t work. Authors have had to discard whole chapters and rehash plotlines when an editor has their way with a novel. Chefs have prepared complicated and ultimately inedible meals from experimental recipes. Filmmakers have spent years creating box office bombs.

As Benjamin Franklin said, “I didn’t fail the test; I just found 100 ways to do it wrong.”

If you’re not prepared to fail, you’ll never succeed.

So, I set the lemurs aside this week and began this bear piece on Tuesday as a palate cleanser before I jump back into the other works in progress I have yet to complete, including those lemurs.

Because when life hands you lemons, paint a grizzly bear.

That’s the saying, right?

Well, it works for me.

This Thursday, I’ll be one of 150 vendors setting up for the Banff Christmas Market. That evening, a locals’ preview event is already sold out. After that, from Friday to Sunday for the next four weeks, you’ll find me in my booth at the Banff Train Station, offering prints, calendars, coasters, magnets and stickers. Tickets are only available in advance on their website, and they go quickly, especially on Saturdays. I hope to see you there.

Thanks to so many of you who have purchased calendars already. I’ve been getting those orders out as soon as they come in, so if you’re waiting for yours, they’re on the way. If you still want one (or two, three, four…you get the idea), you can get them in the store while supplies last.

Cheers,
Patrick

Posted on 1 Comment

A Little Calm Before the Storm

With a lot to do and feeling like I was way behind, a cabin trip seemed like a low priority. But it’s an inexpensive getaway, a relatively short drive, and I needed a break.

Though we don’t live that far away from each other, and we text or email most days, Darrel and I only see each other a few times a year, usually at the cabin we rent. But it’s one of those rare lifelong friendships where we just pick up where we left off. The only person who knows me better than Darrel is Shonna.

When I’ve mentioned this regular guys weekend escape in passing, people often say, “What do you do there?”

It’s pretty boring, really. That’s the point.

We talk and catch up. Darrel’s one of the smartest people I know, so we have interesting conversations. We play guitar, some trips more than others. We go for long walks through the woods and pastures, hoping to see wildlife. We walked a little slower this trip, as Darrel is still recovering from knee surgery. The wildlife was limited to squirrels, whiskey jacks, woodpeckers, and skittish deer way off in the distance.
Not the most exciting critter encounters, but I got some good squirrel pics. This amusing little chatterbox might very well inspire a painting.
I took photos of wind-broken tree stumps where I might place an owl or eagle. A natural doorway created by curved and fallen branches has potential. You never know what might spark a new piece.Though we had visited with them earlier, the owners texted us Sunday evening that the Atlas comet was barely visible over the pasture. It had been brighter and more evident days earlier, but this was the last chance to see it. We walked out in the dark, not wanting to use flashlights that might ruin our night vision and found the faint anomaly among the sea of stars. Darrel took this shot on his newer phone. I couldn’t get a good capture with mine. You can just see the comet tail on the left.
We had nice fall weather for most of our time there, but it got cold and windy Sunday night and Monday. A snowstorm hit Calgary and Canmore, and given the road reports and Shonna’s texts, I was thrilled I didn’t have to drive back until Tuesday.

We spent most evenings sitting in the kitchen or by the wood stove, chatting or playing Scrabble or card games. I even brought a chess board, the first time I’d played in years. I lost but held my own and look forward to playing again.

I could have easily stayed another week, hiding from work. But it was a nice break before everything kicks into holiday season high gear, so I certainly won’t complain.
My order from Pacific Music & Art was waiting for me when I got home, and it contained calendars, ceramic coasters, and magnets for the Banff Christmas Market. Added to the large order of prints that arrived a couple of weeks ago, I’ve never had this much product at one time. It’s both exciting and frightening.
On the one hand, it shows that this side of my business continues to grow. As it’s the work I enjoy most and has the best chance of ensuring my financial future, I’m grateful. But it’s a significant investment of time and money that comes with no small amount of anxiety.

So, I keep reminding myself of all those sayings and platitudes. No reward without risk. Change never happens when you’re comfortable. Fortune favours the bold.

Fear is temporary. Regret is forever.

Be the ball.

Back to the drawing board.

Posted on 2 Comments

Failure to Launch

With a website and email list, keeping up with regular posts is important, especially when there’s an implied promise to anyone who subscribes.

But what if it’s been weeks, and I haven’t got any new work to share? Or what if I’ve got nothing upbeat and positive to write about? Everybody talks about the value of authenticity, but when you’re struggling with unrealized expectations and unmet goals, is it better to go a month without posting, or do you bare it all and risk the unsubscribes from people who just want to see another funny-looking animal painting?

It’s amazing how often people think art-for-a-living is drawing and colouring all day. I spend more time on business activities surrounding the art than I ever do creating it, as do most creatives I know. Knowing that reality ahead of time is essential if you’re ever considering this profession.

It has become clear that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew this year. I began 2024 with big plans and projects and feel I’ve mostly failed. I work long hours almost every day, but I’m not getting enough done.

The editorial cartoon work can be incredibly frustrating as those deadlines always take priority over the painted work, even though it’s the side of my business with no chance of increasing revenue. Newspapers aren’t about to bounce back.

So the first weekly task, beginning Sunday morning, is to get five syndicated cartoons done before Wednesday for my daily and weekly newspaper clients and one local exclusive cartoon done for Tuesday evening for the Rocky Mountain Outlook. Then, if breaking news doesn’t disrupt the schedule, I can work on administrative work like invoicing, print packaging and shipping, promotional material, writing, and hopefully painting.

I wanted at least two new puzzles for the Banff Christmas Market this year. But because I needed to finish two very involved paintings that still aren’t done, that won’t happen. There’s a long lead time to have them printed and packaged, and I missed that deadline.

Puzzles come with a significant initial expense, and I had to ask myself if I needed to spend more when I already have plenty invested in other stock.

I drove into the city on Sunday morning to drop off a large print and sticker order to the Calgary Zoo. Usually, that’s an opportunity to take reference photos, but with no extra time, I didn’t go beyond the gift shop. After a quick detour to Costco, I was back at my desk drawing cartoons by early afternoon.

Because of the work that goes into selling and marketing my art, with the runup to the Banff Christmas Market, I’m not getting enough painting done, and I don’t know how to solve this problem.

From early November until mid-December, there won’t be any time off. I’ll be at my booth at the Christmas Market from Friday to Sunday every weekend. From Monday to Thursday, I’ll be drawing editorial cartoons, packaging and shipping orders, and the usual admin work, plus the extra with a gift show. That doesn’t leave time for painting.

I’m trying to keep the proper perspective on this. I still have 50 animal paintings available in prints. That’s more than enough for the upcoming market. Though I wanted some paintings in progress finished for this event, I don’t need them. Those I added earlier this year for the Calgary Expo will still be new to people at this venue.

I did two weekends for the first time at the Banff Christmas Market last year. This year, I’m doing four. Unlike at the Calgary Expo, I don’t yet have a following at this event. That means my classic and bestselling paintings are still new to this audience. I will meet plenty of people who have never seen my Smiling Tiger, Otter, Winter Wolf or the grinning gallery of grizzly bears.

I need to retire some paintings in my current catalogue. When you put too many choices in front of people, it gets overwhelming. My printer in Victoria has minimum order requirements, so if I only sell two of an average selling image at Christmas, that costs me more than I made because of how many I had to order.

Art-for-a-living is a business and requires difficult choices. When a painting is no longer popular, it’s time to let it go in favour of testing the waters with new work.

In the past, I’ve put prints in the store as soon as I painted them. In 2025, I will only do print releases twice a year. This will hopefully allow me to get several paintings done, build anticipation, and have a bunch of new releases to promote before the Calgary Expo in the spring and the holiday season in the fall.

It also means I can build new art collections for potential licensing rather than offer new paintings individually. Licensing revenue hasn’t been as reliable as I’d like this year, and it is even down for some clients.

Even with non-exclusive licenses, many companies don’t want to offer the same paintings on the same type of products. So, when images are already spoken for, they’re less likely to attract new clients.

To solicit new contracts, I need to offer them new paintings.

En route to Thanksgiving dinner with family this coming weekend, we’ll detour to Discovery Wildlife Park to drop off a print order, but there won’t be time for a visit there, either. Thankfully, I do have a cabin trip coming up for a weekend break before the holiday frenzy begins.

Then, I’ll get my flu and COVID shots to do my best to stay healthy for the rest of the year. I have a recurring worry that I’ll get sick for one of the market weekends, and my booth will sit empty.

In silver lining news, because of the large print orders I just filled for the Calgary Zoo and Discovery Wildlife Park, and not wanting to leave anything until the last minute, all my prints have arrived for the rest of the year. The online store is fully stocked with prints, stickers and postcard sets. I am still waiting on calendars.

If you haven’t checked out the store for a while, please do, as I’ll retire many of these after they sell at the Banff Christmas Market. Don’t miss out on what might be your favourite. My prints are 11×14, an easy-to-find frame size wherever you buy yours. It’s never too early to start thinking about office gift exchanges or spreading happy animal art around to your friends and family.

As for sharing new work, I won’t promise anything right now for fear I won’t be able to deliver. All I can do is ask for your patience. There’s nobody who wants to see more finished work than me.

Cheers,
Patrick

Posted on 12 Comments

Will the real whimsical wildlife painter please stand up?

If your art becomes popular enough that people like it, share it and buy it, somebody will steal it. Some creatives stamp ugly watermarks across every image they post to try to combat this, but what’s the point if you need to go that far?

It’s not uncommon for people to remove my signature or change the wording in one of my editorial cartoons and then post it on social media with no credit or link to my site. It happens to every cartoonist. It strikes me especially funny when the alteration is so they can call a politician a liar, thief, or criminal.

Today’s word is irony.

On occasion, a company has stolen my work and offered it on an online product, usually in another part of the world. In most cases, a cease and desist is all it takes to remove it, and then they steal somebody else’s work. But in some countries, everything online is seen as free for the taking. I know artists who’ve been on vacation in Thailand and seen their work sold at roadside market stands.

If you’re shocked by this, remember that scammers bilk senior citizens out of their retirement savings every day. Humanity has more than its fair share of bottom-feeding scumbags. Art theft isn’t even close to the worst of it.
Several years ago, my friend Kathryn alerted me to a woman on Vancouver Island using my Otter painting as the logo for her business. It was on her business cards, a sidewalk sandwich board, window decals and advertising. When I called the owner on it, she said she Googled ‘royalty-free images’ and my otter came up. I asked if Mickey Mouse had come up in that search, would she think Disney would allow her to use him as her logo? My signature is still on the image on that sign! She angrily told me I was being unreasonable and said if I had been nicer, we could have come to an arrangement.

Based on such a trustworthy beginning, I clearly missed out on untold riches.

On a trip to Vancouver Island, we stopped in Ladysmith to ensure it wasn’t still going on. She’d sold the store, and my work was nowhere to be seen. That’s why I’ve blacked out the name in the photo.
Another company in the same area had my Moose and Grizzly Bear paintings on their chocolate-covered candy labels sold in a local store. The company’s owner in Eastern Canada said they’d hired a graphic designer to make the labels. He just stole my work online and passed it off as his own.

The owner apologized and said he would remove the offending images from his products.

People will frequently look down on artists for not having ‘real jobs,’ or expect us to work for free or the ever-popular ‘exposure.’ Every time I try to pay my bills with this mythical currency, companies laugh at me. I guess it’s only good for art.

For many people, art is their business; when somebody steals from your business, you must deal with them. If it’s an overseas company in a country with lax copyright laws, you could sell your house and spend it all on lawyers, and you still wouldn’t win.

You pick the hill you want to die on.

Which brings me to last week.

A woman in Nevada has been selling my artwork as her own, alongside what I can only assume is questionable CBD potions. As far as I can figure, she has purchased canvases of some of my work, likely from print-on-demand sites like Art.com, Wayfair, iCanvas, and others.

These companies were licensed to sell my work through agreements I signed when represented by Art Licensing International. I ended that relationship early last year, but these companies had contracts with the rights to sell my work until the end of their terms.

Most of those have expired, so even though you can still see my work on some sites, you can’t order it anymore. I’ll write another post later on why I don’t find those sites appealing.

Since the art thief has been doing this for a few years or longer, I suspect that’s where she got them since I don’t post high-resolution images on my site. She then applied some brushstrokes to those canvases and sold them as her original work.

At Photoshop World Las Vegas in 2014, I took a class from a New York copyright lawyer. He was an entertaining character but knew his stuff and had represented plenty of artists who’d been ripped off. His advice even saved me from a deal I worked on that very week with a couple of scammers in Calgary.

The lawyer talked about the oft-quoted 10% rule, the belief that if you change another artist’s work enough, copyright no longer applies, so that you can resell it as your own. He shared the official legal term for that rule; Bullshit.

It’s the kind of thing amateur creatives tell each other to justify stealing.

According to Canadian and United States law, an artist owns copyright to their work as soon as they create it. However, officially registering allows you to claim more financial damages when suing somebody for a breach.
From what I’ve found, she stole my Coyote, Grizzly, Black Bear, Moose, Squirrel, Peanuts and Smiling Tiger paintings, but likely more than that. While the first five are no longer bestsellers, and a couple are even retired, my Smiling Tiger and Peanuts paintings are two of my most popular, bestselling and frequently licensed images.

Stupid is as stupid does.

She advertised that she’d be showing her art all month at a venue in Nevada, complete with photos on her website, Facebook and Instagram. She removed the image from her webpage, but I saw that coming and captured screenshots. Not my first rodeo. I have blacked out some areas of the image that may unfairly implicate others.
I contacted the venue and informed them that this ‘artist,’ for lack of a better term, had stolen my work. I included several links to my site, blog posts where I wrote about the images when I had painted them, and links to companies that licensed my art. And while I told them I didn’t blame them for the infraction, I suggested they distance themselves from the offender.

The response from the venue was better than I’d hoped. They apologized (not their fault), told me they removed the canvases from their walls and even copied me on an email they sent to the fraudulent artist. In it, they told her she was no longer welcome there, and if she wanted to collect her canvases, they’d be at the local Sheriff’s office for retrieval.

She declined to pick them up.

You don’t say.

I had also contacted a friend who lives in that area and asked if she knew the place. She said she did and spoke highly of it. I don’t believe they’re complicit, and as the business is also a victim of this fraud, I see no need to name them.

I have sent emails to other events she’s advertised on her site and to markets where she has sold my work in the past, informing them of the theft and asking them to cancel her registrations.

I am not an advocate of cancel culture and trial by media. Some people don’t know what a reasonable response is, and internet vigilantism seems to have one setting: scorched earth.

That said, given what I’ve seen, she has been stealing my artwork for years. The problem is that when I searched for her online, I came across a few other legitimate artists with the same name, and I don’t want them confused with this thief. It takes very little time to cancel somebody, and it’s nearly impossible to reverse it when you’ve got the wrong person.

So, instead, I’ve shared the photos from her site. I’ve blacked out the venue name and details but left her name intact. Since references to and images of my work are still up on her Instagram and Facebook, I’m also linking to those. The artwork may be removed when you read this, as I’ll share links to this post in her comments section. She has removed my images from the front page of her website.

From a cease-and-desist email I sent her, she responded, “Patrick. I’m very sorry. I will never paint again. The paintings I have will be destroyed. Kat.”
After a whole career dealing with this kind of thing, I am firm-footed in ‘fool me twice’ territory. Her reply almost stopped me from writing this post, but she’s standing proudly in that photo with six large canvases of an art style I’ve spent years developing. And 24 hours after her apology, my work is still visible on her social media with mentions of her amazing paintings. Very sincere.

Genuinely sorry, or sorry you got caught?
If your only available settings for creating art are stealing it or not painting at all, I’m at a loss to understand why you’d bother pretending to be an artist. Choose a profession more suited to questionable morality, like federal politics.

I’m sharing this story as a cautionary tale and a teaching moment. If you’re an artist learning new skills, copying somebody else’s technique, studying their methods, and imitating other styles to find your own is part of the process. That’s what every artist does. It’s how we learn. Eventually, you get tired of being a poor copy and strive to become an original.

But don’t steal somebody else’s artwork and pass it off as your own. It’s happened to every artist I know, and it can quickly become an open wound that never heals. People will find out. Artists routinely reverse-search their own images to catch this sort of thing, though I found out about this infraction another way.

When one artist sees another ripped off, they will tell them about it because we all know how it feels. In some cases, if the artist is popular enough, their community of followers will destroy you online. I’ve seen it happen more than once. It’s brutal.

Dealing with this issue has taken way too much of my time this past week, time I’d much rather have spent painting. It should be obvious why this got bumped up on the priority list.

While I’m not happy about this situation, I’ve mellowed in my older middle age, and I’m not raging or losing sleep over this. It would be naïve for her to imagine several years of theft can be erased by three short sentences in an email, with little action to back up her supposed remorse. I don’t know how much of my artwork she sold, but I’m confident I won’t get a cheque in the mail. And anyone who bought my work from her likely won’t get refunds.

I’ll keep an eye on her to make sure she stops stealing my work, and if further evidence presents itself of ongoing fraud, I’ll make it as uncomfortable as possible for her to continue.

And if she suddenly finds a new art style (she’s done this before), you can bet I’ll do my best to let the next victim know about it and help them in any way I can.

Cheers,
Patrick

Posted on Leave a comment

A Solitude on This Side of Fifty

Most years, I’d rather let my birthday go unnoticed, and thankfully, I married someone who feels the same way about hers. If someone mentioned having a birthday ‘party’ for me, my first thought would be, “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

Given my nature, it’s no mystery why birthdays make me melancholy. Another year older with not enough accomplished. Dwelling on past mistakes or missed opportunities is an unhealthy perspective and does nothing good for the mind or soul, but we’re all human. We feel what we feel.

This side of 50, I no longer tolerate cheap-seat criticism for who I am, especially from those who wouldn’t take it from me. I’ve heard this sentiment called the Fuck-It Fifties, and I have embraced that. A wise philosopher once said, “I yam what I yam and dats all that I yam.”

As my 53rd birthday approached, I still felt low after a long, dark winter. Rather than stay home, brood and make Shonna’s weekend miserable, I decided to get away by myself. She had no objection.

While friends and I have rented a cabin a few times a year in the Central Alberta foothills, I associate that place with social gatherings, games, music, late nights, and sharing spirits of the bottled variety.
But on the northern border of that same property, nestled beside secluded wetlands, there is another cabin. It’s one room, one bed, solar power for lights, an outhouse, no water and no noise. It’s at the end of a road, behind a gate on private property.

Cooking is outside on a propane stove and tabletop BBQ. The only heat is from a wood stove and you bring your own bedding. Were it not for the comfort and unique personality of the place, it’s a stone’s throw from camping.

I brought my camera, guitar, books, writing and drawing tools and told myself I’d be open to what happens, intending to let go and relax. It took very little time, however, to realize that I had also brought myself on this getaway, and that’s not how I roll.

The usual 2.5-hour drive from Canmore took longer because of a spring snow event. Had I seen a video of the white-knuckle experience I was in for, I would have stayed home. But once I arrived and pried my fingers from the steering wheel, I was glad to be there.
While shovelling snow, I scared a snowshoe hare out from under the deck, and I took that as a good sign. I wanted to see wildlife, even though this critter did not want to see me.

After I unloaded my stuff, I sat on the couch, took a deep breath and thought, “Now what?”

At home, I prefer long days working alone, but I never have a shortage of things to do to occupy my time and mind. We all have nasty demons that remind us of our failures, regrets, and shortcomings. When you find yourself alone with nothing to distract you, their voices become louder. As the man said, “Wherever you go, there you are.”
The property owners have become friends over the years, and I like to visit them. While on my daily wanders, I walked up to their place a couple of times, a 5-6 km round trip from where I was staying, as I had no interest in taking the shortest route.

I confessed Friday afternoon that I felt a little low, a confusing realization since I know and enjoy this place. Sitting in the cabin alone, looking at the beautiful view, I wondered if I had made a mistake. Karen said it often takes people at least 24 hours to get used to the solitude. She shared that one woman, another artist, booked a cabin for three nights and left after one day because she couldn’t handle being alone in the quiet.

I felt sorry for that stranger but didn’t judge her because I understood. On the walk back to the cabin, I wished she’d given herself a little more time.

By Friday evening, after dinner, I was past my own discomfort and genuinely began to relax. I sat at the small table, looking out at the falling snow, well into a book I’d wanted to read for a while. I made a big mug of tea, put more wood on the fire and that’s how I spent the rest of my evening.

For the remainder of the weekend, I played guitar, read my book, and sat quietly on the deck in the sunshine. I went to bed when I felt like it, got up early before the sun, and wandered the property with my camera.
Free to roam more than 300 acres of pasture, wetlands, and forest, I walked close to 20km over 72 hours in snow and sunshine. It was peaceful and very pretty.

People see moose here, walking right by the cabin. I saw one in the distance years ago. On previous visits, I’ve seen owls, deer, and coyotes several times. Even though I know that wildlife doesn’t punch a clock, I hoped for an encounter or two.
In the new fallen snow, fresh moose, coyote, deer and rabbit tracks were all over the place, many of them just hours old. I heard the coyotes at night and in the morning, and that was nice. It’s one of my favourite sounds. I listened to an owl calling two nights in a row. But all I saw were little birds flying here and there, a few ravens, a couple of geese, and that scared little bunny when I first arrived.

I didn’t even see a squirrel.
I know professional photographers who spend great amounts of time, energy and money to get to remote places, park themselves in a blind, right next to a game trail for hours and days on end, and often come home with little or nothing to show for it.

But I’ll confess to feeling a little insulted. When you paint personality in whimsical wildlife, you end up with a warped sense of expectation regarding actual wildlife. Come on, I thought we were friends, here.

Upon reflection, had I seen and photographed cooperative critters, I would have undoubtedly spent hours going through them on my iPad. I would have made some edits, considered possible paintings, and wrote something about the experience, and I would have edited that, too. Suddenly, I’d be working.

So, perhaps I got what I needed, instead of what I wanted.

On the perfect sunny drive home on dry roads with light traffic, I had time to reflect and was content with the experience. I spent my birthday by myself, without anyone telling me how I should be celebrating it. I got up early, as I prefer, without walking on eggshells for fear of waking anybody up, which is often the case on cabin visits with friends. I played guitar and sang, fumbled with chord changes, learning songs I didn’t know, without intruding on anyone else’s peace and quiet.

I asked no permission, made no apologies, and had no schedule or agenda. And though it took me a day to settle into it, I now wish I could have stayed longer.

Maybe next time.

Cheers,
Patrick

Posted on 10 Comments

Wilder Wishes

If you’re like me, bombarded daily with negative news and polarized opinions, this noisy world can become overwhelming. It bothers me, and I often wonder, “Why are people so mean to each other?”

As a species, we’re primed to pay attention to this stuff, which feels like an immediate threat. Not only do we focus on the worst of our behaviour, we feel compelled to share it with others. And when everybody shares bad news, it seems like that’s all there is.

Though I’m not on social media anymore, I’m as guilty as the next person. I’m fully invested in the negative bias that we’re all strapped into the proverbial handbasket, picking up speed on a steep downhill. Is it getting hot in here?

While editorial cartooning requires me to follow the news, I also spend much of my time painting whimsical wildlife that makes people happy. I know this because collectors and subscribers tell me so. And when I get to share that work in person at Christmas markets and the upcoming Calgary Expo, I see the evidence for myself.

At market events, a steady stream of people walks by my booth for hours on end. They might be talking to each other, looking at their phones, pointing at things, or absent-mindedly scanning their surroundings. But often, when their eyes find my work, they stop and smile. Over several days at a market, I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I see the same phenomenon.
It’s a moment of connection between my funny-looking animals and people I’ve never met. I love watching it happen, and it is a reminder that something I created made somebody else’s day a little better, if only for a moment. In a world that often seems nasty, with people intent on highlighting our worst qualities, I create art that makes people smile. I often forget that, but when I do remember, I’m grateful for this ability.

You can change yourself, but you can’t change other people. You can influence them, though, for better or worse.

It can be as simple as holding a door or letting someone go ahead of you in line, offering to take somebody’s photo for them when they’re struggling with an awkward selfie, being courteous on a shared bike/pedestrian path, or putting away your phone and giving somebody your full attention.
If you know me well, all this might sound hypocritical. I struggle with seeing the good in the world, which often puts me in a dark mood. But just like a smoker knows the habit is unhealthy, it’s worth the effort to try to cut back and eventually quit.

Because even though I’m not always a fan of our species, I know that life is hard for everybody. We’ve all got stuff we’re dealing with and can get so caught up in our own issues that we forget others are struggling, too. Empathy is a skill and a choice.
So, to spread some positive feelings around, I created these Wilder Wishes images you see here, from some of my paintings. If you like them, send one in an email or text it to someone who might need a lift. Share one on social media or wherever you want. Or print them for yourself to stick on your fridge or desk.

You can save each of these images from this post or download all five from this Dropbox link.
If one of these happy faces makes the day a little brighter, for you or somebody else, then that makes mine better, too. Sometimes, you’ve got to give a smile to get one back.

Have a good week,
Patrick

Posted on 3 Comments

Reflecting and a Raven on White

In the late nineties, I worked different jobs at a hotel in Banff for five or six years, from waterslide attendant and manager to front desk agent, night auditor and accounting clerk.

I used to doodle, sketch, and draw a lot in those days. I wasn’t very good at it, but like with any skill, you don’t produce your best work until you’ve paid for it with years of bad work. It was a hobby that I never thought would become a career.

While at the waterslides, after I’d finished cleaning, the job often meant minding the desk until guests showed up. I might spend hours alone in the slow season, so I would read or draw. The night audit position required a couple of hours running financial reports at the beginning of the shift, then babysitting the front desk all night until the day staff arrived.

More time to draw.

I filled countless sketchbooks during those years, all long ago discarded, recycled or shredded. I’m not a nostalgic person, and I don’t like clutter. Some have suggested I should have kept that stuff because it might have been worth money someday.

Ever seen American Pickers? Those outbuildings full of junk are all about people keeping useless stuff for that very reason. Most of it is worthless.

Proving we never know what we’ve got ’til it’s gone, I took all that creative freedom I now miss for granted. No deadlines, no expectations, and no need for any of that artwork to pay the bills. With no social media or website then, I didn’t have to post any of it.

Art for a living is a double-edged sword. While I certainly prefer it to that waterslide job or working midnight shifts minding a front desk, and working at home alone suits my nature; I no longer draw anything just for fun. If I’ve got time to draw, I spend it on editorial cartoons or whimsical wildlife paintings.

I used to enjoy editorial cartooning, but following politics and the news every day, especially in our increasingly toxic and adversarial culture, it’s just a job, and there’s little joy in it. But I can’t ignore that without cartoon deadlines; I wouldn’t have been as disciplined to draw almost every day for more than twenty years. That constant practice has made me a better artist. How could it not?

The wildlife paintings, however, are the antidote to the negative news cycle. I’d much rather spend every day painting fur and feathers, recording painting videos, or writing, but that’s currently just over half of my artistic income, so I need to devote equal time to the darkness and light.

The financial pressure I assign to my wildlife work often decides which animals I paint. I will avoid certain animals because they’re unlikely to be popular. I must always think about the market potential for anything I paint. Will this or that retail or licensing client be interested, will it be popular at markets, and which products might benefit from this piece?

I’ve only realized in recent years how loud those questions have become. My Otter and Smiling Tiger are two of my bestsellers, but I wasn’t thinking about that when I painted either of them nor could I have predicted their success.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t trying to predict and produce the next bestseller every time I plan a new painting, even knowing it’s impossible. Art isn’t an algorithm. Based on market trends, you can’t accurately predict what will resonate with people. I know because every year, the licensing industry pretends they know what people want and what will sell, and they fail more often than succeed.

Like with political polls or long-range weather forecasts, we pay attention to these poor predictions and then complain about how often they’re wrong. We’re not as bright as we like to pretend.

Several people asked me to paint a sloth a couple of years ago. I kept putting it off because I had no interest. But I finally got tired of hearing it and wondered if I was missing something. So, I put the time in and painted one. It was a worthwhile challenge, and I’m pleased with how it turned out. I learned some things in the process, but it’s not one of my personal favourites. I’ve never felt any connection with sloths. It sells well enough, but it’s not a bestseller.

Over the past year, I’ve received a bizarre number of requests for another animal, at least twice a day at the Banff Christmas markets. It’s another I wouldn’t have chosen, but I started on it this week. With the Calgary Expo on the horizon, it’s the best place to test if requests will result in actual sales, should I manage to do a good job. Rather than tell you what it is, I’ll share it in a couple of weeks.
I’ve always liked ravens, and I talked a bit about that in my last post. Because ravens are popular, this piece was a marketing decision and an animal I wanted to paint. It’s nice when it can be both, but I catch myself asking composition questions while I paint that I never would have when I didn’t do this for a living.

Will no background make the painting more or less popular? Will people want the blues and purples in the feathers to be more or less vibrant? Should I have exaggerated the whimsy more, or did I go too far already?

It also applies to writing posts like this. Am I being too negative? Will this angsty artist crap turn people off? Should I write something peppy and encouraging, even though I feel none of that right now? What do people want to hear?

These questions are pointless, but I find them impossible to ignore.

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “You wouldn’t worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do.”

But because this work is my livelihood, it’s nearly impossible to avoid these thoughts. My time is limited, and spending it on a painting that doesn’t sell well feels like I wasted it on the wrong painting.

Second guessing like that often leads to procrastination and self-doubt. Too long in that headspace, and I’ll ultimately paint nothing because I’m looking for impossible guarantees.

It would be nice to end a post like this with a positive affirmation or some conclusion that hints at some 11th-hour writing wisdom. But I have no clear answer to this flawed perspective. I’m still working on it.

Cheers,
Patrick

Posted on 2 Comments

Market Lessons


Sales were good for both Banff Christmas Market weekends, so I’ll book again next year. The weather was great, right up until a sudden snowstorm Sunday evening, just in time for load-out, but that’s life in the Rockies.

When you make art for a living, profitability is the critical metric for an event’s worthiness, but after you achieve the financial goals, there are intangible benefits, too.

At the Calgary Expo earlier this year, a new vendor introduced himself, thanked me for a couple of blog posts I’d written about the Expo, and said it helped him prepare for his first booth. I got plenty of help and advice when in his shoes, so I was pleased to pay it forward.

There are plenty more experienced vendors than I am, but I’ve done enough over the years to understand what works and what doesn’t.

Every vendor has something to teach you. From where to find a decent meal in a sea of deep-fried food trucks to when to get there on the last day for a good parking spot for load-out. Those who’ve been there before have the wisdom; most are happy to share it.

Keep good records. I have a detailed sales spreadsheet I update each day of the show, whether home or away. You may only do a particular market once, but if you do well and come back the following year, you won’t be able to remember what you sold, so you won’t know what to bring. It’s not enough that I know the Smiling Tiger or Otter were bestsellers. I need to know how the other 40 images did, too.

Be honest about your costs. You don’t make any money until you know what you’ve spent.

Because I got to come home each night, the expenses for these recent markets were low, mainly booth cost and insurance. At the Calgary Expo, once I added up booth cost, parking, power, insurance, hotel and meals, I spent $2000 before I sold one print. To make it worth my time, I must make much more there than at the Banff Christmas Market.

Then, every sticker, magnet, coaster, calendar, puzzle, and print has a cost that must be deducted from each sale before I know what I made. And every time somebody pays with a credit card, there’s a fee, too.

Shit happens. On Thursday, as I set up, I dropped the first metal print of my Blizzard Bear painting. Most wouldn’t have noticed the corner damage, and it still looked good on display, but a slip of my fingers and the profit from that piece was gone. Thankfully, another vendor, a fan of my work from Expo, was happy to buy it at cost. So, I didn’t lose money, and she got a big metal print that wasn’t in her budget at full price.Booth location and size might be inaccurate, neighbours may be challenging, organizers could be stressed out, and anything can happen. Roll with it until you can’t, and then ask for help.

Help your neighbours. It might be scissors, a hammer, or a band-aid, but somebody always forgets something. I have power at my booth, and occasionally, somebody needs to charge their phone. Keep an eye on a neighbour’s booth for a washroom break. Hold the other end of their banner while they hang it up. I get plenty of offers for help and do my best to return in kind. And it helps you make friends, too.

You won’t always connect with the people around you. I remember one Calgary Expo where none of my neighbours were interested in friendly small talk. That makes for a longer market, especially during slow periods.

In Banff, I had two fun neighbours. We were all on the same page with work ethic and professionalism, but I enjoyed their company when there was room for kidding around and chatting. I hope to share space with them again in the future.

Foam floor pads and comfortable shoes. If you do it right, you’ll stand long hours for multiple days. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be.

Don’t complain or talk politics. This past weekend, a woman started going off about world government plots and chem trails in the sky. One minute, we talked about the great weather and beautiful mountains; next, she headed down the conspiracy rabbit hole. I smiled and politely said, “It’s a strange world.” After I said it the second time, she seemed to realize I wasn’t taking the bait and moved on. Arguing politics and controversial topics with strangers is a waste of life and will do nothing good for your business.

Eat well and often. Pack small healthy items you can eat quickly between customers without stuffing your face: carrot sticks, protein bars, a pre-cut sandwich, and pieces of cheese. Drink water. Setting up and tearing down grid walls and hardware, expect to damage yourself. My hands are wrecked at the end of a show from dry skin, cracked fingertips, and chipped or split fingernails. Bring a first aid kit. Nobody wants blood on their prints or stickers. Bring hand sanitizer and moisturizer.

All these people you’re talking to, especially this time of year, several of them are spreading colds or flu they don’t even know they have yet. It’s unavoidable, but healthy habits are your best chance of prevention.

Lozenges and breath mints are a must. You’ll have to talk a lot, and foul coffee breath won’t help your sales.

You’re there to sell. One vendor told me about someone at another show complaining that he wasn’t making any money. He left his booth often to wander the show. I’ve often seen neighbours spend all their time on their phones, heads down, ignoring people who walk into their booth, failing to engage with potential customers. A vendor next to me at this market, her friends and family hung out at her booth all day long socializing. Customers came and went without a word exchanged.

Respect other vendors. If you’re chatting with a neighbour and a customer approaches, leave the conversation. If it’s their customer, they’ll appreciate it. If it’s your customer, a professional neighbour will understand.

Be positive. Slow times happen, but they can also turn around on a dime. Desperation is contagious, and customers will pick up on it.I’m a pessimist. I don’t have a lot of faith in people. It comes from following the news for a living for my editorial cartoons. I work at home and enjoy my solitude. And yet, at markets, I try to be upbeat, smile, happy and joke around. It’s part of the job. It’s not all an act; I’m genuinely pleased to introduce new customers to my art, and many have become friends over the years. I’m always happy to see them again.

You never know who you’re talking to. If you make assumptions about people, you might say something that makes you look foolish and miss a valuable opportunity. Many people ask about commissions, and I advertise them in my booth with a large metal print of my Luna painting from last year.

When they ask about pricing, I tend to soften the blow with “it’s an investment” before I tell them it’s $1900. The sticker shock is evident on most faces, but then I explain the amount of work that goes into each one, the many hours of painting, the back-and-forth photo exchanges and prep before I paint one brushstroke, and that, unlike my other work, there is no market for that piece when finished. Most people understand, but spending that amount on a painting of their dog or cat is not often a priority. I get that. It’s the reason I only get hired to do two or three of these a year.

But I also spoke to a couple this weekend who seemed genuinely interested, sharing photos and asking about timelines, shipping, and specific details. This was after they’d heard the price, which is always a good sign. They wanted it in my whimsical style, and their dog has a great face and character. I want to paint him.  Even if that possible commission never materializes, my next important client or avid collector could be standing in front of me at any time. That Luna painting? Six months after I first spoke with him, he hired me for the piece, and it was one of the best client experiences of my career.

Listen to people. Ask questions. You’ll discover why certain pieces connect with people and how to use that knowledge for future sales. I learn a lot from my customers. I’ll soon start a painting of an animal I wouldn’t have considered on my own. It must be trending because at least a dozen people (not kidding) have independently asked for it this year. I don’t get it, but I’m going to paint it because I’m clearly missing something.Ask people where they’re from, especially in a tourist town. I met people from all over the world this weekend.

One gentleman said he was from a town in Saskatchewan, and “you probably don’t know it.”But I asked, and then told him that I’m the editorial cartoonist for his local paper and have been for years. He and his wife know one of Shonna’s uncles because her large extended family is from the same area.  People like to tell you about themselves, and it’s nice to give them the opportunity, not just for the sales, but to connect with another human being, something we all missed more than we realized the last few years.

Celebrate the little things that make it fun. I reluctantly confess I found myself singing along to Christmas carols. It might have involved toe-tapping. Those who know me well…close your mouths. I know it’s shocking that this Grinch found a little holiday spirit. Damn that Mariah Carey!

Plenty of happy dogs (and puppies!) were walking around, and their people were most accommodating with requests to say Hello. It made my weekend.  Want an overdose of pure joy? A Bernese Mountain puppy. Take what you want from my booth; I’m no longer paying attention.

While this advice sounds easy, we’re human. People make mistakes. I have complained to a neighbour. I’ve allowed a problem to frustrate me instead of working on it. I’ve talked politics with someone and always wished I hadn’t. I’ve failed to ask for or declined help when it was readily available, usually out of stubborn pride. I have seen somebody who could have used my help but didn’t offer it because I was busy with my booth.

But making course corrections is easier than people think. Most of the time, it’s just a choice.

If you and I have encountered each other at a market or show, whether you’re a customer or visitor to my booth or a fellow vendor, I hope it was a good experience. And if so, I hope to see you again down the road. If you have any questions I can answer, post them in the comments. I’ll help if I can.

If you attended this year’s Banff Christmas Market and took some of my whimsical wildlife home with you, thanks for supporting a local artist. I love my work, and I hope you do, too.

Cheers
Patrick

Posted on Leave a comment

Reflections on Remembrance


Whether it’s plumbing, building homes, or farming, many people go into ‘the family business.’

If my family had one, it would be the Canadian Armed Forces. Both my parents grew up in career military families. My mother’s three brothers served, as did my father’s three brothers. My Dad had a decorated career in the Air Force and retired after 31 years. With two separate tours overseas, I spent ten years of my youth living in the former West Germany.

Many think it must be a difficult way to live, and I would argue the opposite. It was a privilege to grow up in Europe. Given the choice, I would have stayed longer, and I know my parents would have, too.

Base brats have a connection one can only understand through shared experience. When meeting somebody who also grew up in the military, it’s common to compare postings. Were we ever in the same place, do we know any of the same people, do our parents know each other? You’d be surprised how often the answer is ‘yes’ to all three.

My oldest and closest friend, Darrel, the guy I often talk about when I write about my cabin trips, was a base brat in Germany when I was. He’s five years older than I am, so we weren’t friends then, but our families were. The connection goes back even further. While stationed in France in the fifties, Darrel’s mother and my father hung out together as teenagers.

Eventually, our families ended up on the same base outside of Red Deer in the late eighties, when Darrel and I became friends.

Like a lot of base brats, I thought about a military career. I spent five years in the Reserves,  two of them full-time, teaching basic training at the Air Reserve Training School at CFB Penhold.

Shonna was a Reservist for three years, which is where we met. Truth be told, I might have joined the Regular Force if it hadn’t been for her because I had no idea what I wanted to do for a living, but I knew the military life.

Thirty-three years later, Shonna and I have just celebrated our 28th anniversary, and I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than draw and colour for a living. In hindsight, I made the right call.

But I always try to put extra effort into my Remembrance Day cartoons for obvious reasons. It gets more challenging to develop something new each year, trying to avoid images or phrasing that don’t sound trite, overused or cliché.

Some years, my cartoons are better than others, but I’m pleased with what I came up with this time, the image at the top of this post. The effort I put into the artwork is evident, and the sentiment is sincere.
On occasion, I focus less on veterans of the wars and more on those who currently serve. And throughout the year, I take every opportunity to draw cartoons intended to shame our political leadership into less talk and more action.
From decades-long procurement problems and endless red tape tying up much-needed equipment replacement to an enlistment shortfall that gets worse each year, the Canadian Armed Forces has its issues. Stains and scandals are public record, and for those, they’re held to account.

But our failing as a nation is that we don’t insist on providing them with the continued support they need. You can’t deny them training and equipment when times are easy then expect them to be ready and able when the inevitable hard times arrive.

There’s an old saying that nobody loves a soldier until the enemy is at the gate. These days, the enemy is as likely to be a threat on our own soil as it is from another nation.
Just this year, the military was tasked with emergency deployments when wildfires threatened several communities. They’ve rendered such assistance in countless natural disasters across Canada over the years. Given our changing climate, Canada will require more of their aid in the future.

Just as we might not think much about the nursing or doctor shortages in our hospitals until we need them ourselves, how often do we realize the value of a robust and well-equipped military?
Politicians on all sides talk a good game about supporting our men and women in uniform when it buys them votes, only to slash budgets when they no longer benefit from the optics. The men and women who serve have surrendered their right to openly complain about the government, something the rest of us take for granted.

So, it’s left to us to advocate on their behalf. Because when we fail to give them the support they need, we inevitably fail ourselves and our communities. If we only think of them for a couple of minutes on one day each year, or when we fix a poppy to our lapels for a couple of weeks, it’s only lip service.
Yes, think of those who have fallen in service of our country. Remember them and their sacrifice, so that history isn’t allowed to repeat.

But support those who still serve because you never know when you’ll need them.
____
©Patrick LaMontagne 2023