Tag: Painting

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A Pouty Bear, Commissions, and Tote Bags

A post in three parts. Here we go.
First, here’s a painting I just finished yesterday called Pouty Bear. Even though most of the animals I paint are smiling and happy, I occasionally change them up, even if I know that a different expression may not appeal to people.

My Angry Bear painting is not popular, but it’s still one of my favourites because I enjoyed the work. The grumpy lion, on the other hand, is a pretty good seller, and that surprised me. The Ring-tailed Lemur creeps some people out but definitely has its fans.

Will this pouting brown bear connect with people? Time will tell.
Commissions and Comic-Con

I’ve enjoyed most of the pet portrait commissions I’ve done. Each has a unique story. I like the back-and-forth with clients and am usually happy with the results.

I only paint two or three commissions a year, sometimes only one, so they’re not a big part of my work. I’m OK with that because custom paintings are labour-intensive. Each begins with initial client emails, vetting photos, and discussing expectations. This leads to the actual painting, printing and delivery, which takes several weeks at the best of times. That’s in addition to my daily editorial cartoons and paintings and running my business.

A whimsical wildlife painting takes several hours, too, but each of those paintings has the potential to become a popular print or licensed image that sells for many years. Although every commission advertises my skills to future clients, the painting itself is one and done. It’s unique and specific to the person who hired me. Very few people want a painting of somebody else’s dog.

For my clients, a commission is not an impulse buy; it’s an investment in a very personal and meaningful custom painting. Most people hire me after following my work for a while and becoming familiar with my art style and process. They’ve had time to think about a commission, decide they want one, and only then do they contact me.
At the Calgary Expo a few years ago, Jeremy asked me about painting his dog, Luna. It was several months later before he reached out and got the ball rolling for a Christmas present for his wife, Jenny. Luna is one of my favourite paintings. I enjoyed the experience and look forward to seeing them each year at the Expo. Jeremy and Jenny even visited the Banff Christmas Market this year and brought their dogs along.
I am asked about commissions at shows all the time. For the past couple of years, I have displayed an 18” X24” metal print of Luna in my booth, with a little sign in the corner that reads, “YES, I DO paint commissions. Ask me for more info.”

Since advertising the service with Luna’s painting, I get a lot more inquiries. But here’s the thing: Jeremy was the exception to the rule. Almost nobody hires me for a commission after meeting me at shows. And I’ve realized that talking about commissions is usually the quickest way to get somebody to leave my booth.

Whether it’s at the Calgary Expo or the Banff Christmas Market, here’s how that usually goes. While they scan the metal and canvas prints hanging on the grid walls that define my booth, they see the Luna painting and the commission sign. They get excited that I might paint their dog, and the first question is usually, “How much would that cost?”

I’ve used various talking points to try to soften the sticker shock. I mention that a custom painting is an investment and personal to them. I explain how much work is involved, including printing and shipping/delivery. But as soon as I mention it’s $1900, the disappointed look on most people’s faces is unmistakable.

The price surprises those who are used to buying underpriced art on Etsy, which is often generated AI or photo manipulation. I don’t know how much they thought a custom original painting would cost, but it was much less than what I just quoted them. Because even though very few will flat out say, “I can’t afford that,” it’s evident in their reaction, and that makes them feel embarrassed, even though they shouldn’t. I don’t drop two thousand dollars on anything without planning and careful consideration, so I don’t expect anyone else to.

But now they’re uncomfortable. Their initial enthusiasm for my work, which attracted them to my booth in the first place, is tarnished, and they want to escape this negative feeling as soon as possible. They’ll often ask for a card and say they’ll be in touch, leave the booth, and I know I’m unlikely to ever hear from them.

They never got around to flipping through the 40-50 different prints in the bins, nor did they see the magnets, coasters, stickers, or postcards. I’ll never know how many sales I might have missed if the commission price hadn’t scared them away.

As much as I love showing off that Luna painting, I won’t bring it to shows anymore. I’ll still get commission inquiries at The Calgary Expo, but I won’t advertise them. I’m likely to say that I’m not taking any right now with my current workload.

Like a commission, The Calgary Expo and Banff Christmas Markets are big investments, which I hope will result in excellent sales and allow me to introduce my work to new people. And when they see my happy, smiling animals, along with the occasional pouty bear or grumpy lion, I want to invite them in and show them around my booth rather than give them a reason to leave.

If they sign up for A Wilder View, they can always look into a commission later and decide on their own time that they want to talk about it.

As with all self-employment, art-for-a-living is about adaptation. When something isn’t working, it’s time to make a change.

Tote Bags

Thank you for all the positive comments and emails about the new Otter and Smiling Tiger tote bags I’m ordering for the Calgary Expo. These vibrant printed bags are 100% polyester textured canvas, machine wash and dry, and will withstand everyday use while looking great. Each measures 16” X 13” X 3”.
Several people emailed me asking if I’ll have them in the online store. As with any new product, I must guess how many I might need for the show. Production and delivery timelines mean I won’t get these for more than a month, so I need to order them on Monday to have them in time for the end of April.

While I think they’ll do very well, they’re a significant investment, and I’m erring on the side of caution, which means I hadn’t planned on ordering extras for the online store until I see how they do. And if I added them to the store first and they do very well, I won’t be able to order more in time for Expo.
But I’d love to hear your thoughts.

At $29 plus $5 shipping (in Canada) for one bag, would you buy one if I stocked them on my site? Depending on the feedback, I may increase how many I order tomorrow to accommodate online sales. Please let me know in the comments.

Cheers,
Patrick

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The Ringleader

Some paintings come together easily. A reference photo may immediately inspire an idea, I’ll sit down and mock up sketches, and it will almost feel like the image creates itself.

This was NOT one of those paintings.

I’ve had more than a few frustrating experiences painting where the work didn’t seem to want to come together. I’ve beaten myself up about it, wrung my hands and thought, “Well, I used to know how to do this; I guess I don’t anymore.”

Eventually, I’ve made it through, and some of those paintings became bestsellers.
This painting has been something entirely different. Even though I had a clear idea of what I wanted it to look like, I couldn’t get it to feel right. It was inspired by a photo I took at the Calgary Zoo, and I even had the name of the piece before I painted the first brushstroke.

I came very close to calling this piece finished a couple of months ago. But I showed it to my artist friend Derek, who kindly told me what I already knew. It wasn’t working. The faces were laid out too uniformly, like a tic-tac-toe grid, and the personality wasn’t there.

So I went back to the beginning, discarding dozens of hours of work to start over again. The difference this time, however, was that I looked at it as one piece containing several characters rather than several characters I created separately and then assembled into one piece.
The first go round, I used a specific reference for each lemur I painted and drew them all individually. Even after I assembled them, I kept going back to the individual references for each, and it wasn’t easy to keep track of it all. I made it far too complicated.

When I started over, I abandoned the individual reference. I focused on the expressions and characters without worrying about making each look like a specific reference because I didn’t need it. Lemurs are lemurs; they don’t look all that different from each other. As long as the central character had the most personality, the others were the supporting cast, even though their details were still necessary.
The key to getting this piece back on track was to stop painting individual trees and just paint the forest. Even though this was a challenging painting, with a lot of redrawing and direction changes, I learned from the frustration. These kinds of lessons always contribute to better work in the future.

On Marc Maron’s WTF podcast this week, director James Mangold talked about lessons he has learned in filmmaking. He said that even though you need to start with a plan, if you hold it too tightly, you don’t leave any room for discovery in the process.

The finished piece still doesn’t quite match my original inspiration and vision. And while there are still the same nine lemurs as before, they’re more dynamic in their placement, different angles, placed higher and lower. There are more tails here and there, and I added hands for the ringleader as the central character.

But when I spend too much time with a painting, I can’t see it with fresh eyes anymore, so I don’t know if it’s any good.

What’s worse is that January and February are tough for me, as they are for many people. We’ve been enduring a period of bitter cold the past couple of weeks, and that always sucks the life out of me. I’ve forced myself to go for a few hikes and bundled-up bike rides to get out of the house and exercise, but it’s been a slog.

It’s also a time of year when I spend a lot of money on my business. From the final 50% booth installment for The Calgary Expo, the deposit for registering for the Banff Christmas Market, my first quarterly tax installment, paying for new promotional items, test prints for new products, plus restocking prints for anticipated spring client orders and Expo, and all the materials that go with that, it’s a part of self-employed stress I never get used to. It’s a maxim as old as time that you must spend money to make money, but nothing is guaranteed, so it’s always uncomfortable.

Finally, with the editorial cartoon side of my work, I must follow the deluge of bad news that breaks daily because he-who-shall-not-be-named continues his insane barrage of verbal and economic attacks on Canada. As much as I’d like to turn off the news to preserve my sanity, I can’t do that and still do my job.

All of this, aside from the 51st-state bullshit, is business as usual for this time of year. But when it piles on, it usually puts me in a pretty dark place.
Under these circumstances, my perception of how any finished piece looks is distorted. I have no idea how I feel about this painting and probably won’t for a while. I feel more relief that it’s finally over than satisfaction with the result.

I’ve done several paintings in my career where I’ve felt indifference for them upon completion but grew to love them over time. Maybe this will be one of those, but I have no way to know. Artists tend to put too much pressure on themselves and make more out of their work than they should, and I am no exception. Ultimately, it’s just a painting of some funny-looking lemurs, and I have spent enough time on it.

“Art is never finished, only abandoned.”

Nobody knows if Leonardo da Vinci really said it, but it’s an oft-repeated quote because of how much it resonates with artists, that there is always room for improvement, and perfection isn’t possible.

With that in mind, I’m moving on and will start a new painting in a day or two.

Cheers,
Patrick

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Painting Timber

After seven years living in Banff, Shonna and I bought our modest townhouse condo in Canmore in 2001. We live in an end unit, which means only one neighbour. Anybody who has had the experience knows that whoever shares your walls has a direct impact on how you feel about your home.  Considerate neighbours are worth their weight in gold, and in an ideal world, you get what you give.

This brings me to Chris and Cindy, who rented the place next to us for the past eight years — the best neighbours we’ve ever had.

We didn’t socialize in each other’s homes, but we’d hang out in our shared driveway or backyard, drinking coffee and becoming friends. Chris was home all day like me, and in a bizarre twist of fate, he is also a digital cartoonist and animator, though not full-time. It was great to have somebody next door who spoke the same language.

About five years ago, in the middle of the day, I was walking back from taking the garbage to the dumpster and saw Chris sitting on his front step. Standing on the strip of grass beside his sidewalk was a large puppy.

As she saw me approach, she politely sat down, and that’s when I fell in love with Timber.
Cindy volunteered with the local SPCA shelter here. And though they had fostered another dog that eventually went to live with her parents in Calgary, they hadn’t found the right one for them until they met Timber.

She is what folks around here call a Morley mutt, named for the First Nations reserve just outside the mountains. They’re often strays or abandoned from the city, but many I’ve met have become the most friendly dogs around. Whether true or not, it’s a well-known joke around here that Canmore has more dogs than kids, and I love that about this town.

Chris and Cindy are doting dog parents, and Timber is their spoiled child. With two or three-hour walks each day and the best health and food she could ask for, that dog won the lottery. And so did they. She’s not a needy dog, doesn’t require your attention, and frankly, doesn’t tolerate it from many people. She’s not aggressive, just disinterested.

The best line I ever heard about her was from Cindy. “Timber is three cats in a dog’s body.”

Much to my welcome surprise, however, Timber likes Shonna and me, and the feeling is mutual. For Timber, that means she’ll tolerate the hugs, kisses and mauling for five minutes instead of no minutes. When she’d had enough, she’d go inside, leaving Chris and I out on the step with our coffee.

One of my favourite things was getting a text from Chris every day or two, with a photo of Timber sitting on the grass in front of our door, not hers, with the caption, “Dog on the lawn.”

I’d drop whatever I was doing, scurry down the two flights of stairs from my office, and open the door to a wagging tail, exclaiming, “Hi Baby!” or something like that, and then I’d maul and hug her and tell her she was pretty.

The running joke was only then would I offer a less than enthusiastic, “Oh, yeah…hi Chris.”

It was often the highlight of my day.

I think I only heard her bark three times in the years she lived next door. Two were playful; one was not.

Chris and I stood outside one night talking about a large black bear frequenting the neighbourhood. Timber suddenly started growling and let out a large bark at the fence next to our property. Knowing his dog, Chris guessed the bear was in the yard on the other side of the fence. We retreated into our homes.

Shonna and I often said if we ever heard Timber barking next door, we’d run over to check what was wrong. Thankfully, neither Chris nor Cindy ever fell down the well. (That’s a Lassie reference. Ask your grandparents.)

I have taken many pictures of Timber over the years and always planned to get to a painting. But as art is what I do for a living, I rarely have time for personal projects anymore. And with best-laid plans, I never got to it.

Life in this valley is ridiculously expensive, and when you’re paying a premium for rent, even the beauty of the Canadian Rockies can lose its lustre. Add to that a property management company that seemed to find any reason to target Chris and Cindy for the slightest infraction while letting others around here get away with everything; the day came when they’d had enough. Though we didn’t want to see them go, we couldn’t blame them.

Cindy and Chris bought a home in Calgary in the spring. Before they left, they hired me to paint a portrait of Timber in my style.

While they already liked my work and wanted to give me free rein, I asked for guidance, as with all my commission clients. Before long, I got the personal requests I like. Timber is always wearing a bandana; though she has many, they have a favourite. It has a faded hand-lettered label, and Chris sent me more reference pictures. Canmore dog tags are little hearts, whereas Calgary’s are rectangles. We opted not to put any writing on it, as it would be an unnecessary distraction.

Chris also wrote a long, sarcastic, entertaining email with hilarious details, telling me how many whiskers Timber has on each side of her muzzle, the exact Pantone colours I needed to match on different parts of her face, and other ridiculous technical specifics.

At some point in our many exchanges, I sent the following sketch with something like, “Done. Pay me.”
He printed and framed it and sent a photo of it hanging on their wall.

Because they knew I would undercut myself, they sent the first installment before I could uncomfortably ask for one. Their timeline was “sometime in the next five years.”

I wasn’t about to take advantage of their generosity, so I prioritized it as much as possible. I always want to give every client my best effort, but because I know this dog so well, I obsessed over this painting, probably for much longer than I needed to.
I sent the finished image, and they were thrilled, which made me doubly happy. Because they already had a shadowbox framed 18X24 canvas of my Wolf painting, they wanted Timber’s to match.
 
When it arrived, however, there was a slight blemish near the bottom of the canvas, a flaw that wasn’t on the image file. It was minor, but once you see that kind of thing, you never unsee it. While damage is rare, my printers have always been great with replacing problem prints. Still, the turnaround time meant I couldn’t deliver until the week before Christmas, as Shonna and I wouldn’t be able to get into Calgary together. We haven’t seen them since they moved.

I foolishly tried to repair the canvas with a gold paint pen, which probably worsened it. Without the materials or experience I’d need to fix it, I took it to my friend Derek Turcotte at Electric Grizzly Tattoo and asked if he could help. He’s an incredible airbrush artist.

Derek said he was willing to try. I assured him he couldn’t make it worse as I would have to replace it anyway.
I brought it to Derek’s house a couple of days later, and he matched the colour, finely sprayed the small area a few times, and saved the canvas. You can’t tell there was ever a problem, and you can still see my underlying brush strokes. I held the canvas while he painted with the airbrush, so we staged the above photo after the fact, knowing I’d want to write about it.

If you’re reading this, Derek, thanks again for your help, buddy. You’re awesome.
Of course, the best part of any commission is delivering it to the client, especially when it’s this personal. Shonna and I drove to Chris and Cindy’s place in Calgary last Saturday. Chris correctly advised that I leave the canvas in the car until after we saw Timber so it wouldn’t get damaged. We pulled up, and once out of the car, Chris let Timber loose on the front lawn. She was excited to see us and ran out for attention we were eager to give.

She was wearing the same bandanna.

They loved the painting, and we spent a great afternoon catching up and visiting. They also have Cindy’s parents’ dog now and she’s a real sweetheart. The two dogs get along great, and it’s nice that each has a buddy.

To her credit, Timber was very patient and accepted a lot more attention from us than she’d usually tolerate. Those old neighbours. So needy.

While we have a new neighbour who is considerate and quiet, it’s not the same without Chris, Cindy and Timber next door. We miss all three of them.

But people make mistakes. Theirs was telling us where they live now.

____
For more information about my custom pet portraits, please visit the Commissions page. Thanks!
____

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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

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Painting Lucas – A Commission

I’m happy to share my latest custom painting of a cute little fellow named Lucas.

This was a memorial piece. That anyone commissions me to paint their furry-faced loved one to help them with their grief, and eventually turn sadness into happy memories, isn’t something I take lightly.

Sarah has been following my work for some time. In a recent issue of A Wilder View, I mentioned and shared my commission of Santé from a couple of years ago, prompting Sarah to ask about a painting of her little guy in my style.

She sent one photo with her inquiry, and I was instantly smitten with his little face. Lucas was a tiny little Yorkie who looked like a real-life cartoon character. I tempered my enthusiasm, wanting to see more photos and discuss Sarah’s expectations.

People often think that commissions are cut and dry. Here’s a photo, paint my dog. Several times in my career, I’ve had people ask for a very short deadline and balk that a custom painting costs more than $50. It’s one of the main reasons I turn down more commissions than I accept.

But when I’m working with a client who not only knows my art style and realizes the amount of time and effort a custom painting takes, it’s a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Sarah was a pleasure to work with.

Just a few of the more than a dozen reference photos I had to work from. Just a haircut can make the same dog look like a different pup. It’s then up to the client to point me in the right direction.

For the first month, before I even began sketching, she sent me several photos in different poses. Lucas often looked different from one photo to the next because of the length of his hair, age, and the colouring that had changed throughout his life. With these variables, I needed to narrow down how Sarah wanted him to look. Short or long hair? More grey hair than tan? Puppy, senior, or somewhere in between?

Communication is key with every commission. I can’t do my best work if I don’t know which details are essential to the client.

Finally, Sarah suggested an outdoor setting and mentioned that she had wanted to take him for a photo shoot with dandelions but never got to do that. I thought posing him in that environment sounded like a wonderful idea.

When I sent the final image at the beginning of August, Sarah responded, “I’m overwhelmed with your portrait of my little man, his eyes and all that hair! His cute little head tilt and the hint of a smile as he sits in the flowers is just perfect. I showed my Mom and she said she had a smile through tears and that was me too. What an incredible amount of work, I probably can’t really imagine but it is very obvious in the finished image!”

However…

“There isn’t anything wrong, but I am wondering how difficult it might be to make a small change to Lucas’ nose? He had a wee dimple at the top centre that gave it even more of a “heart” shaped appearance.”

I had painted Lucas with more of a rounded nose at the top like I do with some of my whimsical wildlife images. It’s often a feature of my cartoony style. But going back through the reference images, I saw that dimple detail in all the photos. I just didn’t put the weight into it that someone who knew Lucas would. In my opinion, that means I got it wrong.

Back to the drawing board, I corrected my mistake, and Sarah was pleased when I sent the revision. I’m genuinely relieved she mentioned it. Had she not, I expect it would be a distraction each time she looked at the painting, thinking, ‘Too bad he got the nose wrong.’Though Sarah and her spouse live near Edmonton, and I could ship the painting, she and her Mom had planned for a couple of nights in Canmore this past weekend, and I delivered the 18”X24” stretched canvas to their hotel. I took them outside into the sunlight for the reveal so they could see the bright colours and the details. Whether on paper, metal or canvas, my work always looks better in print than on a screen. People have been saying that to me for years. Sarah said it, too.

She started to cry and finally managed, “It’s him.”

I don’t get better compliments than happy tears.

The 18″X24″ canvas, which of course looks better in real life. Blame the photographer.

 

Thanks again for trusting me with this most personal of paintings, Sarah. I’m so pleased you’re happy with it.

I’m working on another commission that I hope to finish soon. With my current workload, they’re taking a little longer than usual, but thankfully, Sarah and my other client didn’t have deadlines. That’s an important factor when I consider taking on a custom piece, whether I can deliver what I promise.

If you’d like to learn more about what’s involved with hiring me for a custom pet portrait in my whimsical style, please visit my Commissions page.

Cheers,
Patrick

 

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Big Bear on Blue

I dropped off a large print and sticker order to the Calgary Zoo in February. As usual, I wandered with the camera, looking for reference pics. I often come home with surprises that sometimes end up as paintings.

It was the first time I’d had the opportunity to see the new polar bear enclosure with the two residents, Baffin and Siku, who came to Calgary via Winnipeg’s Assiniboine Park Zoo. They had been orphaned as cubs, found wandering near Churchill, Manitoba, by conservation officers who deemed them too young to survive on their own.

According to the Calgary Herald (Nov 30, 2023), “Their new home is a $11.5-million habitat that features two acres of tree-filled meadows, a five-metre-deep plunge pool, a series of dens and rock fixtures, and a shallow pool for the bears to wade in.”

One of the interpretative staff told me there are sections specifically designed to give the bears private time when they want it.

For most animal reference pics, I’m looking for face shots to show the detail I like to paint. I got several unobstructed shots of Baffin lounging on a rock on a sunny winter day, but even with my 300mm lens, I couldn’t get close photos of his face. It can take me years to get the right reference, and even when I have the images, I might not paint from them for a long time. So, I figured I’d try again next time.

Still, I liked some of the pics I took and figured I could do some full-body sketches or rough paintings for practice to include in the bear book.

I often sketch on my iPad in the Procreate app with the Apple pencil, especially for editorial cartoons. When I want to upsize it and draw or paint more detail, I transfer the file to my desktop PC and continue working on it with my Wacom Cintiq 24HD in Photoshop.

Though I never intended this to be a finished piece, I kept returning to it, thinking I’d just put in a little more time. Before I knew it, I had a  new painting.

The northern lights are a common and popular theme in polar bear art, and savvy commercial artists give people what they want.

But for over a decade, I have heard from retailers and customers that they like my art because it’s different and unique. When the first gallery in Banff gave my work a shot more than ten years ago, the manager said that he wouldn’t have been interested, no matter how good they were, had I brought him true to life animal paintings. That’s what everybody else was doing.

While I still featured a version of the northern lights in this piece, I stuck with a blue colour scheme rather than the usual greens and purples for no reason other than that’s what I felt like painting. I love a blue, white and grey palette.
Titles are challenging. While I prefer to come up with something funny or endearing for each painting, I also need to consider my clients and their customers. Simple identifying titles are often better, especially as my portfolio grows. I already have two polar bear paintings on offer, so I decided Big Bear on Blue was a good description and title for this piece. And I liked it better than Polar Bear on Blue, but don’t ask me why.

With several other paintings in progress, I hadn’t intended to slide this painting into the queue. It was a fun discovery that didn’t take as long as I would have thought, and in case you missed it, I’ve got a thing for bears.

Prints are on the way, and I’ll let you know when this piece is available in the store.

Cheers,
Patrick

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Ring-tail Renditions

When the Land of Lemurs exhibit opened at the Calgary Zoo several years ago, I was excited to get up close and personal with these critters. Lemurs are a matriarchal species, meaning the women are in charge. Only females were in residence at the time, but I don’t know if that’s still true.

Because of disagreements in sample size and the territories surveyed, the number of Ring-tailed Lemurs left in the wild is under dispute. However, one thing experts agree on is that the wild population is in severe decline. Deforestation and hunting means lemurs may go extinct in our lifetime.

The World Wildlife Fund and several other conservation organizations work to educate and support communities in Madagascar to help them coexist with lemurs. Unfortunately, colonies in captivity may one day be the only place where lemurs exist.

One of the interesting features of the lemur habitat at the Calgary Zoo is that the lemurs are free-roaming within the enclosure. People must enter through a controlled gate, where an attendant explains the rules. Once inside, other employees and volunteers answer questions while ensuring the safety of the lemurs.

The enclosure design means the lemurs can go where they like, including climbing atop an unsuspecting person who crouches down for something. With no fence or glass, this open concept makes taking photos a real treat.

Early in 2020, before the world shut down, Wacom commissioned me to record a video using their Wacom One display, along with a voice-over narrative I wrote. I recorded a ring-tailed lemur painting for that project, and it’s one of my favourite pieces, mostly because she looks ready to snap. It’s also a popular print with many of my collectors.

I’ve long wanted to create another painting featuring several lemurs, inspired by the following photo I took in 2017. All these lemurs look a little stunned; harmless goofs, not too bright, except for one.
This photo always makes me chuckle. That evil-looking stare straight down my lens, the squinting focused eyes, the chunk missing from her ear. She reminds me of a gangster saying, “Come closer. See what happens.”
What can I say, I see cartoon characters in real animals. This is why I paint the way I do.

I have considered this photo and the painting I have wanted to create for years. I even have a title for it: The Ringleader. The finished piece will be 7 or 8 of the goofy, stunned faces filling the canvas, with the sinister ringleader in the middle, staring down the viewer.

The big challenge isn’t painting the faces but making them look like they belong together. That’s why I’m working on seven faces in the same file. The ringleader herself is a separate file that I started earlier this week.

I haven’t yet got to the stage where I compose them into the finished piece, but I’m getting there. Once they’re each in position, I’ll need to paint more hair and fur to blend the faces as they overlap. There won’t be any bodies or paws because this painting is about the faces filling the space, but I will paint a few tails coming in from the sides and bottom.
I’m happy with how it’s turned out so far, and I’m also hoping to offer the finished piece as a puzzle later this year.

I’m used to working on one painting, start to finish, posting it, printing it, getting it licensed, and moving on to the next one. While quality is my main concern, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of quantity.
So, when I’m working on several paintings at once and more involved pieces featuring multiple animals or more detailed backgrounds, paintings that take much longer than a whimsical head and shoulders portrait can be uncomfortable. It feels like I’m not getting enough done.

However, I’ve realized in recent weeks that there is a silver lining in working on multiple pieces simultaneously. Each painting gets time to rest, and when I open a project I haven’t touched in a week or two, the deficiencies or problems jump off the screen. That’s good because it reveals areas of the image I need to improve.

Last Friday morning, I opened this goofy gallery of Ring-tail Lemurs for the first time in a few weeks. I laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of the seven faces on the screen and said, “They look so stupid.”

And I meant it in the best possible way.

Would I have had that moment if I hadn’t let the painting rest? I doubt it. My comical critters surprised me. What a gift.
The finished piece will be a lot more detailed than the images in progress you see here. But the vision for what I’m trying to achieve is clear in my mind, and I’m having fun discovering each of these faces.

All that’s left is hours of painting to bring them to life.

Cheers,
Patrick

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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

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A Merry Meerkat

I’ve taken hundreds of meerkat photos at the Calgary Zoo over the years. Their antics never fail to amuse me, and because of their natural inclination to stand upright and still, staring at anything that catches their eye, they often appear to be posing for me.

The problem with taking photos of these critters is that every time I go, I try for a shot that’s just a little bit better than any I’ve taken before.

I recently realized that when a photo opportunity is rare, and I can only get three or four decent ones, I’ll make them work. I’ve painted many of my whimsical wildlife pieces with limited reference, even some of the most popular ones, like the Otter and Smiling Tiger.

But I know that whenever I go to the zoo, I’ll have time and opportunity to take more meerkat shots, so I never have to commit. The ones I have may be good, but maybe the next ones will be better. This means the painting never happens because I’m still waiting for the perfect reference, even though I know there’s no such thing.

The other false belief I’m working to shed is that once I have painted an animal, I must move on to a new one. It often feels like I’m only allowed one shot at it, so I had better make it count. Why bears get a free pass on this fuzzy logic is beyond me.
Earlier this year, I painted my Bugle Boy piece. It’s proven to be a popular painting and has become one of my favourites. But I almost didn’t paint another bull elk because I painted one several years ago, even though I never liked it.

My bull moose painting has long been retired from print. It was popular in its day, and I liked it then, but I’ve been reluctant to paint another one. However, after the positive elk experience, I have gathered new reference to take another crack at a moose. I think I can do a better job of it now.
When it came to meerkats, I’ve long had the idea to paint a whole troop of them, so painting a solitary meerkat wasn’t on the radar, or I’d do the occasional sketch painting, but never a finished production piece. But just like the three giraffes I painted for my Long Neck Buds piece, each of them a portrait on their own, each solitary meerkat might become part of that eventual group painting.

Or it’s just the first meerkat I’ll paint, of who knows how many more down the road.

Cheers,
Patrick

 

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A Genial Grizzly

Winter reared its ugly head this week in Alberta, and I’m already feeling the blues. It happens every year, but painting a happy face usually puts me in a better mood. Grizzly Bearapy. It’s an effective prescription.

For my primary reference for this piece, I selected a few I took during a day with Berkley at Discovery Wildlife Park several years ago. It was the same day I took the reference for my Peanuts painting. But I also referenced other grizzly bears to vary the features.

Half of my business is editorial cartooning; for that work, my clients are newspapers. That’s a business model that was on shaky ground already when I got into it a couple of decades ago. Today, many papers are hanging on by their fingernails. Despite that, it’s still worth my time and effort to draw five or six syndicated editorial cartoons each week for several publications across Canada.

However, I shouldn’t need to explain why that could change tomorrow.

About thirteen years ago, anticipating the day when editorial cartooning would no longer be enough to provide a full-time income, I looked for ways to diversify. With a steady decline in newspaper revenue in recent years, it was a good call. Thankfully, my whimsical wildlife paintings became the other half of my career and business, which still has plenty of growth potential.

While neither part of my business is presently enough on its own, together, they’re my full-time job.

It can be easy to get complacent and coast when things are going well enough. But life can turn on a dime, and the things we think only happen to other people can quickly happen to any one of us.

I’m an unapologetic pessimist; there’s no sense denying it. I’ve had too many plans scuttled by someone else’s decisions, so I don’t take anything for granted. One year, I lost nine papers in one day because a newspaper chain sold. When the pandemic hit, I lost even more. I’ve had licensing and other opportunities vanish overnight when corporations changed direction or personnel.

As we’re all aware, companies are quick to talk about trust and loyalty when convenient, but their actions often walk a different path.
Though this painting was fun to do, as are most of my whimsical wildlife pieces, it was a commercial decision. It’s the first in a series of paintings I’m creating to promote my work to new licensing clients. It’s also another painting for the bear book.

If you’re a self-employed artist, don’t put all your eggs in one basket, especially relevant in today’s economy.

By the end of this week, I’ll have drawn seven editorial cartoons, finished this grizzly bear painting, worked on a pet portrait commission, written content for the book, created page layouts so my publisher can get pricing estimates, and done month-end invoicing and bookkeeping.

All are necessary to keep my business viable but also prevent monotony. By having different things on which to focus, I’ve always got something else I can be doing. Painting grizzly bear fur and features for three hours is delightful—eight hours, not so much.

So it’s nice to make progress on a painting in the morning, then switch to drawing an editorial cartoon, sort and select photo reference, read some marketing material, research and reach out to potential new licenses, plan for upcoming gift shows, or write a post like this one.

Then, when I return to the painting the next day, it’ll be with fresh eyes to correct any errors and add more life to the piece for a few more hours. I get to enjoy the work I love most without allowing it to become a yoke I resent.

Cheers,
Patrick