Sunday, 17 May 2015


Nature repossesses her environment at the slightest opportunity.  As soon as the weather warms up, plants eagerly stretch towards the sun, nasty red ants (they bite!) build craters of sand near stones and trees, male red-winged black birds squawk and dive to protect their nests, and an army of  other creatures moves into the neighbourhood.

In previous posts, I wrote of the many unexpected visitors that have graced our property since we moved in three years ago. The list includes bullfrogs, groundhogs, foxes, metal-pecking woodpeckers (loud peckers attract more mates), field mice, snails, and of course, legendary racoons. It's rare to have encounters with wild animals because most of them have the sense to avoid humans. 

Our friendly neighbourhood cats also visit regularly and probably keep many wild things at bay around here. Recently they failed us.  

The back door was open and I suddenly noticed an animal peering into the house through the screen. I initially throught it was one of our neighbour's cats, but this one seemed larger than either Arthur or Oreo.  I stood up, edged slowly towards the door, and came face-to-face with nature's version of Zorro.  In spite of its exceptional appearance, I really didn't want it on my stoop.  I  assumed it would scoot away as soon as it saw me but no.  It looked right at me with calm, cool, collected eyes while I felt anxiety knot in my chest. 

I called my roomie and sure enough, he had already spotted Rocky through his office window.  We both dashed for our cameras and started to shoot.  It was a fearless creature who scratched a lot, washed itself repeatedly (I had no idea they were so "up" on hygiene) all the while casting the occasional glance at us.

It was an incredibly sleepy animal who decided to nap in a number of unusual positions at our door.  At one point, its head hung over the step like a tiny sack of potatoes.  We wondered if it might be sick.

Was it male or female?   It soon became apparent that Rocky was a "she" as her belly was alive with nipples. 


She snoozed for what seemed to us an interminable time.  We really didn't want Roquette to move in and feared that she might be pregnant because of her uncontrollable  urge to sleep. 

In a moment, everything changed.  She awoke perfectly rested out of a deep slumber, took a few guzzles out of our yet unopened pool, and nonchalantly wandered off never to be seen again.

Lovely as she is, I hope things stay that way. 

Tuesday, 5 May 2015


Here are the English and French press releases for the exhibition "So Says - Ainsi Dit".  Thanks to Claudine Ascher for organizing such an interesting event.  I invite you to come and view the show which runs until May 24th, 2015.  

Artists were asked to document their process.  Mine follows after the press releases.

“You were doomed to put on a print dress and a rubber girdle and sit in a rocking chair on the porch….”

When I read Margaret Atwood’s quote, I was consumed by waves of memories.  


Memory 1:

I come from a small town.  My parents and I would often take short road trips in the surrounding countryside on Sunday afternoons.  Porches played an important role in rural areas.  After church Sunday mornings, dressed to the nines, locals spent their afternoons rocking and watching to get a sense of what was happening in the world.  If strangers drove by, as we did, they were eyeballed as outsiders who’d best not stir up any trouble. I will never forget those looks, a blend of curiosity, wariness, and xenophobia.

Memory 2:

There was a house I used to avoid in my neighbourhood.  A young woman who was obviously suffering, would rock wildly on her parent’s balcony and bellow like a sick donkey every 30 seconds.   I was afraid of her.

Memory 3:

Women’s issues have always been a concern of mine.  I think of how we have been portrayed over the years, waiting, always waiting; waiting for the men to arrive. 

What I found particularly interesting about the quote was the order in which Atwood listed things:

  1. Doomed
  2. Print dress
  3. Rubber girdle
  4. Rocking chair
  5. Porch
Doomed:  A woman is in an impossible situation that she can’t get out of, fated to wait and rock in perpetuity.

Print dress:  This is the kind of flowered dress I saw women wear on my road trips.

Rubber girdle:  Interestingly, the girdle is mentioned after the dress.  I take Atwood literally and place the girdle over the dress. 

Rocking chair:  I want it a bit warped and lopsided to underscore the mood.  She is forced to sit on a slant.

Porch:  It is old, faded, in disrepair.  Weeds grow through and around things.  They are out of control.

These are the changes the painting went through...  

On the left, the painting is roughed out.  I proceed to paint the girdle pink and to darken, (doom and gloom) the background.  

I outline the limbs and define where I want white trim.  

I add a dandelion on the bottom left.  (They are about to sprout on my property and I am dreading having to pull them out forever and ever.)  I vary the colours in each brick. The shoes are brown.  I decide to make them match the dress.  Final refinements include adding more weeds around the bricks and darker shadows in the background, trimming the left post of the rocking chair, and adjusting the arms and hands.


I am tempted to create another painting based on the "Doomed Cafe" initial sketch, which would take place in a social setting with lots of savoury (and naturally unsavoury) characters.  Who knows where it will all take me.  A small paper piece is in the works at the present time.  

Saturday, 2 May 2015


The desk had a hole in the upper right hand corner.  A shiny new bottle of navy ink fit snugly inside it.  

I was going to learn how to write.

School decided we should become acquainted with dipping pens, the kind that permanently stained our clothing for the upcoming year. I could barely contain my excitement at the prospect of actually writing with a pen!  (Until then, we'd only been printing in pencil).  

Imagine crusty men of old, writing in the gloom by candlelight, their bushy eyebrows and long beards dematerializing into the shadows.  It was like that but sans darkness, eyebrows, beards, and the candle. I was in another world.  

I smudged and blotched my way through years of practice.  If water happened to drop on the ink, the words would disappear into beautiful blooms of gradient colours.  Writing was definitely an aesthetic experience.  

Our pens evolved over time and eventually sported a little gizmo on the side that pulled out to suction ink into a cartridge. Dipping became obsolete. This was progress at the cost of experiential joy.  

Eventually pens came with cartridges that were already filled. The colour range was lovely, inks came in black, dark blue, and turquoise (I loved turquoise!)

Last week I came across my drawing pens. This triggered a nostalgic fit so vivid that I felt compelled to run right out and buy the old fashioned writing kind.  I initially looked online for fountain pens and was aghast at prices.  I hollered to no one in particular: "Hey people! What's with this???  I had one in Grade 3 and it cost almost nothing!!!"  

Supply and demand I guess.  

I grabbed my coat and told my roomie that I would see him later because I was going to buy a fountain pen. He looked at me as though I had just come back from cavorting with bats in the proverbial belfry.  

The ensuing dialogue went something like this:

HIM:  "What brought that on?"

ME:  "Um, I just want one."

HIM:  "Why?"

ME:  Well, um, I was thinking about what it felt like when I was a kid...writing with a pen, the ink bottle, the blotter, how the ink flowed, how the letters varied in size, how interesting the experience was.  I'm going to get one to write in my journal."

The love of my life still looked totally befuddled.

I rushed out and zoomed to the nearby office supply store. Nothing.  I went to the local art store.  Plenty of art pens but finding a simple fountain pen that wasn't for calligraphy was more of a challenge.  Finally, with help from the clerk, I bought one made by a British company that was way too expensive.  Luckily I happened to have a gift card.  It's easier to impulse buy with a gift card.

Writing with it wasn't as easy as I remembered.  It didn't flow like the one I had in my youth.  I had to shake it every time before writing.  

I tried to remember what they taught us in school.  Cursive writing was fun, full of curvy lines. I think it went something like this!

Letters had to be of even height. I often chewed on my protruding tongue to achieve a passage of visual beauty. 

I'm still having fun with my new pen although I wish that the ink would flow more smoothly.  I have to write at a certain angle to get the results I want.  

It's a writing pen but I can't seem to stop myself from doodling.  C'est plus fort que moi.

Thursday, 16 April 2015


My brain is flowing out my nose in a continuous aqueous stream. At this rate of loss, I should invest in a tissue company before I am no longer capable of rational thought.

A nasty, demon-powered virus has inflamed my sinuses and eclipsed my spirit. The frustrating part is that I may have unwittingly contributed to its triumphant invasion.

As an artist without a day job, I am still, after two and a half months, trying to find a working rhythm and routine.  One advantage of not having to get up at 6:00 in the morning is exercising the freedom to work late into the night.  After years as an early but groggy riser, my body is resisting change and assailing my immune system.

From what I can gather, the benefit of working while others sleep is doing so in absolute silence and tranquility.  I nestle inside an invisible egg, far beyond the fibre optic reach of telemarketers.  The flip side rolls in the following day; energy levels plummet as I am reassigned by the body police to a blurry, unfocused, parallel universe.

Yesterday I was up at 5:30 because I couldn't breathe. I grabbed a nearby box of 3-ply tissues, plunked myself in front of the keyboard and wrote:  

Birds chirp as the crawl space pump spits out melting snow.
peel masking fluid off a paper work.
I don't have to rush.  I am grateful.

Deep stuff confirming the obvious...the head cold has fried a portion of my brain. On a positive note, (I always look for one), even with throbbing, swollen sinuses, I managed a frisket peel and started a blog post. If this isn't a manifestation of discipline, I don't know what is.  I understand that I am not ready for the army.

Wednesday, 8 April 2015


I am still amazed at how commanding, man-made, vividly-coloured metallic birds manage to soar through our skies. 
Physics was never my forte.  

Like many, I prefer terra firma, but I've never been one who, in pre-flight terror, clutches the nearest airline employee for dear life in an attempt to avoid boarding.  I am generally reassured by smiling flight attendants who emit an air of total calm as they prepare one and all for take off.  

My first flight ever, and the always attractive stewardesses (beauty was on the list of hiring criteria then) were young, fearless, unmarried women who were oblivious to the pitfalls of risk taking.  Airlines attempted to make the trip delightful and civilized, a brilliant strategy to maybe help passengers like myself, forget that we were actually soaring at 20,000 plus feet above the planet. 

My long legs were nowhere near the seat ahead of me.  I could wiggle in my chair and grab a safety belt without scraping my hand against the rough, durable fabric. The aircraft interior was in nearly pristine condition and free food arrived in little warm containers filled with delicacies prepared by airline chefs!

Flying is no longer what it was.  

I recently returned to Montreal from Austin, Texas. The flights to and fro were okay, late coming back because we had to wait for a good part of an hour in Detroit while a technician repaired a couple of overhead bins. 

I was happy to have leg room on the first part of the trip back (until the stopover) because my companion and I were seated at the emergency exits.  Strangely, the more we inclined towards the jet stream, the colder I became. Initially I ignored it, assumed that my imagination was overactive or that the air conditioning was on full blast.  As time went on, my right thigh felt as though I had left it in the refrigerator for thirty minutes and my toes recalled the sensation of driving a rusty Volkswagon Beetle in twenty below weather. 

Cold air was seeping into the cabin via the emergency exit door.  I borrowed my partner's winter coat and wound it tightly around my legs to keep warm.  Before long, condensation launched a steady stream of water from the window down to my shoes.  Not exactly what I would call a high-end experience.  What happened to the colour coordinated blankies and pillows?

Free service included tiny bags of either pretzels, peanuts, or chips along with water, a soft drink, or juice.  

Are you trying to stay hydrated?  Here!  Have salty food!
Do you want to keep your blood pressure down?  
Tough titty! 

Other beverages, meaning booze, had to be purchased. Part of the rug-type material edging the seat in front of me was torn and suspended directly in my line of vision.  The button to lower my companion's seat was nothing but a hollow orifice.  He could fit his finger inside quite nicely but it was useless for its intended purpose.

A nonstop creaking sound worthy of a Vincent Price  horror movie enriched the drone of the plane.  I would quickly return my car to the dealership if it had that kind of rattle.

These happenings brought to mind memories of the city bus rides I took to get home from high school. 

Drivers had a knack of pushing a little too hard on those brake pedals to simulate turbulence! The occurrence was especially challenging in situations where there was nowhere to sit.  I had to stand and white-knuckle grasp an overhead bar to avoid a solo flight towards the rear of the vehicle.  I landed on my face a few times.  It was not unlike returning from the airplane loo but not quite reaching one's seat during a one thousand foot drop 

The air inside buses was foul, especially in winter. I picked up many a cold virus over the years. Airplanes today also host a variety of interesting microbes from all over the globe that innervate our immune systems.  Supposedly cabin air is no longer filtered as efficiently as it was when smoking was permitted.  It might be a good idea to don a face mask before boarding.

Pretzels were never served on the bus.  If one wanted to eat, it was necessary and healthier to bring a snack, or better still, an entire meal from home.  Hint, hint!

"Air Whatever" takes us to exotic and not-so-exotic places fast and almost always, safely. That's a good thing.  Yet I dream of a day when airlines might once again make the flying experience comfortable and affordable.  Sometimes it's necessary to look back to innovate.

Monday, 16 March 2015


The Rocking Chair

Time capsules are often prepared with the intent of documenting cultural periods in history.  Objects and/or photographs are placed in sealed containers and opened a fixed number of years later. 

Those of us with a penchant for mild hoarding possess our own versions of time capsules.  I, for one, still have a folder containing a journal that I wrote in my grade nine english class, old high school report cards, anonymous letters from a teenage admirer, and diaries that I kept in early adulthood. Coming across personal mementoes invariably leads to a nostalgia riddled afternoon.

I also have boxes of objects that my children made, and anticipate that they may, in later years, enjoy exploring these little treasure troves of their past.  Then again, they might just chuck everything out in dark green garbage bags all the while exclaiming "why did mom keep all this stuff?"

Discovering artifacts, decoding languages, learning more about cultures that came before doesn't only excite archaeologists.  

I recently came across a historical find in the attic of old French and English newspapers dating from 1942-44.  They are seductively fragile, yellowed, in some cases darkened to near black. Each page must be turned with care as the paper will either immediately disintegrate or tear.  These gems were printed during World War II.  The news, for the most part, is horrendous, not unlike today's. Humanity never learns from its mistakes.

This unintentional time capsule is an artistic gift from the universe.  While the newspapers are probably too dry to work with, (I must admit I'm still at a point where I feel it would be sacrilegious to rip them up...that may change over time), I've been photographing parts to either work with collage or to create digital prints.  

The exploration begins (amidst all those other projects I have in my head!)

"The Rocking Chair" above was done on my iPad.  

Wednesday, 4 March 2015


The abode is still a shambles due to continuing home improvements. Dust lies everywhere and things are strewn about higgledy-piggledy.  I don't have access to my usual workspace so in the spirit of "gotta-work-no-matter-what", I set myself up at the kitchen table last night to create a small work.  

I wanted to prepare a piece for Monika Mori's Turquoise International Mail-Art-Project. I printed up an image the day before but wasn't entirely satisfied with the results. I was apprehensive about sending a printed postcard to Austria and instead decided to create a one-of-a-kind painted work. I didn't know whether my wonderfully decadent, thick, hot press paper would withstand an application of acrylics but it surprised me by accepting the water-based medium extremely well. The process was a great learning experience.  

I started out with this image on my monitor.... 

...but the initial printed version on matte paper was extremely washed out. It nevertheless unveiled unexpected shapes and lovely lilac stains.  

My studio has full spectrum lights but the kitchen is lit with incandescent bulbs.  I let a warm artificial beam affect my colour choices. 

I applied both heavy body and liquid acrylic paint to the image, in some areas thick and opaque and elsewhere, extremely diluted.  My new printer uses dyes rather than inks.  To my surprise, these didn't blend with the acrylic paint.  Dyes it seems, merge with the paper.

I ended up with this.

Both versions are interesting for different reasons. Colours are hot, intense and excite me more in the digital interpretation. The tiny painting reveals a softer side that emphasizes cooler blues in line with the theme "Turquoise".  I'm tempted to paint a larger version of this image on canvas but dust, clutter and the workman must disappear before I attempt anything on a grander scale.

Away she flies!  May the post office goddess protect this wee artwork as it crosses the big pond!

UPDATE:  The postcard arrived in Austria.  It got there way more quickly than any mail I have sent to the U.S. in the past.  Bizarre.  Here's what it looks like online.  

Wednesday, 25 February 2015


One of life's constants is change and I am presently going through a transition precipitated by me. I finally left my day job.

Subsistence income derived solely from sales of artwork is a rarity for many artists.  Most have other jobs. The up side is that beyond demonstrating extreme versatility, artists are constantly learning new skills and acquiring seemingly unrelated knowledge. Invariably cross-fertilization feeds perceptions and affects creative output. 

Like Hindu gods and goddesses with propagating arms multitasking on a spiritual plane, I have soaked up experiences that nourish Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi-like flow and personal growth.  Be that as it may, clots occasionally block the stream of creativity.

The Teacher

In the past, I sometimes felt frustrated, as though there were two of me, one side free, uninhibited (to a degree), and the other side stuck within the confines of business decorum, rules and regulations.   

Two of Me

The day job required attentiveness and active listening.  I couldn't let my mind wander.  Switching mindsets as I entered the studio became increasingly challenging. The artwork became smaller in scale and I was compelled to learn new tools that didn't require a change of clothes or set up time (digital apps and software).

I am now free to create at will but remain unsettled at some primordial level.  Adjusting will take time, it's only been three and a half weeks.  I spent the first one painting like a madwoman to meet the deadline for a recent show.  Creativity under pressure is a given once the invitations have been sent.

Weeks two and three and a half were spent adjusting to a series of home improvements involving loud noises, spreading sawdust, and shopping for upgrades. I also kept coming across other things to do (not art related) that involved sorting, organizing and cleaning.  

A couple of nights ago, I took the bull by the horns and played with a new mouth atomizer.  I ended up going to bed way too late because it was so much fun. I blew hard, sometimes nothing came out, at other times it the ink or paint flew everywhere.  Still have to get the hang of it but interesting things are beginning to happen as I combine mediums.  

I guess it's all about being patient as I realign the egg yolks!

Vaudreuil Yolkscape

Sunday, 15 February 2015


The choice of an inspirational object becomes the impulse for creating three works that reveal an artistic process.  My object is the fried egg.

The exhibition Through the Artist's Eye asks the following questions of participating artists:
  1. What do you see that others do not?
  2. How do you experience it?
  3. How does it manifest itself as you create your art?

I began a study of the fried egg last summer and decided to continue this exploration for the exhibition using principles of analogical play.   


Question 1 is particularly difficult to answer since I don't know what or how others see.  I use as many senses as possible when creating art. 

Before painting a fried egg, I must fry it.  For me seeing is in large part experiential, I paint from the inside out.


Frying an egg involves getting the temperature of the pan just right so both the white and yolk are cooked to perfection (no rubber egg will penetrate my parted lips). I hear a lovely crackling sound as it connects with the surface of the pan while a discernibly healthful aroma infuses the air.  Some might add salt and pepper to their eggs, not me!  I love mine fried "au naturel". A gem to behold, it's shiny, colourful, almost too beautiful to eat.


It's an egg...from a chicken.

I think about all the types of eggs that exist in the world including those that were once inside my own body. Associations abound but there is little time to wallow in fanciful thoughts.  I have to eat this sucker before it gets cold!  The yolk runs as I pierce it with my fork or perforate it with piece of warm toast. My mouth waters as it gently slips down my esophagus.  

What does it remind me of?  When two eggs are on a plate, the yolks look like eyes. They stare at me emptily.  Using my "eye pad", (sorry...bad pun), I place photos of my breakfast atop a picture of my face. The ensuing image in turn, becomes my 2015 Happy New Year's card. 

This playful thought process inspires my second painting.  I block out the eggs and sketch the face in caran d'ache. I discover that I really like painting fried eggs.  Those little specks of white are particularly delightful as they create the illusion of light reflection.  

I don't really want a toothy grin in this painting and paint juicy red lips.

I photograph my companion with a towel wrapped around his neck to analyze the folds. Elements start coming together. 

I add hair to the top of the head, develop the background and transform the towel into a blue garment. I add stripes to create texture.

I flesh out the lips.  

Shadows are adjusted and more pattern is added to the background.  Additional refinements are needed but I put the painting aside to begin the next work.

The idea of having egg on one's body carries through into the following piece. I plan on painting the iPad sketch of the Woman on a fried egg blanket.  I develop the face but decide to postpone this interpretation.

Instead I paint out the face and leave a multitude of fried eggs on the background.  I ask myself another question: "what if egg shapes were to cover the entire body, like a disease, perhaps "Egg Pox"?  I rummage through my model drawings and find a gesture pose that reflects my state of mind and I block it in on my egg filled canvas.

I add eggshells.

Egg shapes and multiple curves reproduce.  The figure is covered and surrounded with fried wonders of every size.  I consider turning the figure into a bird hybrid but after painting a couple of feathers, I axe the idea.

Refinements ensue, he now wears a black fedora and holds an oversized egg at his knees.

The work is riddled with incongruities but my brush is now possessed by the Demon of Inconsistencies.

My figure appears contemplative, guilty, tormented, his skin is transparent in parts and one can perceive a suggestion of bones.

Voilà!...the birth of a masked bandit obsessed with fried egg thievery (conceived of a runaway mind).

Final works!

The Facial

The Bandit

Monday, 2 February 2015


I'm in furious painting mode at present, finishing one more piece for the exhibition below (must have 3 works).  My choice of subject is the fried egg.  I've been asked why I didn't stick with the bird...well, the fried egg excites me way more. 

What follows is info about the show.  I look forward to chatting with you on the 15th!

Media Release  January 27, 2015  

galerie de la ville 
centre des arts de dollard centre for the arts 
12001 boul. de Salaberry , DDO, que, H9B 2A7 
514-684-1012 ext. 298, 

Galerie de la Ville presents in February/March an exhibition of works in various media entitled Through the Artist’s Eye. 

Artists endeavor to interpret their physical or emotional experiences visually.  The way each artist sees and interprets their subject matter makes their work personal, unique, and often mysterious. Intrigue, mystery, emotion — the intangibles are often what connects or perplexes the engaged viewer.  Often the process the artist engages in to create a work from its concept to final work is shrouded in an air of assumed secrecy to the viewer. 

The exhibition Through the Artist’s Eye invites the viewer to connect and to see the "how and why" in the artist’s personal image making process. Each artist, chosen to demonstrate their personal process from the beginning to the end result, responded starting with their choice of subject; interpreting how they best want the image to be represented on its support, and their ultimate response in the form of a finished image. The artist’s finished work or works are exhibited alongside their subject, and their process is evident.

Branka Marinkovic, Diane Collet, Georgia Priniotakis, Joseph Dunlap, Nada Kyriakos, Janice Poltrick Donato, Jacinta Ionno and Roxanne Dyer each work in a different medium with personal and individual brushstrokes, emotional involvement and appreciation of their subject matter. Their individual eclectic response reveals a cross section of the professional painting community. 

The opening reception for this exhibition will be held on Sunday, February 15, 2015 from 1 to 3 pm. The artists will be present. A free, bilingual guided tour on Sunday March 1 will begin at 2 pm

The exhibition will run from Saturday, February 14 to Sunday March 15, 2015, at Galerie de la Ville, located in the lower level of the Dollard Cultural Centre, at 12001 de Salaberry Boulevard, in Dollard-des-Ormeaux. 

Opening hours are Tuesdays and Wednesdays from 12 to 4 pm.; Thursdays and Fridays from 2 to 5 pm., and Saturdays and Sundays (except opening Sundays) from 1 to 4 pm. 

For further information, or to arrange free guided tours of this exhibition for your group please call 514-684-1012, extension 298. Please also consult our web site:

Source: Bev Wight, Guest Curator 

Communiqué de presse Le 27 janvier 2015 

galerie de la ville 
centre des arts de dollard centre for the arts 
12001 boul. de Salaberry , DDO, que, H9B 2A7 
514-684-1012 ext. 298, 

La Galerie de la Ville présente en février et en mars une exposition d’oeuvres en techniques variées intitulée “À travers l’oeil de l’artiste”. 

Les artistes tentent d’interpréter visuellement leurs expériences physiques et émotionnelles. La manière avec laquelle chaque artiste voit et représente son sujet rend son oeuvre personnelle, exclusive et souvent mystérieuse. Intrigue, mystère, émotion - le caractère intangible est souvent ce qui engage ou crée de l’incertitude chez le spectateur attentif. Fréquemment, le processus dans lequel s’investit l’artiste pour créer une oeuvre, de son concept au produit final, semble enveloppé d’une ambiance secrète aux yeux du public. 

L’exposition À travers l’oeil de l’artiste invite le spectateur à s’intéresser et à voir "le comment et le pourquoi" dans le processus personnel de création d’image de l’artiste. Du commencement jusqu’à l’aboutissement de leur processus personnel, les artistes sélectionnés ont répondu à leur thème en commençant par le choix du sujet; interprétant comment ils veulent représenter de leur mieux l’image sur leur support et leur réponse ultime sous la forme d’une image finale. L’oeuvre ou les oeuvres achevée(s) de l’artiste est (sont) présentée(s) en exposition aux côtés de leur sujet, et leur processus est flagrant. 

Branka Marinkovic, Diane Collet, Georgia Priniotakis, Joseph Dunlap, Nada Kyriakos, Janice Poltrick Donato, Jacinta Ionno et Roxanne Dyer travaillent chacun/e avec un médium différent et des traits de pinceau qui leur sont propres et personnelles, faisant preuve d’une implication affective et d’une appréciation de leur sujet. Leur réponse éclectique individuelle révèle un échantillon de la communauté d’artistes professionnels. 

Le vernissage de cette exposition aura lieu le dimanche 15 février 2015 de 13 h à 15 h. Les artistes seront présents. Une visite guidée bilingue gratuite sera offerte le dimanche 1 mars débutant à 14h

L’exposition se déroulera du samedi 14 février au dimanche 15 mars 2015, à la Galerie de la Ville, située au niveau inférieur du Centre culturel de Dollard, au 12001 boulevard De Salaberry, à Dollard-des-Ormeaux. 

Les heures d’ouverture sont les mardis et mercredis de 12h à 16h, les jeudis et vendredis de 14 h à 17 h, et les samedis et dimanches (sauf celui du vernissage) de 13 h à 16 h. 

Pour d’autres renseignements, ou pour organiser une visite guidée gratuite de cette exposition pour votre groupe, veuillez téléphoner au 514-684-1012, poste 298, ou visiter notre site : et cliquer sur l’onglet Galerie. 

Source : Bev Wight – Commissaire Invitée