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Ballpark Bull

A common refrain around here is, “Sorry I’m late, got stopped by the train.”

Well, from time to time, though not nearly as often, you can substitute elk for train.

For a lot of Bow Valley locals, elk are just part of the landscape. Their poop is everywhere, even though it’s hit or miss whether you actually see them. You can walk by a forested area a dozen times before realizing there’s a whole herd in there, dozing their day away.

What, they’re supposed to go to work or something?

It’s comical when a herd of elk crosses a major street during a morning commute and everybody has to wait until they decide to move on, realizing that nobody sees this in Toronto.

But they can also be dangerous and unpredictable, especially during calving and rutting season. So as much as I’d love to get up close and personal with them for reference photos, I’ve seen what can happen when you do.

If you’ve ever seen a bull elk charge a parked car, you soon realize that the insurance claim is nothing compared to what an animal with that size and power, with or without the antlers, could do to a person. The cows are just as dangerous.

Most locals have had the experience of telling a tourist trying to get a selfie with a wild animal that “you are way too close,” only to be told in less than family-friendly terms to “mind your own business.”

But every once in a while, a photo opportunity presents itself with sufficient guardrails in place to make it a magical experience.

While out for a chilly bike ride yesterday, both for exercise and on the lookout for wildlife, I came across some cows (that’s female elk) lying down in the trees right next to a paved trail beside the Bow River. People politely warned each other as they passed, especially if they had a dog.

“Hey, just so you know, there’s some elk in the trees on the right side up there.”

I both warned a couple of people and was warned myself. But the elk seemed comfortable and didn’t appear to care that people were passing by. I took a couple of quick snapshots from my bike, but nothing remarkable or worth keeping for reference.

On my route back, I peered down the riverbank and saw an unmistakable herd crossing a tributary of the Bow. I had a feeling I knew where they were headed. Crossing the bridge, I doubled back on the other side of the river, heading toward one of our local parks, home to a football field and baseball diamond.

Sure enough, as I slowed down near the park, a gentleman flagged me down to warn me there was a big bull and a harem crossing into the park. Continuing down the path would have put me in a bottleneck situation with a lot of elk. He and I both left the trail and headed into a nearby neighbourhood.

I rode down a couple of streets and reached the parking lot beside Millennium Park just as the herd was emerging onto the field. By the time they all arrived, there were easily 50 elk. Some remained on the football field, but several others moved through a small open gate to graze inside the ball diamond.

While I would have loved to take some shots of the larger herd on the football field, with the Three Sisters and other mountains in the background, I’m not a landscape photographer. And I’ve taken plenty of reference photos of female elk over the years.
I did take a few cow photos this week, but my focus was on the large bull. He’d entered the ball diamond and was far enough into the grass that I could comfortably take unobstructed shots without putting myself in a precarious position.
The elk appeared docile and comfortable, and a few people were already at the fence when I arrived. The cows just sauntered by on their side. Thankfully, nobody did anything stupid like going into the ball diamond. Everyone seemed content with such a special opportunity to take pictures from our side of the fence.

Can an elk jump a fence? Absolutely.

But there was loud construction going on right beside the ball diamond, complete with workers, earth movers, machinery and that lovely beeping sound. The elk didn’t seem bothered by any of it.

Still, I chose an exit route and knew where I would go if I had to.

I stood there for an hour, happily snapping shots, enjoying a rare, unobstructed view of that big bull.
I’m a spray-and-pray wildlife photographer. I choose my settings and then fire off a dozen shots at a time, hoping I get several I can use. I’m not selling photographs. I’m gathering reference, and it’s this method that allows me to capture unexpected moments that inspire and contribute to paintings in my style.

What makes a mediocre or boring photo for a wildlife photographer might be one of my best keepers because of the detail and reference it provides. I even keep shots where the focus might be a little off because of the other elements they contain.

A wildlife photographer might spend all day waiting for that one perfect shot. I might take a thousand photographs and find my favourite in one that’s slightly out of focus, awkwardly composed, or otherwise unremarkable.

Because I’m not looking for the perfect photograph. I’m looking for something that makes me think, “I want to paint that,” or “there’s a personality in there I want to capture.”

That’s what lights me up.
I delighted in watching the bull use that massive rack to deftly scratch his own back, contorting his face with satisfaction as he got just the right spot. It was only when I got home and went through the 1,000-plus photos that I realized just how many wonderful expressions I’d captured.
I’m critical of which reference photos I keep and quickly culled those thousand shots down to just over 50 for my photo archive. That’s still a lot.

People often ask me where I get the ideas for my paintings, the personalities and expressions. Life definitely informs art. And even though I recently wrote that I wasn’t in a hurry to paint another elk, I’m happy to say I’ve revised that opinion, thanks to the riches this experience delivered.

I’ll admit, as I write this the morning after, I was tempted to go back to see if they might still be hanging around the same area. Maybe get a few more shots.
But honestly, I got closer to that bull than I ever expected, and had he moved more toward me than he did, I would have backed off, even with a fence between us.

So while there’s always a chance that a better shot presents itself, I’m more than satisfied.

It was a surprise and a gift, and I’m happy I had my camera with a zoom lens along for the ride.

I took a short video of the scene and posted it on Instagram and YouTube.

Cheers,
Patrick

 

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Promoting Art vs. Producing Art

One of the more challenging things I’m navigating this year is how I promote my work.

When you go looking for information, it takes no time at all to plummet down the rabbit hole of free advice. A lot of those people are trying to sell you courses, communities, or get you into their funnel, which is content creator speak for, “How do I make money off your desperation to get more followers?”

Now, many of these people are well-meaning and have some good insights. But much of the advice contradicts the last video you watched, and it can get frustrating.

I could easily spend thousands of dollars today on new lighting, editing software, cameras, courses, business coaching programs and advertising, and it likely wouldn’t get me any further ahead. In fact, it would seriously cut into the already limited time I have to create the art I want to make in the first place.

At some point, promoting the work threatens to become a bigger job than creating it.

So I’m working with what I’ve got, trying to get out of my head and just do the work I need to do. I got back on Instagram, which still feels like backsliding, but at least I’ve kept it off my phone, and I don’t plan to change that.

A couple of days ago, I found myself planning out a video and realized I could just turn on the camera and talk. You know, practice. And to stop myself from overthinking it, I just shot in my office while dusting a bookcase, wearing what I already had on, my standard uniform of lounge pants and a hoodie. I didn’t set up any extra lights, and in fact, I forgot a camera setting, so it’s a little too bright.

But here’s the thing. We’re all consuming so much content these days, scrolling through and past videos at lightning speed just to keep ourselves distracted, entertained and stimulated. Meanwhile, I’m worrying about whether my lighting is right or if I look ridiculous in a hoodie.

I’m still learning this stuff, and overthinking it is proving to be the hardest part.

So here’s the video. Enjoy.

Cheers,
Patrick

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Three Painted Pups


I’m pleased to reveal my three latest commissions, a trio of dogs named Riley, Jessie and Hatcher.

I delivered these last week to a client in Calgary. Suzanne has hired me before to paint a memorial of a black Lab named Santé.
Each commission has a story, and almost all of them become enjoyable memories, both because of the clients I get to work with and the faces I get to paint.

Santé was memorable because Suzanne knew what she wanted, an action pose based on photos she had taken. The details she wanted me to include were fun to paint, and I learned a lot from that piece.

For this latest commission, Suzanne wanted me to paint three separate portraits of Labrador Retrievers she’s had over the years. She is clearly loyal to the breed.

If pet paintings were my only source of income, I could probably get more than a couple dozen done each year. For reasons I’ve laid out before, however, I only take on two or three.

When I create one of my own paintings, it’s usually because I’ve either gone looking for photos of a specific animal, or I’ve found a shot in my archive that inspires an idea. A look, an expression, or even just the lighting can trigger something.

But the choices are all mine, and there’s usually no deadline. When I finish one of my critter paintings, people either like it or they don’t. They buy prints or license the image, and that’s how I know if it connects with people. If it doesn’t, I just try again.

I don’t owe anybody anything.

Commissions, however, are a different animal. Pun intended.

Every job has challenges, but memorial pieces are especially tough, and Suzanne’s recent commission was more difficult than I expected.

Many of the photos I had to choose from were scans of snapshots from years ago, with the lighting and colour challenges you might expect. These are dogs she’s had throughout her life, and I can honestly say I would have turned down at least one of these paintings if it had been a new client wanting me to paint just that dog.
But Suzanne has been great to work with in the past, and I couldn’t very well say yes to one or two of the three dogs and not the other. There was also no rush.

There were several delays on this one. At first, it was my challenge finding the time to fit it in. But Suzanne was also moving into a newly built home, and when it came time to start, she let the next client on my list jump the queue because she just didn’t have the focus for this while dealing with the move.

I can certainly understand that.

So I painted another commission and came back to Suzanne when I was ready to start.

And still, it took a long time.

Because here’s what I hadn’t really considered. While it seemed like one commission for three dogs, it was still three separate paintings. In practice, that meant three commissions’ worth of painting, decision-making and attention to get them all right.

Suzanne was specific. She gave me some great background on each dog and told me personality traits that definitely helped me create better paintings.

She told me Riley was famous for her side-eye, and that’s how she wanted me to paint her. Since she had the photos to back it up, I was happy to accommodate.

That detail proved especially helpful when it came to painting two dogs who were very close in colour.
When I sent work-in-progress shots, Suzanne helped me correct some features that didn’t quite gel with the dogs I was painting.

If I recall correctly, I originally had Hatcher with a more open-mouth expression, but Suzanne wanted something subtler. She also asked me to change the three vertical portraits to square compositions so they could be displayed together in the spot she had chosen.

As shipping and delivery are included with my commissions, I was happy to drive into Calgary last week and present the finished 12×12 metal prints, ready to hang on the wall. I had offered larger sizes, but that was the size she wanted.

Suzanne has a wonderful art collection. She owns a few other larger paintings I’ve done, but she has also commissioned work from other artists, including a few whose work I know and like.

When I delivered these latest commissions last week, I got a tour of her new home, which meant I also got to see some new art. Talk about a bonus.

In recent years, Suzanne has spent time making little wooden carvings herself. I remember seeing some of her early attempts, which already showed talent, but it was a treat to see a lot of her latest work.

Of course, I was doubly amused because they’re mostly little animals with character of their own.
When I delivered the Santé commission in 2021, I got to meet her new black Lab, River, as a puppy. Last week, I got to meet the energetic adult she’s become and hear about some of her unique personality traits.

I’m fortunate that many people have hired me to paint their pets over the years, and I don’t take that lightly.

Because it’s a custom painting and a significant investment of my time, I know this sort of thing is not an affordable purchase for most people. But for those who enjoy my work and want to see their pet painted in my style, I’m grateful for the opportunity and do my best to exceed their expectations.

At present, I have three clients waiting patiently for their turn. The next two are also previous commission clients, and the third is a family who has been collecting my work at Expo for many years.

I’m looking forward to each of those pieces.

Though I have already agreed to paint two dogs for one of those clients, I shared with Suzanne that after this commission, I’m no longer taking on more than one animal for the same client at the same time.

With these three Labs, I had to work on them at the same time so that when finished, they would look like they belonged together. Had I painted one completely and then moved on to the next, I doubt they would have.

And because one dog already takes a significant amount of time to paint, including all of the back and forth that comes with a commission, taking on several for the same client means everybody else waits much longer.

So going forward, one animal at a time.

As you read this, I will have just emailed the next client to see when they’d like to start.

Cheers,
Patrick

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Winter Wolf, Six Years Later


It was this time of year in 2020 that I finished painting Winter Wolf.

At the time, I wrote that I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, which is often the case when I finish a painting. You get so invested in the brush strokes and spend so many hours staring at the same thing that your perception gets warped. You just can’t see it clearly anymore.

I learned long ago that I need to give each whimsical wildlife portrait a chance to rest.

And I never know which pieces will resonate with people. Some of my personal favourites don’t connect with those who follow my work. And while I have fond memories of every painting I’ve done, and each has taught me something, several of my most popular prints, the ones that sell well year after year, aren’t necessarily the ones I’d hang on my own walls.

But this one? I love it.

And fortunately, so do a lot of you, especially at the Banff Christmas Market.

It’s not only the right time of year, but the right place to show it off. This year, I’ve ordered an 18×24 metal print of Winter Wolf, so it’ll be hard to miss as people walk the aisles of the Banff train station. And for those without that much wall space, I’ll have plenty of 11×14 prints available.

The Banff Christmas Market runs November 19 to December 13, and I’m looking forward to sharing this one again, along with several brand new paintings making their market debut.

Of course, you don’t have to wait until November. Winter Wolf is currently available as an 11×14 print in my online store.

A quick calendar reminder

My Wild Animals 2027 calendars are available now, and the first orders have already gone out! The 16-month calendars are $17.99 plus shipping. I’ll have them at the Banff Christmas Market, too, but if you’d prefer to get yours ahead of the holiday rush, you can order directly from my website.

Order your 2027 calendar

Cheers,
Patrick

 

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Wild Animals 2027 Calendar

It’s that time of year again, the launch of the Wild Animals 2027 calendar!

As usual, this year’s selection is a blend of new paintings and familiar favourites to help keep you smiling throughout the year.

This is the 8th year Pacific Music & Art has published a calendar of my work, and I know many of you look forward to it.
I’ve ordered what I think I’ll need for subscribers, along with enough to keep me stocked for all four weekends of the Banff Christmas Market, which starts in less than a month. (Already?!)

But don’t wait too long and be disappointed. Last year, I still had people asking for calendars in January after I’d sold out.

The price is the same as last year, which I hope is a pleasant surprise given the price of everything else right now: $17.99 plus shipping. Shipping within Canada starts at $7.50.

Unfortunately, I’m still unable to ship to the United States because of the ongoing trade disruptions. For other international orders, send me an email and I’ll do what I can to make it happen.

The calendar is live in the store. Here’s the link. 

Cheers,
Patrick

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Fall Colours and Construction

Living where we do, it’s easy to take it for granted, and that might seem weird to people who only get to see the Canadian Rockies once in a while. But I’ve talked to other people who live in beautiful places, and they’ve had the same experience.

You still have bills, work issues, family drama, car trouble, and sometimes you forget to look around.

But every so often, the world smacks you right upside the head and reminds you of the stuff you’re not paying attention to.

I took Shonna out for dinner for her birthday last month, and as we left The Stirling Lounge in the Malcolm Hotel to walk to the car, the evening light looked surreal.
There’s a phenomenon around here that we never quite get used to. When the light is right, often when fog or cloud cover is low in the valley but you can still see the peaks, or at certain times of year from certain viewpoints, the mountains look MASSIVE.

Mountains. Aren’t they always massive?

Yes, but sometimes they look twice their size and so unreal that they might as well be CGI or AI. And photos never capture it. You have to be surrounded by the light to see it, and a camera doesn’t do it justice. At least not a photo I know how to take.

I received a very large order of metal prints this week, preparing for the Banff Christmas Market. There were also three dog portrait commissions in there. I recorded some video of unwrapping everything, including closeups of the brand new pieces, but I’ll have to record the voiceover later.

You see, right across the street this week, the town has been jack-hammering concrete and ripping up the ground. Last week, they had to move some utilities first.

It’s a necessary improvement to the street, and it had to be done sometime. Everybody has to deal with construction, I know. But it still made working in my home office with all that very loud noise a challenge.

Fortunately, it’s been a warm fall week, and ridiculously stunning. So when I completed the work that had to be done, I got on the bike and went looking for elk.

Live here long enough, and you get used to seeing them. They’re just part of the landscape, to the point that a lot of locals aren’t surprised or impressed with them anymore.

But I’m a wildlife guy. If I’m biking along a trail and a squirrel starts cursing at me from a tree trunk, I’ll stop and take its picture. That just makes it curse more, like a sailor, which means more pictures. Dude, it’s your own fault. I didn’t even know you were there until you swore at me.

I feel the same way when I see an elk. I just want to take its picture.

Now, you never want to get close to these animals, especially during calving season in the spring or rutting season in the fall. And having lived in this valley for 32 years, I know better than to do something stupid to get a photo. Too many tourists learn that lesson the hard way.

But a bull elk with a full, impressive rack, so proud and sure of himself? You only get to see that at certain times of the year. And that’s what I was after.

The trail system in this town is second to none, and it’s one of my favourite parts of living here.

The Town of Canmore has issues to solve. Name a town that doesn’t. It’s ridiculously expensive to live here. You’d almost faint at some of the grocery prices, and businesses struggle to find staff who can afford to live and work in the community.

It’s a dark joke that people think everybody who lives here is rich. For the record, you’re thinking of those with second homes here, many of whom only live here part-time and complain about the taxes.

But one thing this town has gotten right is its commitment to getting people to walk and bike more and leave their cars at home. Our trail system in and around town? I’d challenge you to find a better one in Canada.
So I went up to Three Sisters by the golf course, down along the Bow River, to Millennium Park, and other places where elk are known to frequent.

For a couple of those days, I didn’t see any. Just lots of evidence they’d been there.

Yes, I’m talking about poop.

But while I wasn’t finding elk, I was still riding the trails around town through some of the most beautiful landscape you’ll see anywhere in the world, in my favourite season to see it.
This is Quarry Lake, on the road up to the Nordic Centre. It’s a local swimming hole in the summer, with a nearby dog park, and just a lovely place to be. Hard to believe it was once a scarred strip and open-pit coal mining operation.

Many of the shots in this post are right off well-worn and paved trails, next to neighbourhoods and the Bow River. You can cut in and out of one stunning postcard after another.

When I finally found a herd of elk on Tuesday morning, it was by accident.

While on the river trail near the old train bridge, I stopped my bike because I noticed a couple of cow elk moving around in the trees below the trail.

I circled around to the neighbourhood on the other side, locked my bike to a sign post beside the local pickleball court, and walked into the trees, carefully, because elk blend in very well.
I stood there for a few minutes and saw an elk lying down about twenty feet away. I hadn’t noticed her until just then. Within a few minutes, giving themselves away by their ear twitches, I realized the whole area was full of elk, most of them lying down in the fall brush.

Unless you were really looking, you couldn’t see them. Then you couldn’t NOT see them.

Fortunately, they were all in front of me, and I was able to back off and watch from a safer distance. But it was a thrill. And it dawned on me, with all these cows, there must be a bull. That’s how this season works. One big bull and his harem.
I eventually spotted him, just munching away on leaves or grass, far enough away that I wasn’t worried. I managed to get the above shot, but it’s unremarkable. Handheld at 300mm, in the shadows. To get the shot I’d really want, I’d have to get too close to be safe.

My last time being charged by an elk was while living in Banff, when I was younger and faster. I don’t need to experience that again.

On Wednesday, I’d already been working since 5:30 a.m. at my desk when the construction noise outside reached peak volume around 9. So I grabbed the camera, got on the bike, and went out again.

This time, I’d just crested the river trail near Millennium Park when I saw a big bull on the other side of the dry tributary of the Bow that only holds water part of the year.
A few cows were heading into the trees, and I managed to get a couple dozen shots of him before he disappeared into the woods after his harem.

I’ve already painted a bull elk, a  personal favourite piece called Bugle Boy. I’ve since retired it because it wasn’t a bestseller. From my experience, elk aren’t particularly popular paintings. At least, not the ones I’ve done so far. But maybe someday I’ll paint the one that changes that.
Regardless, I’ll keep chasing the shots.

Because taking the photos and imagining what I might paint has become as much a part of the experience as the artwork itself.

Cheers,
Patrick

 

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Back on Instagram. Sort of.

Four years ago, I stepped away from Instagram.

I had spent a lot of time posting artwork, trying to build an audience, and doing all the things artists were supposedly meant to do on social media. But I wasn’t seeing any noticeable improvement in sales. The return on the time I was investing just wasn’t there, so I stopped.

I don’t regret leaving the platform.

If I regret anything, it’s that I didn’t start years earlier, back when simply posting good artwork had a better chance of building an audience organically. By the time I was putting serious effort into Instagram, the platform had changed, and during COVID it became even easier to get sucked into Stories, Reels, posting schedules, engagement tactics and endless advice about what the algorithm supposedly wanted.

For the record, despite many people speaking with great authority on the subject, nobody has ever convinced me they really know what the algorithm wants.

Had I stayed, I suspect I would have spent far too much time trying to get better at Instagram. Instead, I spent that time trying to get better at my business.

But people still ask if I’m on Instagram. People still want to DM me there. People still follow me, even though the only thing on my account for the past four years has been a post telling them I’m not using it.

So I’ve been wondering whether there’s a way to make Instagram useful again without letting it become another job.

The thing about being self-employed as an artist is that everything is an experiment. What worked yesterday may not work tomorrow. Something you once thought was a good idea might turn out to be a waste of time, while something you abandoned years ago might be worth another look.

I’ve been self-employed for more than 25 years, and the only real constant has been adaptation. For a long time, editorial cartooning was the biggest part of my business. As the newspaper industry changed, I had to change with it. I developed my wildlife paintings into another part of the business, expanded into licensing and retail, built an email newsletter, started experimenting with YouTube, and now I’m working on a book of my bear paintings.

Some things worked. Some didn’t. That’s business.

Diversification has helped keep mine alive, but diversification doesn’t mean doing everything. It doesn’t mean I need to be on Facebook, TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, Threads and whatever comes next, feeding them all every week. There’s a big difference between diversifying and scattering your attention everywhere.
There’s also a practical side to visibility. I’m working with a publisher on my bear book, and when it comes out, I’ll have a responsibility to help promote it. The same goes for retailers, licensees and sponsors. Those are partnerships. They’re putting money, time, shelf space or resources behind my work, and I need to help send attention their way too. Sometimes being in business means playing the game, as long as you know why you’re playing it.

One of the hardest parts of being self-employed is that you have to do almost everything yourself. I make the art, draw the cartoons, maintain the website, deal with customers and retailers, handle orders, bookkeeping, licensing, newsletters and everything else required to keep the business moving. Somewhere in there, I still need to paint.

So when somebody says I should be making more Reels, more Stories, posting at the right time, tracking trends and figuring out what the algorithm wants this week, I have to ask a pretty simple question: to what end?

I can work my ass off doing all of that and still not sell any more artwork. Being busy isn’t the same thing as making progress.

There’s still an assumption that if an artist posts their work on Instagram, sales naturally follow. I wish it were that simple. Think about your own habits. How often do you see something on Instagram, click through to a website and actually buy it? Not once or twice over several years, I mean often.

That doesn’t mean Instagram has no value. Attention and buying intent just aren’t the same thing.

Four years ago, I was trying to build an audience there. More followers, more engagement, more exposure, and hopefully more sales. I’m not interested in chasing 100,000 followers anymore. That’s a vanity metric unless those followers actually do something.

If a few hundred people discover my work, visit my website, sign up for A Wilder View or eventually buy something, that’s more useful to me than thousands of people liking a post and moving on.

I do believe repeated exposure matters. That’s why companies advertise. You see the same product, company, artist or brand often enough and eventually it becomes familiar. I’m not going to use a gambling app, but I’m certainly aware they exist.
Maybe somebody sees one of my bear paintings on Instagram today. A few weeks later, they see another. Later, they come across one of my YouTube videos or see my booth at the Banff Christmas Market or at The Calgary Expo. Eventually they visit my website, sign up for A Wilder View or buy something.

I can’t tell you how many people at live events have asked me, “Where have I seen these before?”

I have no idea, but I’m glad they saw them somewhere.

Over the past few years, I’ve put much more effort into my website and asking people to subscribe to my emails. I get far more meaningful engagement and connection from my email list than I ever did on social media. That’s why A Wilder View remains the destination.

It’s also why I won’t put my Instagram handle or YouTube channel on my marketing material. I point people to my website and invite them to subscribe.
That’s how I’m going to treat Instagram this time. Not as a place to build an audience for the sake of having an audience, but as a window into my artwork and a doorway to my website. Finish a painting, post it on Instagram, point people toward my website and A Wilder View, and get back to work.

I already have plenty of artwork to share. I don’t need to create a separate stream of content just to keep Instagram happy. And no, this doesn’t mean I’m going back to Facebook or suddenly making TikToks.

I’m still not convinced returning to Instagram is the right thing to do. In fact, going back makes me uncomfortable. I’m simply no longer convinced that staying off it forever is necessarily the right thing either.

Leaving the platform four years ago was a business decision based on what I was getting out of it at the time. Returning now is another business decision, with different goals and a much smaller investment of my time.

Maybe it brings in a few subscribers, a sale, a licensing contact or simply more people who remember my work later. Maybe it does none of those things.

I’ll plant the seed and see what happens. If it bears fruit, great. If it doesn’t, I’ll look for another crop.

Cheers,
Patrick

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And a Local To Draw Them

The Rocky Mountain Outlook, the Bow Valley’s newspaper of record, turns 25 this week, and I’m asking myself where the time went, hardly an original thought.

Shonna and I moved to Canmore a month before the Outlook’s first issue, after seven years in Banff. For reasons I won’t get into, I was ready to move on from my three years drawing editorial cartoons for the Banff Crag & Canyon. Even though this upstart paper hadn’t published its first issue yet, I was willing to give it a chance.

In hindsight, it was one of the best decisions of my life.

Carol Picard was the Outlook’s first editor and one of three partners who risked a lot to launch the paper. I have often written about my gratitude for how much her mentorship contributed to the longevity of this career I never expected or planned for.

Were it not for the Outlook, I likely wouldn’t have self-syndicated. Without syndication, I wouldn’t have been able to leave my full-time job in 2006 and become a full-time artist. And without that, I may not have created my first grizzly bear painting in 2009.

The newspaper side of my career may no longer provide a full-time income by itself, but it gave me the skills and opportunities to adapt so that I can still create art for a living. I am at my best when painting fur, feathers, and funny-looking features. And that might not have happened without Carol and the Rocky Mountain Outlook.

So when it came time to draw a cartoon for this week’s anniversary, I made it about me, without apology, because I’ve had that cartoon space on the editorial page every week for 25 years. I’m not a journalist, and never claim to be. That’s a profession with a whole different skill set than drawing smart-ass commentary every week.

But I’ve been a part of this paper since the very beginning. And I’m proud of that.

(here’s the column I wrote for this week’s issue)

1,300 cartoons later…

When I drew my first cartoon for the Outlook, I had only a few years under my belt drawing for The Crag & Canyon. Having never gone to art school, I learned on the job. Those early cartoons are hard to look at, but you have to churn out a lot of bad art before you find the good stuff.

It was another five years of cartooning on the side before I took the full-time artist plunge, a career choice I had never considered when I moved to the valley in 1994.

I’ve been a self-syndicated editorial cartoonist for most of that time, drawing five or six other cartoons each week for newspapers across Canada. As the industry changed, my art business changed with it, eventually expanding to include whimsical wildlife paintings. Those are sold in places like the Toronto and Calgary zoos, licensed on products around the world, and at venues like the Banff Christmas Market each year.

People often call them “cartoony, but real.”

Imagine that.

But through it all, there’s been the cartoon every week for the Rocky Mountain Outlook. I have never missed an issue in 25 years.

Occasionally, another newspaper has asked me to draw cartoons about its local issues, and I’ve politely declined. Just as it often takes a local to understand a cartoon about this community, it also takes a local to draw one.

From 1,300 cartoons in this paper, it’s hard to pick favourites. Cartoons I drew 20 years ago still apply today, on issues we still haven’t solved.

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Click here to read the digital edition of this week’s Rocky Mountain Outlook.

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My Little Tree Hugger

A new painting finished this week. I now have all the planned images completed for the bear book, plus a few I didn’t expect to finish and include. Now I just need to write some more stories and put it all together in InDesign.

This painting, which I’ve called Treehugger, was originally supposed to be the cover of the book, but my publisher needed one sooner than that. I’m still happy with Crossed Paws in that prime spot, and this new piece will have a two-page spread in the book.
Regardless of which painting ended up on the cover, however, it was always going to be Berkley. I’ve painted her more than any other bear.

Having had the joy of meeting her when she was an orphaned cub in April of 2017 at Discovery Wildlife Park, both Shonna and I had several opportunities for close contact with Berkley in her early years, and it was remarkable to get to know such a joyful and gentle bear. And Serena, who raised her, has become one of our favourite people.

Though close contact is no longer allowed for anyone but the keepers at the park, my time getting to know Berkley has been one of the most profound experiences of my life.

It was only fitting that the last piece for the bear book was another painting of Berkley, from reference I took in the fall of her first year.

I often talk about the personality showing up in a piece, that unexpected moment when I’m painting little brush strokes and life just seems to appear. It’s always stirring, often a bit emotional, and more times than I can count, I’ve actually said aloud, “There you are.”

And I don’t even realize I’m going to say it until I do.

On this painting, it was visceral. One minute it was a painting of a bear, the next it was Berkley.

For all the stress, worry and grind that comes with doing this for a living, those moments can’t be bought or planned. They have to be earned. And I’m grateful every time, when the effort pays off.

I’ve painted six or seven bears in the last year, and once the book is done, I’m going to take a bear break for awhile.

They remain my favourite animal to paint, of course, and I have more usable bear reference than I could ever paint from in this lifetime, but too much of a good thing and I might forget why I love them so much. The next time I paint a bear, I want it to be because I miss it.

And I’ve got so many other animals I want to paint, especially the domestic series I’ve been planning for several years. I took the reference photos earlier this year. Now I just need to create the paintings.

Right now, however, my priority is finishing this book and preparing for the Banff Christmas Market, which will be here before I know it.

Cheers,
Patrick

 

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A Bear of a Business

I’ve been working on this sketch painting for the bear book, and since Infinite Painter on my Wacom MovinkPad 11 was already recording the process, I figured I’d keep recording once I brought the piece over to my larger drawing display.

Stopping a piece before I paint any detail feels like I ate my veggies, but didn’t get dessert.

Rather than just talk about the painting, I used the process footage as a backdrop for something I’ve been struggling with lately: the business of art, and why it feels especially difficult this year.

Here’s the video.

Cheers,
Patrick