I hadn’t planned on working on any paintings other than the dog commissions for a very patient client. Those are still underway, but my publisher at Renegade Arts Entertainment gave me a deadline to finish the layout for my bear book, along with a brand new cover painting.
The best part is that after years of procrastination, I delivered.
It’s exciting to finally see this book taking shape, but it has also meant some long days at the desk. I’ll be sharing the new cover painting, the finished cover, and more details about the book very soon.
Since I was already painting this bear, I decided to record part of the process. The result is a different kind of YouTube video, where I talk about trying to use YouTube to promote my artwork without letting it become the work itself.
Last week I shared some photos from my recent visit to the Alberta Birds of Prey Centre in Coaldale. Here’s the video from that trip, featuring encounters with several owls and a couple of baby ravens. This is the first time they’ve ever had baby ravens at the centre, and I just happened to be there for it. A truly magical experience.
Thanks again to everyone at the Alberta Birds of Prey Centre for the important work they do. You can learn more or support them at burrowingowl.com
You can watch and listen above, or read the piece below.
As I write this, I’ve just turned 55.
I’ve got a strange relationship with birthdays, especially in recent years. I’ve never been that big on them. They’ve often felt more like an obligation than a celebration, something I’m expected to enjoy for other people.
Twice a year, I experience a certain flavour of melancholy. New Year’s is one, my birthday is another. It starts a few weeks out, taking stock of where I’m at and feeling like I haven’t done what I meant to in the year that’s passed.
Which is a bit ridiculous, because if I try to name what I actually wanted to do, it’s a mix of specific things, like finishing my bear book or getting out for more wildlife experiences, and vague ones, like doing less doomscrolling, painting more, and yes, making more money.
I’ve never claimed to be above that.
Money may not buy happiness, but it does offer security.
In the months between New Year’s and my birthday this year, I’ve been taking more stock than usual. Not because I want to slow down. I don’t. Time off isn’t good for me. An overactive creative mind left idle tends to wander into places I’d rather it didn’t.
But I’ve become acutely aware that 40 doesn’t feel that long ago. And yet, it’s the same distance between then and now as it is between now and 70.
That lands differently.
I still have a lot of work I want to do. I don’t think I’ve done my best work yet. I’m still improving. I’ve spent most of my art career agreeing with those grade school teachers who wrote the same thing in my report cards. Patrick isn’t living up to his potential.
Those demons are always around. I don’t mind calling them what they are, my own particular brand of batshit crazy, but I’ve come to accept they’re tied to the same place the work comes from.
That’s the trade.
Physically, I’m in decent shape. A few more aches, worse sleep, more bad dreams, a little less tolerance for things I used to shrug off. Nothing alarming. But I’m not naive about where I am on the timeline.
I’m seeing more obituaries for people my age. Some younger. People I’ve known, or at least known of, for years. Heart attacks. Cancer. Strokes. Plans that didn’t get finished.
Didn’t they all think they had more time?
I don’t fear death itself. But I do think about the stretch between now and then more than I used to. I have an acute awareness that the runway isn’t endless.
So what does that have to do with art and funny looking animals?
My start in this career wasn’t early. I didn’t even consider doing this for a living until my late 20s. I’ve been full-time for twenty years now, and for most of that time, I’ve felt like I’ve been trying to catch up.
To who, I couldn’t tell you.
A lot has gone right, some of it by design, some by accident. I never got an editorial cartoonist contract with a daily newspaper, something I really wanted in the early 2000s. In hindsight, I’m grateful for that. Staying self-syndicated meant I still have that part of my business, long after most of those staff jobs disappeared.
Nobody is more surprised than I am that I’m still drawing editorial cartoons every day.
In those early years, I threw a lot at the wall. Some of it stuck, most of it didn’t. Or at least that’s how it felt at the time.
I spent years drawing caricatures of celebrities and regular folks, taking commissions for birthdays and weddings. I did contract illustration work for board games, everything from game cards to box art. I even went down the animation rabbit hole for a while, learning software, recording voiceovers, trying to figure out if that was a direction worth pursuing.
Even though it wasn’t, none of that time was wasted. Every one of those detours built skills I still use.
And one of those experiments became the work I enjoy most, my whimsical wildlife portraits. I painted the first one in 2009 with no real plan. It was just fun, so I did another. Now there are well over a hundred, plus all the sketches and half-finished ideas sitting in folders.
That part worked out.
But something has shifted this year. Maybe it’s the number. Maybe it’s just time doing what time does. Either way, the question feels louder now.
How many more years do I get to do this?
I’m not being dramatic, I’m being practical.
I don’t need a big deal made about my birthday. It matters to me for reflection, but I don’t want it to be a social thing anymore.
A couple of years ago, I rented a cabin for my birthday and went there by myself, just to think.
And it didn’t work.
Because there were the birthday texts. Emails. Phone calls. All well-intentioned. People reaching out because they care. And I answered.
Which pulled me out of it.
That’s when it hit me that it’s not just about wanting the time. It’s about protecting it.
For most of my career, I’ve spent more time running the business than doing the work. Marketing, promotion, logistics, all necessary parts of the job, but they come at a cost.
Time.
And I’ve given too much of it away.
To projects I didn’t really want to take on. To requests I said yes to just to be polite. To things that had nothing to do with the work I actually care about.
I’ve let other people’s agendas, criticisms, and priorities dictate my direction, even when I knew better. I went along to get along. And I regret that.
I can’t afford that anymore.
These days, it’s a polite no.
Because they’re not minting more time.
Even writing this, I caught myself wondering if it sounds too dark. If I should lighten it up, because people just want happy animals and not my voice in their ear going on about this stuff.
But honestly, who am I to decide what people want?
Before I painted my first whimsical grizzly bear, nobody was asking for it. It connected with some people who were already following my work, and then more people came along who liked my brand of wildlife painting, too.
With less time ahead than behind, I don’t have the luxury of trying to be everything to everyone.
The people who like the work, the funny looking faces and the writing that goes with it, will stick around.
Those who don’t will find what they’re after somewhere else. No hard feelings.
We’re all living on borrowed time.
I’d like to spend more of mine on the things that make it bearable.
New prints just arrived this week, including a few brand new pieces I’m seeing in print for the first time. Always one of my favourite parts of the job.
I put together a video going through them, along with a few bestsellers I’m restocking for Calgary Expo. Cheers,
Patrick
Yeah, it’s been one of those weeks. But it came with a weird benefit.
One of the hardest parts of recording YouTube videos these past few months has been getting over perfectionism. I’ve watched too many “how-to” videos about lighting, audio, editing software, production values, storytelling, countless unimportant details that only served to keep me from hitting record and publish sooner than I finally did.
Sometimes it feels like YouTube is a cult, all serving the Great and Powerful Algorithm. Then again, that pretty much applies to all online life.
It gets exhausting.
But since I was already there, standing in the kitchen with a pile of prints I needed to sign and package, I threw my phone on a tripod, clipped on the wireless mic, and just talked. Regular kitchen lights, no script, no plan, only a little more organized than a rant.
You’ll see plenty of hard cuts because the original video was almost three times as long before I sliced and diced it with abandon. I came very close to deleting the whole thing, but ultimately decided it was worth sharing.
If you’re an artist thinking you might want to turn it into a business, and you can’t imagine doing anything else with your life, there will be days when you wonder if you’d have been better off not doing so.
Regardless, I didn’t have the energy to obsess over perfection this week. No music, no B-roll, no intro. Just whatever was left in the tank. Here’s the video.
It seems funny now to think back to my first little 4”×5” Wacom Intuos tablet in the ’90s. The first drawing software I used with it was a great little program called Painter Classic, and I only used it because it came with the tablet. I am not a hoarder, so I recycled it a while back, but took some photos for the memories. Eventually, I got Photoshop and have been shackled to Adobe’s subscription model ever since. Remember when we were allowed to buy stuff, instead of renting it forever? Yeah, it’s a sore spot.
While software and hardware have come and gone in my decades-long career, I’ve always drawn on a Wacom tablet or display. I started upgrading Intuos models as they came out, but at some point, I set my sights on an early Wacom Cintiq.
For those unfamiliar, the Intuos tablets are pressure-sensitive drawing surfaces connected to your computer, mapped to your screen. You draw on the tablet while looking at your monitor. It sounds awkward, but it isn’t.
You don’t stare at your mouse when you use it. Same concept.
Plenty of pros still create amazing work that way. I keep a spare in my office and could probably still do my full level of detail on it. I should test that claim one day.
But I wanted a Cintiq, a display on which I could draw directly on the screen. I’d seen them in art magazines and behind-the-scenes features about movie concept artists.
At Photoshop World in Las Vegas in 2010, I was thrilled to win the Guru Award for Illustration and Best in Show. When they announced the prizes, they said I’d won a Wacom Cintiq 12WX display, a smaller version of the large one I use now. So, I went to their booth on the trade show floor, eager to pick it up, and that’s when I met Pam.
It turned out the prize was actually a tablet, not a display. The announcer misspoke. Hey, mistakes happen, and I didn’t want to make a scene. But Pam told me she’d see what she could do, and the next morning, they said they’d honour the announcement.
That’s how I got my first Cintiq, because Pam made it happen. Over the past 15 years, I’ve had several chances to work with Pam and Wacom. I’ve done demos at Photoshop World, been part of webinars, and recorded videos for new products. Once, Wacom even hired me to demo their gear at a packed event in Calgary. I remember opening a shipment of their displays and thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?”
In 2014, I gave a talk at the Banff high school about editorial cartooning and digital painting, and Pam supplied several Intuos tablets for me to donate to the school.
So yes, I’m loyal to the Wacom brand, but mostly to Pam. She’s been the constant, and has always been great to work with. When the right opportunities come up, ones I’m suited for, she still reaches out, and sometimes, new gear comes with the work. To the guy who bought his first tablet in 1998, that would have seemed surreal.
My loyalty to the products comes from experience. Wacom devices are built to last. In a world full of planned obsolescence, my Cintiq 24HD display has been on my desk since 2012. It’s massive, solid, and still does its job for me every day. Pam now calls it a dinosaur. She’s not wrong, as they’ve had several updated models since, but I love it like someone loves an old car. Here it is when brand new, 13 years ago, along with my Otter in progress, still one of my bestselling paintings. Wait…is that a Blackberry?!
Last month, Pam asked if I’d do a video about their new Wacom MovinkPad 11. I’d already seen a positive review from another artist, so it was an easy yes. We worked out the details, and I was pleased I’d get to keep it. Sometimes that’s not how it works with demo products. She even included a case, which I would highly recommend as it functions as a little stand and pen holder, too.
Wacom will share the video I created a little later, but it’s already up on my channel, with permission of course. Rather than repeat what I said in the video, I’ll let you watch it.
But I’ll say this much: I didn’t sugarcoat it. This is the best mobile sketching display I’ve ever used, and yes, better than my iPad Pro. If I’d had to return it, I would’ve asked to buy it. They now have a larger MovinkPad Pro 14, but I honestly don’t feel like I’m missing anything. While the pro specs are impressive, I’m not as on-the-go as some people and don’t need something that powerful. This is the one I would buy, and it’s absolutely the tablet I wish I’d had more than 25 years ago when I was learning to draw and paint digitally.
Full disclosure: I was compensated for the video, and the sponsorship is clearly stated on my YouTube channel. But aside from some technical stuff, Pam gave me full creative freedom on the two variations of the video I recorded. This post, however, is mine, and it’s from the heart.
When politics, the news, and the noise of the world get to me, as it too often does, painting fur, feathers, and the little dimples on a critter’s nose is often the antidote. I’m at my very best when I’m drawing on a screen.
I finished this Snowy Owl painting last week, just in time to add it to my lineup for the Banff Christmas Market. The first metal prints arrived yesterday and the poster prints will be here tomorrow.
Normally, I release new pieces soon after finishing them. This one took a little longer because I recorded the painting process, then spent another week writing the story, recording narration, and editing the footage.
I’ve been working on Wacom tablets since the late ’90s, and my current Cintiq 24HD has been with me since 2014. It still runs every day without complaint and gets me where I want to go. But for this piece, I used my newer Wacom Cintiq 16 with my laptop. It’s smaller, but I enjoy working on it, and the tabletop setup makes it easier to record.
Each video I make gets a little smoother. The workflow feels more natural, I’m learning to work with the quirks of the new editing software, and it’s far less frustrating than a few months ago. I especially enjoyed shaping the narrative for this one, weaving in photos, and talking about the Alberta Birds of Prey Centre.
I didn’t make it down there this year, too many projects kept pushing it off until their season was over. Hopefully, I’ll make it a priority next spring.
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the new painting and the video that goes with it.
When I was working on my most recent three-cat commission, I set out to record the full process. Every painting takes a significant investment of time and energy, but adding a camera, lights, narration, and audio piles on extra work. That part will get easier the more I do it, but I’m still refining my workflow for creating regular videos.
With each one, I learn a little more, cut down on frustrations in editing, and enjoy the process more.
In this video, I share the early sketch work, talk through the messy middle, and explain why commissions carry a different kind of pressure than painting for myself.
I’ve been working on a commission of three cats, and it’s coming along well. The client has provided some valuable feedback on the images I’ve shared so far. I’ve also recorded a bunch of the process, written the video narrative, and I’m still working on that video and the painting itself.
Usually, I sit down, open a Spotify playlist, and start painting. When I’m recording a painting, however, I need to position the camera above my display, adjust the lighting so the viewer can see my hand, record for five or six minutes, move the camera away, paint some more, and then record another segment a half hour or so later. It can take me out of the groove of painting because I’m thinking about something else rather than getting lost in the work.
Once I finish recording, I need to export the files to an external hard drive, format them for ease of use, and bring them into my editing software. I then speed up the footage to prevent the viewer from getting bored. Next, I will record a ‘talking head’ portion, write the narrative to go along with it, possibly source and add some music. It involves several hours of technical work in addition to the painting.
Now, as I become more proficient, that process will become smoother and take less time. However, it’s a bit clunky right now. I don’t have a workflow yet. But I’m getting there.
Lately, I’ve been feeling a bit trapped by the work-for-hire stuff—both the editorial cartoons and the commissions. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that I am able to make a living in a profession that often pairs the word starving with artist. But sometimes I need to remind myself of the reason I got into this in the first place, for the love of drawing.
So, I took a reset break and painted something just for fun. I based this little fawn on reference I shot at Discovery Wildlife Park about three years ago. It’s still rough around the edges. I could add more detail and background, but for now, I’ll leave it and return to the commission.
Whenever I’m deep into one of these big paintings and hit a point where I’m not feeling it, it usually means it’s time to step away. A few days’ break lets me come back with fresh eyes, and I can see what’s missing. That pause-and-return approach has worked for almost every painting I’ve ever done.
This little one would make a cute vinyl sticker as-is, and I’ll likely add it to my new releases before the Banff Christmas Market. And who knows—after some time away from it, I may return with new inspiration to add more detail, a background and turn it into a print.
As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to share them in the comments.
With a fun bit of music to go with it, here’s a grizzly bear from sketch to finish in under two minutes, painted in Photoshop on my trusty Wacom Cintiq 24HD. Enjoy!
And if you just want to see the finished bear, here it is.
Eventually, I got Photoshop and have been shackled to Adobe’s subscription model ever since. Remember when we were allowed to buy stuff, instead of renting it forever? Yeah, it’s a sore spot.
Over the past 15 years, I’ve had several chances to work with Pam and Wacom. I’ve done demos at Photoshop World, been part of webinars, and recorded videos for new products. Once, Wacom even hired me to demo their gear at a packed event in Calgary. I remember opening a shipment of their displays and thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?”
Here it is when brand new, 13 years ago, along with my 
I’ve been working on a commission of three cats, and it’s coming along well. The client has provided some valuable feedback on the images I’ve shared so far. I’ve also recorded a bunch of the process, written the video narrative, and I’m still working on that video and the painting itself.
I based this little fawn on reference I shot at 
