While painting this portrait of Juno in honour of Kathie’s birthday, our little Bichon, ‘Elmo’, was in the final days of his thirteen-year-old life. Stoically dealing with a heart twice its normal size, an enlarged liver and kidney malfunction, our beloved ‘Elmo’ passed away in his bed just after I’d checked on him on January 24th. For his two daddies, this was a sorrowful occasion and one very difficult to get over.

As the weeks passed, however, we realised we needed to at least try to fill the emotional hole of losing our lovely pet and began searching far and wide for a new puppy. At the same time, I was close to finishing the portrait of Juno and finally did, a couple of weeks before Kathie’s big day:

‘Juno’, watercolour on treated art board, 12″ x 10″, by Lance Weisser

Kathie and Ken were very pleased and the Juno portrait now hangs in their dining room.

And we–Raul and I–have a new addition to our family, a tiny toy Maltipoo puppy named ‘Ashton’, who can never replace ‘Elmo’ and yet has won us completely over by his beautiful perky cuteness and charming personality:

Juno was the sister and wife (hmmm) of Jupiter, and the mother of Mars and Vulcan. The patron goddess of Rome and protector of women and marriage, Juno’s name is heard in Virgil’s Aeneid, Shakespeare’s The Tempest, and Sean O’Casey’s 1924 play Juno and the Paycock.” [source: https://nameberry.com/babyname/Juno%5D

Although I’m posting these progressive treatments over a few days, this painting actually took me several weeks. That’s because I just wasn’t sure how to go about it. Painting complicated hair/fur isn’t my forte. And watercolour isn’t a terribly forgiving medium. So I ultimately chose to use Daniel Smith’s Watercolour Ground applied over white art board. The lovely quality of this product is how easily one can lift mistakes off it–it lifts previously applied, and dried paint, like a dream. What it therefore doesn’t allow is a number of washes or glazes on top of each other, because once a fresh wash is placed over a dried wash, that old one will lift and mix with the new wet one. So my experience has been to use one put-down of wash and let that be the one, and if it doesn’t look good, just put water all over it and lift it right off and wait till the surface has dried and start again.

To help celebrate the birthday of a recently retired Occupational Therapist and good friend–Kathie–her spouse, Ken, the Dean of our local Anglican Cathedral, provided me with photographs of their very charming one year old Labradoodle dog, Juno. My hope was to present Kathie with a watercolour portrait of Juno to mark her upcoming, significant ‘0’ birthday,

Dog portraiture is not something I have experience with/in. And Juno being from a breed known for its gorgeous curls and wavy hair/fur, presented challenges I wasn’t convinced my experience with watercolour could overcome. Fortunately, this painting was one I offered to do, and so if it was beyond my abilities I simply had to say so and produce a watercolour of another subject I knew Kathie would enjoy receiving.

I started with a detailed drawing:

Because Juno’s place to be is anywhere outdoors, I decided to provide a rosebush background.

Western Wall

January 31, 2020

I’m not much of a traveller. Outside of Canada and 45 U.S. States, I’ve visited Taiwan, The Philippines, and Israel. In 1990, the regional tensions were at an uneasy rest and we were able to go all through areas like The West Bank, Gaza, and the Golan Heights.

It is geographically and culturally stunning. Some places are visited for their beaches, their ability to bring an almost somnambulant quality, where rest and relaxation are a given. Israel offers endless contrasts, confrontation, challenge and comparison. I doubt anyone can go and have their presuppositions confirmed. I am quite sure everyone who leaves, leaves changed.

I have never been so moved by a place and a people as I was in Israel.

“Morning Prayer”
watercolour on Arches Cold Press 140# Paper
by Lance Weisser
12″ x 16″
SOLD

Cornelia

May 9, 2015

AT OUR RECENT FEDERATION OF CANADIAN ARTISTS ART SHOW, I kept coming back to look at a piece by the Vancouver painter Ali Sepahi.  (www.sepahigallery.com)

BECAUSE OF RECENT KINDNESSES SENT MY WAY by people requesting commissions, I had enough moola burning a hole in my pocket to be able look at his painting with acquisitional eyes.

BUYING ARTWORK is a wonderful delight that I don’t give in to unless someone is buying one/some of mine.  And I am not beyond bargaining.  If I only have X-number of dollars from a recent sale, that is all I have to spend (a necessary and self-imposed rule).

IF I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY from having sold something of mine–and the painter I’m negotiating with can’t meet my bottom line–I have to walk away.  And that is sometimes very very difficult to do.  Usually, however, an arrangement is able to be made–but has to be done once an art show or exhibit has closed, and–of course–the painting outlasted the event and went unsold.

THIS PAINTING WAS ENTITLED ‘Grandma’.  Not being greatly enamoured with that choice (after all, I don’t exactly enjoy being looked at by onlookers as ‘Grandpa’), I researched female names and after dithering a long time decided the work was to be re-christened ‘Cornelia’.  That’s because I don’t know any Cornelias.  [I was going to name her ‘Beatrice’, but I already know a Beatrice, and it wouldn’t do — insights into my slightly OCD brain.]

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Ali Sepahi, oil on canvas, 61cm x 46cm (24″ x 18″), painted using a colour shaper

THIS WORK IS ABSOLUTELY STUNNING in my book.  The brevity of line, sparse delineation, those slight indicators of head tilt, clutch of serviette, careful reach towards drinking glass–oh my, oh my, but this is GOOD.  And crowning it all is the floral panache of a hat chosen to show that underneath it is no ordinary person willing to be defined by age or the brittleness of what our ripening years dish out.

FOR TEN YEARS my profession was that of Clergy–Presbyterian–and prior to that, my experience of memorable people in the manner of this painting, was due to my having been born ‘a child of the Manse’.  The ‘Cornelias’ I have been privileged to know, and yes, love, from my childhood onward, have been many.  Observing each one, discreetly attending to her carefully chosen paper plate of chicken salad–sitting apart from the younger ones at wedding receptions–finding that place under a large oak at the Sunday School picnic–not wanting to be obvious, while wearing a hat which was anything but humdrum, I knew before long I would be making my way towards her.  And she was always gracious in welcoming me–whether I was 8, or whether, wearing full collar, I was approaching as her Cleric–ready to amuse me with wry observations, regale me with stories of memorable wedding disasters, charm me in a smilingly-hushed voice, all the while allowing her milky-blue eyes to convey her longing that I not yet go visit someone else, and leave her–once again–all alone.

IT MAKES MY OWN EYES WELL UP EVEN YET, how  the Cornelias of this world have unexpectedly nurtured my needy heart time and time again.  And it will be an honour and a privilege to find her–this Cornelia–a treasured place on the dining room wall, even as we observe yet another floral-hatted Mother’s Day Sunday.

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