I had just got off the phone with fellow artist, Drew Harris. We had
been discussing the costs of exhibiting our work in Malaysia. While Drew
had been there many times, this would be my first international exhibition.
After I hung up, I walked around the house in a mild coma adding up the
costs of the show and worrying about leaving my family and steady teaching
job behind for a month. Not wanting to waste any precious painting time
by just worrying, already my brow was furrowed, I cleaned out the wood stove.
Carrying a bucket full of red hot coals, I slipped on my shoes and stepped
out into the frigid Georgian Bay night to dump the ashes in the snow. As
my mind was in the warm atmosphere of the Malaysian art market, I forgot
about that patch of ice on my front porch. Elvis Stojko would have given
me a 10 for artistic impression. I started with a triple lutz which turned
into a half back flip, culminating in a shower of flaming coals. I landed
on my butt on the stone step. In shock, and possibly on fire, I finished
the performance with my best Toulouse Lautrec impression by walking on my
knees in the snow, one hand propped provocatively on my hip. Once I realized
that I had not done myself any serious damage, I hobbled back inside to
paint while wondering what price I would pay in the morning for that little
escapade.
I had recently begun painting in the living room again as the cost of heating
my studio was prohibiting its use in the winter. Stepping over toys and
laundry, I reached my corner and gingerly sat down in front of a triptych
I had been working on for the show. Fired by my brush with death on the
porch and determined to create strong work for the show, I reached for a
jar of cadmium red. Ignoring the $40.00 price tag on the lid, I submerged
a large brush in that delicious colour and spread it liberally across all
three panels. The bands of dull yellow birches on each of the landscapes
were now screaming red maples. Totally mesmerized by this new direction
in the works, I fell into that trance that accompanies an intense painting
session. To keep one foot in the real world, I had a Leafs game on in the
background which allowed me to watch replays of all the goals. I was working
and relaxing at the same time. This, too, is a price you pay to be an artist
in Canada. If you hold down a job, have a family, a mortgage and two rusty
vehicles, you either relax or paint, or do both at the same time. The game
was the first of the CBC Saturday night double header so I stayed up late
into the night painting and watching replays. I could not remember three
of the four teams that played that night, only that the Leafs had won their
game, but by 2:00 am I had been victorious as well! My red maples were strong
works and as a Canadian artist showing in Asia, a subtle reference to a
national icon seemed like a brilliant marketing idea. Five hours ago these
glorious paintings were pathetic eye sores matched only by my lack of confidence
and the absence of credit on my visa card.
Knowing full well that my kids would be demanding full payment on a promissory
note (co-signed by my wife) for my attention and patience all day Sunday,
I took one last look at my day's work from across the room. I was searching
for a title for these three red maple landscapes. Rubbing a bruise on my
bum the size and colour of a hockey puck with one hand, and fingering the
light switch with the other, I resisted the call of my nice warm bed upstairs.
Although I was bruised and battered, I had given 110 percent, played into
overtime and won. Switching off the light and climbing the stairs, I thought
about how much money our cultural heroes of the NHL made that night on the
ice. It was then that the title for my three red maples came to me: Hockey
Night in Canada"!