Paintings / Sketches / Art

(click image for full view)

Gavin Fudge

"I drew this with a felt marker and Dad helped paint it in photoshop. It is in the style of Japanese art but i don't know what or where it is...its like a fantasy world."

Penelope Stuart

Oil painting portrait of my grandson Louis.

Penelope Stuart

Portrait sketch of my son Paul Fifield

Petra Hekkenberg

Respect and love each other on Facebook too, like we do in person.

Love you all!


Yesterday, our little granddaughter Nova and I had fun going for a walk in Rosebery forest collecting natural materials for Earth day, and then sticking them down on a large piece of cardboard to create a forest collage.

Matty Kakes

This is a photo of a piece I painted in Nelson a couple weeks ago. A public service announcement of sorts.

Not a lot of explanation needed.

Rabi'a Gonzalez

"Truly Viral"

Been working on this six weeks or’s nasty and will hurt you when you come close...

Rabi'a Gonzalez



I love pelicans and have tried to capture some of their unique characteristics. I love the solidness and strength of pelicans, and have often enjoyed swimming amongst them, watching them diving within feet of me whilst plummeting into the sea to catch fish. The two birds flying high in this painting are frigate birds, who are elegant fliers, souring high in the sky capturing thermal air currents. Their eating habits are not to be raved about since they rob and steal from other birds or collect floating dead fish, one of nature’s natural vacuum cleaners!!

I am happy to share some of my paintings with you all and hope you get some inspiration from them, and maybe get out some of your photos and start to paint also!!

Louise Ducharme


Rabi'a Gonzalez

"Dance the Dream Awake"

Lindsay Carmichael

Here is a drawing of a Mourning Cloak Butterfly I often see in my yard/garden.

It is done with pencil crayon, black ink and acrylic paint.

Sue Mistretta

I've lived my life so true to the Chinese astrology Fire Monkey and these "Corona Days" are offering me the opportunity to learn balance and a deeper sense of presence. The image of the monkey appeared in an introspective moment. I am listening and slowing down from my fast track life.


This is a boat scene that I painted at Chacala this year. My friend Donna and I decided to challenge ourselves and attempted to paint this boat scene. We spent the day together, and I completed the painted the following day. The boat dynamics and shadows in the sea were quite challenging!!! Of course I had to add my favourite pelicans who always claim their right to perching on the boats.

Louise Ducharme

Flattening the Curve

Rabi'a Gonzalez

Ava Olsen


Joanne Feenstra

The four pictures in ensemble are called "Almost Out of Yarn" and the individual photos are labelled (they have words on the photos). This project is definitely the result of Covid and me not being able to scrounge around in thrift stores and yard shops.

Also, this is my first pair of knitted gloves....which good knitters will be able to see the flaws...oh well.

Sarah Rousselle

Made a little sign for the lookout after someone found piles of garbage dump there.


I cut out the pieces of construction paper and my daughter glued them together. Thought it would be fun to make a little stop animation out of it.

Sometimes you just have to switch gears a bit. As makers and creative people we can easily get bored of making the same thing. I’ve always had a love for sewing and over the past few years I’ve gotten more comfortable with my sewing skills enough to have the confidence to put it out there. Recently I was asked to make some scrub caps for a friend which I happily accepted the excuse to use up my fabric stash. I was inspired to keep making more and list them in my Etsy shop. Who said scrubs had to be boring?

Justin engerdahl

Throughout the time of this Pandemic, I have started doing something that is called Hydrodipping, not many people know what it is. But It's been something that's kept me leveled and calm throughout this pandemic.

Cora Skaien

Attached are some paintings I have done during the pandemic that I would love to share to your gallery. These are done on glitterboards, so it is hard to get the right lighting and to capture their essence.


Kayla Gaudet

I am a photographer out of Kaslo. My company name is Wild Vantage Photography and I have been working on a passion project about our kids and isolation. Here are a few shots I have been working on. "We will get through this"

Colin Misuraca

Isolating. April 2020



Songs for A Winter’s Night

The lights are down,

the audience quiet,


in expectation.

Tiny lights tickle the eyes,

faint promise of spring stars.

Softly the night falls

with violins and guitars.

The choir weaves a cloud

to sweeten the mood.

Drummers thunder ancestral

memory, urge us to dance.

The things that divide us

are gone—there is only

music, warming winter’s bite

in our bones.

Just for tonight,

the black dogs slumber,

let the innocent rest,

the gates of joy unlock

a child’s wild-hearted wonder.

© 2018 / 2020 Sean Arthur Joyce

Coyotes on the Edge of Town

Coyotes on the Edge of Town


Crisp March night

under half-moon sky.

Coyotes on the edge of town

throating the song of the forest—

fluted, wild as an icy crag,

flawless ease

of ancient lore,

all the dogs silent.

What shivers

is the sub-zero night.

Moon-carved shoulder

of Goat Mountain

an eerie resonator.

Cobalt blue of winter sky

brilliant—stark against fir

steeped in black.

One thing is sure

amongst so much doubt—

a voice

calling out mastery

from the dark


Coyotes on the edge of town

bring out the new year’s pups,

push them right to the rim

of the village. Voices peel

strips off the dark, pent-up

infant throats unsure

how to modulate

joy and alarm, celebration

or mourning, the spine

alert to every note.

Yellow-toothed spirits

singing O that song, that song

so old, its weight is gravity.


Coyotes on the edge of town

swagger, teenagers on a drunk,

daring anyone to leave their houses.

Their legends run up and down

our spines like adrenaline

in an alien key, irresistible.

Closer every day now, weirdsongs

no mere scraps of midnight,

but lippy, in our faces, fed up with us.

Ready to take over. Hell, they say,

even a dog could run things better.

So like it or not, before you wipe out

anyone else in our extended family,

you’re handing over the keys.

And who will come out to meet us

on hard, holy ground?

©2014, 2018, 2019 Sean Arthur Joyce

—Part 1 published in the collection The Price of Transcendence,

New Orphic Publishers, Nelson BC, 2015

Diary of a Plague Year

I had two important things before me: the one was the carrying on my business and shop… in which was embarked all my effects in the world; and the other was the preservation of my life in so dismal a calamity as I saw apparently was coming upon the whole city, and which, however great it was, my fears perhaps, as well as other people’s, represented to be much greater than it could be.

—Daniel Defoe, A Journal of the Plague Year, first published in 1722 regarding the great plague of 1665 that struck the city of London

In my diary of a plague year,

even the pages are dangerous to touch.

Who knows where words have been,

their filthy little hands all over everything.

Medieval plague masks suddenly

became haute couture, long, leggy models

strutting the catwalk like blanched crows,

waving sensual beaks from side to side,

designer gowns clung to an infrastructure

of naked ribs. Biblical prophets

suddenly appeared on TV screens,

God’s angry megaphone squealing

off-key rants about how our sins

led us to this pestilence, how our lust

for touch made us all Typhoid Marys.

Coming out of the grocery store,

a woman leaned so far away from me

I thought she’d fall and shatter.

A man paying for his prescription

spat venom to claim his six-foot space.

My grandpa drowned in his own lungs,

coughing out his final, grieving words:

I’m the one who’s getting off easy.

I pity those who still have to live.

I know what he means. The streets,

airports, concert halls, cafés are now

empty, but the residue of our touch

makes them ache for our presence.

Nothing disappears without a trace,

but will we ever return? Or is this

our epitaph, that as a species we are

oil and water, genetically divided

between leavers and takers, the sane

and the psychopaths, the controlled

and the controllers. Fear is the virus.

Don’t let yourself become infected.

©2020 Sean Arthur Joyce