Even today the smell of a new box of crayons will take me back to the hot, lazy summers in Saskatchewan where I grew up, much loved, the youngest of five children. My parents were certain that their fifth child was “special”, possessing this artistic ability. I embraced this identity wholeheartedly, but quietly. In a family where athleticism was the norm and everyone claimed “they couldn’t draw a straight line without a ruler”, I was happy enough to make this my own. Childhood was idyllic.
In truth, my passion was sports and hours were spent on the skating rinks in the frosty Saskatchewan winters and from morning til night playing baseball, track and field, football and whatever other activity could be thought of, in the endless prairie summer days. My tomboyishness was a source of pride for me and I strongly identified with my older brothers who were pursuing sport on a professional level. Being an artist was ok….but I wanted to be known as an athlete, too.
My family continued to be tireless in the encouragement of my artistic side and only mildly interested in my athletic pursuits. So, in my quiet moments I would retreat to a delightfully private world in a never ending supply of new crayons, fresh coloring books and paper. Contentedly, I drew family portraits that included people as well as animals. When I was thirteen, my parents found Mrs Peterson, the wonderful painter and gentle teacher who would introduce me to oil painting. Without complaint, my Dad would drive me the distance once a week for my lesson. A shift was occurring and the seed of passion for art was not only firmly planted, but growing steadily.
One of my earliest recollections is from grade two. A crayon drawing of my favorite doll, which I’d received for Christmas, was chosen along with another student’s work, to tour Japan. We were invited to a luncheon at the elegant Bessborough Hotel where other students’ artwork was displayed and ours was showcased. This was a very proud moment and perhaps my first realization that art was part of me. Art was something I did naturally and joyfully, but not yet something that I would later consider as a career option. I somehow felt that creating art for a living would take the fun out of it. Becoming an artist was something that would eventually just sneak up on me.
My family passed along to me a love for the country life and animals. When I was seven years old, my sister married a farmer and their farm became a second home for me. This special place and my Dad’s dear horses were the inspiration for many of my early works, all the more treasured because the farm is no longer there.
Years later, in my early twenties, I would meet my future husband who wholeheartedly supported and encouraged what now, undeniably, had become my passion. Art. Quite simply, this life reached out and grabbed me. I was defenseless with all these nurturing and supportive people around me.
After more than 2 decades as an artist, I have found that this passion for creating art does not diminish, but intensifies. It’s fuelled by the knowledge and the reality that the more one knows, the more one realizes how much more there is to learn. This is basically a make-work project with no end in sight.
Several years ago I opened a studio close to my home in Calgary, Alberta and took pleasure in teaching many aspiring artists in both watercolor and oil painting workshops. The teaching experience proved hugely rewarding for me, and in particular, for the wonderful people that have come into my life.
“Life is to be experienced and is what breathes life into art” is an adage to which I subscribe. Simply, “things” that I cherish in my life, and that are dear to me, have always been a constant in my work: my spirituality, my three children, my grandmother’s teacup, my husband’s boyhood ball glove, my brother’s rosary. These everyday, ordinary things that I treasure for the emotions they evoke in me, are the lifeblood of my work.
Painting, for me, has become a process of great spiritual fulfillment. It brings me closer to God and therefore keeps me grounded and hopefully, humble. Each and every new insight and inspiration I am fortunate enough to experience in my daily work, I attribute solely to the Grace of God.
It is my sincere hope that those that view my paintings are reminded of the everyday beauty that I see and experience the same wonderful feelings.
Bobbi Dunlop
