Granny Cuts a Rug, Ink on Paper; © Jennifer Pohl

At thirteen, my grandmother Alice was a cook on a schooner up north “on the Labrador.” At eighteen, she married Walter –a man of gentle good humour and twinkling eyes– and raised two families with him (his first wife had died young). He died at 89 with a single tear running down his cheek and a smile. They had been married for nearly sixty years. My grandmother was lonely for a couple of years before she finally agreed to marry a high school sweetheart, a fine man of the same age and tiny stature who had toted her books to their one-room school over half a century before. With him she spent her final years living a second life, touring the Grand Canyon, falling out of a fishing boat into the freezing Atlantic, skidooing, and quickly recovering from a broken ankle after being chased by a horse.

Always spry and barely five feet tall, she had enough love to go around for every member of her adoring family. She may not have understood my every painting, but she supported and uplifted me through her example and love. When she passed away at the age of 83, she was surrounded by caring family and friends. My cousin Tina said “she was never old“. It’s true. She never was.

The week before Nan died, my sister said she had a dream about my grandparents dancing together. I think they may be dancing now.

This work will soon be sent off to my representative, the Christina Parker Gallery.

Mother’s Day Locket (Portrait of Artist and Artist’s Sister), Watercolour; © Jennifer Pohl

Few people have seen this piece, and it will likely be the only larger-than-life image that I will be posting on this blog. The actual paintings are each only about the size of a pinky nail. My sister has posed for me fairly often, but this is the youngest portrait I’ve done of her.

These tiny locket paintings were done years ago along with another “wee little” diptych as my Mother’s Day gifts to my mother and grandmother. I had to cut one of my brushes down to a few hairs, and was placing hot wet cloths on my sore neck by the time they were completed, but the joy it gave made it more than worth a little muscle strain. With all the paintings I have out in the world –most of which I will never see again– I’m very glad that I took the time to do these little paintings for two of the women who have been a great source of inspiration and strength for me.

I love the negative spaces in this photo Doug posted on his blog. He came back with some beautiful, almost painterly images. He also managed close ups of birds and squirrels that delighted me. I’m sure he’d rather finish his novel, but I keep telling him that with his background in horticulture he should publish a book of regional wildflowers.

For all the joys motherhood has brought in the last year I may not be able to run outside to paint whenever the urge strikes, but looking at Doug’s recent photographs gave me the thought that painting en plein air would be a good way to start working in oil again once Conor is weaned. Easier said than done in Newfoundland! In Nova Scotia I had great fun strapping my French easel to the back of my bike and wobbling off down the road towards the farmlands at sunrise. For all the inspiration that Newfoundland offers, the strong winds make it difficult to keep a canvas still in the great outdoors.

My husband recently released the Hipster PDA version of his free D*I*Y Planner.

The escape was carefully orchestrated. Congo made sure the coast was clear, Bonzo distracted me with his endearing rendition of Polonius’ farewell speech to Laertes, Pierre engaged my wife with the latest Daniel Smith artists’ catalogue, and Polly constructed the electromagnet that attracted the key to the cage from atop the bookshelf. They waited till after midnight, then opened the padlock and quietly crept to the Mac to get to work.

This morning I found the fruits of their labour, stacked neatly in a small pile atop the printer.

It’s encouraging to read the comments, and hear about the email Doug receives. One tech writer said that with the planner’s help he is able to finally write again, and I was especially touched to read how sufferers of ADD say the hipster version will be of special help to them. Maybe there is something in this analog planner that eases the flow between the right and left brain? Myself, I ‘m really looking forward to the release of the creativity pack. I’m one of the fray who have made suggestions for the templates for artists. Yes! It should be no surprise that we need help with organization too, and it goes without saying that painters love and respond to the sensuality of paper.

I enjoy reading a million monkey’s typing (even when Doug’s technical know-how occasionally flies over my head), but I especially got a kick out of this intro. It left me trying to recall the ending of the shoe elves, but for th0se who may have missed other references:

Polly is the name of the typing monkey, while Congo is the now famous chimp artist whose paintings have been outselling Warhol .

“Pierre” Brassau refers to another painter, who received sudden critical acclaim in 1964.

Brassau paints with powerful strokes, but also with clear determination. His brush strokes twist with furious fastidiousness. Pierre is an artist who performs with the delicacy of a ballet dancer.”

Pierre’s career was cut short when it was discovered he was actually a four year old West African chimpanzee named Peter who lived in Sweden’s Boras Zoo. Richard Saunders recounts the tale at the end of his book The World’s Greatest Hoaxes. The prank had began when newsmen from a local daily had bribed the 70 year old keeper to supply Peter with brushes, oil paint and a few canvases. They then placed six of his creations in a reputable gallery, and watched by in glee as work sold and the critics raved.

The story is now legendary, but I haven’t been able to find images of Brassau’s work. (If anybody knows where examples may be found please let me know.)