This print belongs to the series of prints "Intimations: Shadows, Reflections and Metaphysical Marks: The prints of Audrey Feltham"

This series of prints dealt with the underlying concepts of matriarchal culture -- the dynamism of nature that speaks to the cyclical nature of time and the perpetuation of life in death. Many of the symbols used in these prints are similar to the ancient marks of the matriarchy; they are an alphabet of the metaphysical.

The images used in the print are from a family photograph album and an appropriated image from Vogue magazine. The pairing of the family photograph and the mass media image reinforces my belief that the matriarchal concepts are still very present in our society, although often subliminal and subconscious.

The print is a narrative concerning the important of the female in the marriage relationship. The two female images used in the print are very small in scale; they force the viewer into the print and in so doing, the determine the relationship between the two. One is young; the other obviously older, more experienced, more seasoned. What do they have in common? Both are shielding their eyes, attempting to see into the distance, to clarify their observations. The iconic symbols at the top of the print give the viewer a clue to the message of the print.

The bee is a symbol of the matriarchy. They were greatly prized in the ancient world as both a maker of food and as one of the few preservatives known. In this sense, they emulate the role of the female in the marriage; she is the carrier of the fetus, the necessary partner in ensuring procreation of the species, and as such she preserves society.

In folklore bees were associated with mortality. If bees left their hives, it was a sign that the hive's owner would soon die. It was also important to "tell the bees" about a death in the family so that they would not fly away.

The print is a story about two unrelated females trapped in marriage. They are "harboring warmth", a warmth that presumably comes from their understanding of the nature of their potential, their role as vessels for procreation and preserves of society. They are ironically "stung into silence" by the expectations of their husbands and relatives, they are witnesses to the mortality of their own potential.

Audrey Feltham, Stung into Silence, 2002, ©CARCC, 2012. Reproduced with permission.

This print is one of a series of prints completed between 2005 and 2008 and exhibited in Halifax, Nova Scotia and Hamilton, Ontario in 2008. The work exemplifies my interest in visual narrative.

As a visual storyteller I am interested in encouraging the viewer to look at the familiar from a completely different vantage point. I work with common images, twisting them and reworking them to create a scenario that is uncomfortable, unexpected, or unfamiliar to the viewer. Using a layering technique in my printmaking that involves sewing and piecing the rag paper, and then overprinting with transparent inks, I create a densely layered image that reflects the complexity and intricacy that has filtered down through my experience. No storyteller tells the story in the same way twice. By revisiting his collective memory, he varies the sequence of events and gives the events degrees of importance according to how he tells the story. My visual narratives attempt to accomplish the same feat through the ambiguity of text and placement of iconic images.

Gloria Hickey, independent curator, speaks of this image in her essay "Following Audrey Feltham's Red Shoes". She states that the print portrays the decisive action. "Composed of deep printmaking marks, a commitment to collograph, etching and fainter stitch marks, one gets the sense of deep physical memories. She recalls the similarity of the printmaker's marks to one she made as a child in the prairie mud after a rainstorm, these deep impressions that would dry in the terrific heat of the sun." Marks are a record of movement. Suggesting interconnection, the two figures are inevitably entwined, by both personal history and social interaction. The accompanying text from T.S. Eliot's PRELUDES IV, confirms he difficulty of interpreting the image from one perspective:

I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.

Audrey Feltham, Movement, 2005, ©CARCC, 2012. Reproduced with permission.

This flag painting is my response to Canada's presence in Afghanistan. I worked on the piece during the summer of 2006. During that period 20 Canadian soldiers were killed in Kandahar.

Bill Rose, How I Spent My Summer Vacation, 2006, ©CARCC, 2012. Reproduced with permission.

Since 1983 my work has centered exclusively around the use of the grid. As such I am constantly searching for new ways to fill the grid. Gentleman Junkie is a portrait of U.S. beat writer William S. Burroughs. Burroughs was probably as famous for his professed love of narcotics as he was known for his writing. When I got the idea to use tylenol tablets to fill a grid Burroughs seemed to be the logical choice of subject. Gentleman Junkie consists of acrylic paint on 6,912 regular strength tylenol tablets.

Bill Rose, Gentleman Junkie, 2005, ©CARCC, 2012. Reproduced with permission.

[Traditional Japanese woodblock / Ed. 18 / 12 ½ x 20”]

I am interested in the delicate balances within the natural world: for example, the relationship between prey and predator; or, the ecological dramas that are currently being played out around me. The subspecies of pine marten living in western and northern Newfoundland represents one such drama; the pine marten is (or was) walking the fine line between economics and habitat destruction. Adaptable foxes occupy the other end of the spectrum colonizing urban and rural areas alike.

I often use traditional Japanese woodblock (or waterbase woodblock) because I relate to its potential for intense, yet translucent, jewel-like colour. The medium allows me to layer veils of colour upon colour. I enjoy the warmth of the craft involved in this contemplative process. Another consideration is the limitations the technique imposes on the size of the works: the prints are meant to be small and the viewing experience intimate. Finally, it is a ‘green’ technique: it requires no harmful chemicals in the process.

Charlotte Jones, Fox with Rope, ©1997. Reproduced with permission.

[Artist’s book containing 8 traditional Japanese woodblock images: letterpress, Frederick Turner, Dundalk; binding, Timothy Dyck, Dundalk, Ontario / 7 x 7” / Ed. 10]

This book is one of three accordion-bound books which are displayed extended on shelves as a sculptural installation. The limestone barrens of the Great Northern Peninsula of Newfoundland support an incredible number of small, intricate flowers, some so rare that they are only found in these locations. What intrigues me is the diversity of flora in these harsh, windswept environments and their survival instincts, their adaptations that they make in order to survive. They are examples of the truly creative: adversity overcoming hardship. The books contain woodblock images of flowers that were spotted on three walks--July 2, 2007; July 10, 2007 and July 21, 2002--in four locations: Burnt Cape, Watt’s Point, the Port au Port Peninsula and Cape Norman. Some of the flowers are rare and some fairly common–it is a random sampling. I use the accordion book format to recreate the experience of lying on the ground and making these wonderful miniature discoveries. By the same token both the accordion book format and my concern with nature and site emanate from the tradition of Japanese woodblock and such ukiyo-e masters as Utamaro, Hokusai and Hiroshige.

Charlotte Jones, Watt’s Point, Cape Norman, ©2008. Reproduced with permission.

[24" x 30" / Acrylic and permanent marker on canvas / 2010]

This image was inspired by a photo taken by my friend, artist Kym Greeley, during a 2010 residency in Fogo. With her permission, I used the photo to make my own blind contour drawing of the small herd of caribou. I wanted to do a painting as soon as I saw the photo. I've never seen caribou myself, except at the Salmonier Nature Park.

Jennifer Barrett, Caribou, ©2010. Reproduced with permission.

[12" x 16" / Acrylic and permanent marker on board / 2010]

This image is from a series of four Super Mario Bros. inspired paintings. I played the game, paused it, and did sketches when the screenshot was pleasing to me. I wanted to do a twist on the traditional notion of landscape for a show called "Exteriors" at The Leyton Gallery of Fine Art in St. John's.

Jennifer Barrett, Super Plein Air: 4-2, ©2010. Reproduced with permission.

[Acrylic on Canvas. 24 x 48]

When I was a boy I went on board The Kyle in St John's. I never saw her for many years after leaned over on her side in Hr Grace Hr. Seeing her in a state of a "Run Down Wreck" almost brought tears to my eyes and I was suddenly inspired to paint her. In the background she is in her prime just off the coast of Labrador. The foreground was how I saw her on that day, she have since been painted.

I created this image showing a proud vessel that served Newfoundland over many years. If you look closely you will see ghost of those who once sailed on her.

Lloyd Pretty, The Kyle, ©2002. Reproduced with permission.

[Oil on canvas 20 x 40]

I was inspired to create this image after a trip to Codroy Valley in 1985 on New Years day. The gentleman in the painting is a Mr. Gillis whose family all moved away to Toronto except he's daughter who live in the small house you see below the hill. This house was where his Grandparents, Parents and his family grew up however none of his children is around to leave it to so it is up for sale.

He told me that he would make his rounds of the old place everyday. He have since passed away and the house was sold and renovated for a Craft shop and B&B.

Lloyd Pretty, Times Gone By, ©2004. Reproduced with permission.

This plant, often mistaken as a thistle, is commonly called Black Knapweed in the Newfoundland & Labrador area. The purple/pink blossoms have a myriad of colours, which you will have to experience at close range, since the blossom is less than one inch in diameter. This painting is one of a series in the artist's touring exhibition called "Balancing Act: Invasive Alien Plants”

Black knapweed, a native of Eurasia, is a vigorous herbaceous perennial and is considered invasive in most of North America. It has been suggested that black knapweed can release chemicals into the soil that inhibit regeneration of native forest trees like fir or spruce.

Margaret Walsh Best, Centaurea nigra, ©2009. Reproduced with permission

Summer visitors to Battle Harbour, on a small island off the southeast coast of Labrador, are greeted by a sea of yellow created by tall buttercups which cover meadows and spill into footpaths. Battle Harbour was the summer salt fish capital of Labrador in the 18th and 19th centuries. It is now a National Historic Site and District and a stay there is a unique experience. This painting is one of a series in a touring exhibition called “Balancing Act; Invasive Alien Plants”

The Tall Buttercup, which came to us from Eurasia, is one of the most common weeds of pastures, meadows, and roadsides in North America. The Tall buttercup contains a bitter, irritating oil called protoanemonin that is toxic to livestock, especially cattle. When dried with hay these poisons are said to be lost.

Margaret Walsh Best, Ranunculus acris, ©2010. Reproduced with permission.

[Blast Hole Pond River, Newfoundland 2002-2003]

This project presents the conjunction of two transitory, fleeting entities—flowing water and the impermanence of our human presence.

There is a stream called the Blast Hole Pond River that runs through the property where I live. I’ve come to realize that I can’t say I ‘have’ a stream, because it’s only passing through. Within a mile, this freshwater stream meets saltwater and is dispersed into the Atlantic Ocean. The water flows irrevocably, just like time.

I’ve been thinking intently about the stream since moving to this place—the sometimes slow, sometimes forceful, constantly changing process of it, and its delicate fugitive pleasures. How could I use photographs of this stream, I kept asking myself, as a symbol for the river of life?

I started with photographing the stream as it manifests both the drama and the transience of the seasons. These photographs, taken from the same position each time, are illustrative, realistic documents of reportage. They are the result of the one-way gaze of the onlooker.

Then one day I suddenly had a thought: What if the other looks back—at the photographer? So I began to take photographs with an underwater camera that I held under the flowing stream and turned towards myself. These photographs are based on optics and positions—destabilizing the optics of conventional photography, and inverting the position of the photographer.

The water moving directly over the camera lens blurs and distorts my image, at times even obscures it completely. These serendipitous wavering effects express my sense of temporality, evanescence, and mortality.

My past work has almost always had its source in travel and it emerged from the perspective of the visitor, who pauses to observe and then moves on. This present work is the reverse: I imagine myself as the one who is being observed. And instead of moving across the land, I am staying in one place, and the living world in my immediate surroundings is flowing past me.

Marlene Creates, Water Flowing to the Sea Captured at the Speed of Light, Blast Hole Pond River, Newfoundland, 2002-2003, ©CARCC, 2012. Reproduced with permission.

[Blast Hole Pond Road, Newfoundland. Ongoing since 2007]

My greatest aspirations are presently constituted by the six acres of boreal forest that I inhabit, and I’m slowly tuning my body and my reflexes to its details. I’m coming to know this habitat by engaging with it in various ways: corporally, emotionally, intellectually, instinctively, linguistically, and in astonishment.

This series of black and white photographs concerns the inter-relationship of three entities: first, individual native trees; second, their context in the collective of the forest system; and third, the human perceiver, as manifested by the gesture of my hand touching the tree trunks.

I’m interested in the particularity of each tree—its “thisness” (haecceitas)—and the circumstances that bring me to discern certain trees amongst the thousands in this forest. Even when I’m being my most attentive, there are still many trees I have not yet noticed enough to remember as individuals.

This work harkens back to one I did in 1983 when I photographed my hand—which was 24 years younger—on 22 ancient standing stones on various islands of the Outer Hebrides in Scotland. Now, instead of travelling to distant sites to find subject matter, I’m paying attention over a long period of time to the place where I live and familiarizing myself with the multitude of trees here.

I believe that aesthetics plays an important role in environmental considerations, and vice versa. Trying to integrate my life and my artwork has resulted in the deliberate slightness of my artistic gesture. My aim is to achieve an aesthetic stance in collaboration with the landscape that surrounds me. In responding to this landscape, I’m becoming more and more sensitive to the vivid, ephemeral nature of being.

Marlene Creates, Larch, Spruce, Fir, Birch, Hand, Blast Hole Pond Road, Newfoundland, 2007 ©CARCC, 2012. Reproduced with permission.

[Mixed media on MDF.  24" x 31.5". 2010.]

"This painting was created during the lengthy addiction-related illness of a close family member, and addresses the impact felt by those who surround and attempt to support the convalescent. The image of the afflicted bear is a disturbing and sad one, threatening and destructive in its unknowingness. The idea of graceless pursuit is the focus of this work and is represented by the bear. It is large, present and bright red; its intentions clearly directed at the quite structure on the left (which extends invisibly below the surface), and perhaps led to it by the red traces at the bottom of the image. The setting has dissolved into a subtle pattern of stripes, and the dog standing guard is almost as non-present as the landscape – it’s fierce reaction unnoticed or ignored by the assailant, whose intentions are somewhat ambiguous, but nonetheless unnerving."

Michael Pittman, Hunter (Encephalopathic Bear), 2010, ©CARCC, 2012. Reproduced with permission.

[Mixed media on panel. 24.5” x 24.5”. 2010.]

"Window, ghost house (the devils are here)" began with the idea of looking at these semi-transparent houses/dwellings/rooms, from the window of another, perhaps even less solid interior space, which provides no insulation or protection. I find this idea of being inside yet feeling entirely exposed and visible intriguing, unsettling and familiar to those who perceive themselves to be under the scrutiny of others (there is no shelter against this). The image presents "interior" as multiple, singular spaces filled with various infrastructure (perhaps vaguely biological), which (for me) represents anxiety and tension, and is reflected by the red stripe in the foreground. Paranoiac conceptions of observation and judgement are present:  the physical environment is calm and barely there; dissolving...becoming less real, emphasizing the intensity of the relationship of the four structures to the viewer/window/foreground. Interior/exterior is flattening into a single plane. I intended the title, "Window, ghost house", to remove all physicality from the image...the window of the "ghost house" is essentially a hole in something which is not there. Conversely, If we consider the ghost house as a "haunted" space, then the title sets up the interior as a place of fear (filled with unseen or intangible assailants), and the window a portal through which the interior/exterior could be observed from the other side.

Michael Pittman, Window, Ghost House (The Devils are Here), 2010, ©CARCC, 2012. Reproduced with permission.

[2004 / 90 high x Variable Dimensions / spruce trees, charring via propane torch, linseed oil, plywood / photo credit: Ned Pratt]

Charred Forest is a large work that was installed for an exhibition at The Rooms in 2006. The idea for the work was conceived after visiting a brother in Thunder Bay. At the time he was working in the woods three hours north of the city. On the drive up the logging road I came across a swath of forest recently hit by fire. The interesting thing was that the fire was obviously wind driven and moving through the bush so quickly that the majority of the trees were charred only half way up. It was a striking scene, and for me a touchstone representative of the broad ranging nature of speed in our lives today.

Will Gill, Charred Forest, ©2004. Reproduced with permission.

[2004 – 2005 / 72 x 48 x 48 / douglas fir, cast epoxy, oil paint, steel / photo credit: David Morrish]

Charred Forest is a large work that was installed for an exhibition at The Rooms in 2006. The idea for the work was conceived after visiting a brother in Thunder Bay. At the time he was working in the woods three hours north of the city. On the drive up the logging road I came across a swath of forest recently hit by fire. The interesting thing was that the fire was obviously wind driven and moving through the bush so quickly that the majority of the trees were charred only half way up. It was a striking scene, and for me a touchstone representative of the broad ranging nature of speed in our lives today.

American Totem is a work that was created in response to the events following the 9/11 attacks in New York. It is an amalgam of opposites: warlike and yet Martha Stewart in its patterning, explosive/implosive, bright lively colours vs the macho form. It just seemed like the misery on all fronts was couched in a disturbing trend of “news (specifically war) as entertainment”. It was probably the same before, but seems to have gotten worse since.

Will Gill, American Totem, ©2004–2005. Reproduced with permission.