Inspiration for a painting can come unexpectedly, and sometimes with surprising force. The model for this painting is Jeremy Ward from the Canadian Canoe Museum, someone who has immersed himself to a remarkable degree in the lore of the voyageur. When dressed the part he convincingly becomes one of the hardened men who made the early North American fur trade a reality. Somewhere in the indefinable but readily sensed impression of what it must have felt like to be one of these men lies the inspiration and directional force behind the painting.

I am very much attracted to things that express the simple harmony of the everyday. In a shed behind Bellamy’s mill, two common house sparrows perch on a pile of discarded flour sacks. Some areas of the cloth are ablaze in full sunlight, while others are only softly illuminated; the rest drop back into deep darkness. Oh, beautiful! There are many people who pass by, but no one seems to notice.

Tiny house sparrows made there way amongst the teams of enormous draft horses, foraging on the ground, sometimes alighting on the huge beasts themselves, and all the while exhibiting what I could only describe as unlimited trust and confidence. The immense disparity in sizes between these creatures, and that altogether wonderful posture of a particular horse resting one huge and ponderous leg upon the other, impressed me through and through. In the painting of this piece, there was a need to show these size differences, the relationships between the creatures occupying the space, the weight of the horse, even the sense of that weight beyond the upper confines of what is shown. There is the obvious connection between the posture of the male sparrow and his awareness of the heavy mass of that suspended hoof. Less obvious, but crucial to the concept, is the nonchalant attitude of the little female who goes about her business of foraging for seeds with no concern whatsoever as to the giant at whose feet she dines.

I painted Flight of the Kestrel working directly from specimens, a practice that prompts a very intimate response to both the visual and tactile qualities of the subject. Having observed kestrels in flight many times, I had a working memory-impression that directed the angle and posture seen in the final image. This combining of in-hand visual reference and the insights gleaned from direct field experience provided an extremely rich environment in which to create something both informative and imaginative.

The subject for this painting was observed in the city of Arles, France, just inside the entrance of a narrow side street that accessed the central square. Here, beyond the hive of activity and bustle was a moment conducive to quiet contemplation of inner thoughts. This was made all the more possible by the watchful proximity of his fourfooted companion, who undoubtedly would warn of the approach of any stranger. I pushed the thread of this idea as far as I could, placing the dog between any observer and his master. With his gaze directed straight at the viewer, there is little doubt of the dog's unwavering diligence. As a last touch, I added an arched shadow into the space at upper right, hoping to enhance the idea of a protective space. This shape was inspired by observing its real-life counterpart in the many access points of the old Roman coliseum just a couple streets away.