DID ANOTHER PENCIL CARICATURE AND AM ITCHING TO PICK UP THE BRUSHES ONCE AGAIN

Arek Caricature

         Since I sketched a caricature of Dr. Knapp, and enjoyed doing it so much, I thought I'd sketch somebody else. I should mention that both caricatures were drawn with an ordinary HB pencil and I let the smudges do their own thing with a little help from an eraser.  This caricature is of a well-known photographer Arek Saczuk, and I think he liked it according to his own words: "WOW. WOW, WOW!!! I was most certainly NOT expecting that...and I absolutely, totally love it !!!  THANK YOU! Your bang-on caricature went straight to my heart. It's so perfect...I have no idea how to thank you that very unexpected and VERY beloved gift." Arek lives in Vancouver, BC and has taken photos all over the world, including Antarctica and the Northwest Passage, where I have also been, the Northwest Passage that is; a couple of friends and mine, on quite possibly the smallest sailboat, Dove III, sailed the legendary Northwest Passage in 1995, the 6th vessel to ever do so.  Arek and I had been planning on doing a joint exhibition of our polar experiences, our sketches and photographs complementing each others endeavours this year when Sarah (Daisy) and I (Trip) had planned a road-trip across Canada pulling our "Hippie-Hangout". Fortunately, after all that's happened to me recently, Arek still likes the idea of our joint exhibition and we are planning for this venture in 2019. (No actual date as of yet for our show but possibly around next fall, shortly after the kids go back to school.) If you are interested in a caricature, I am offering them on Etsy.

             Most of the art I'll be displaying are the original pen and ink sketches that will be framed and can be seen in Arctic Odyssey, a book that I wrote and illustrated. Because the gallery, where Arek is the residential photographer, has an auditorium with a large screen, I may also be showing my DVD, Arctic Odyssey and give a little talk when the film concludes. In the poor physical state I find myself these days because of the harsh chemo treatments I receive every 2 weeks for 4 months, my hair is falling out as easily as dandruff these days, however, this up-coming joint venture has really perked me up. I may even do some large paintings of the higher latitudes, possibly keeping with the black and white motif of our show.

Painting Cleopatra

       A large easel I ordered just arrived the other day and Sarah will be moving some things around in the room next to my hospital bed so I can try and complete a 3'x5' acrylic painting of Cleopatra reclining on her silver and purple barge, which I started several years ago. Before leaving Nanaimo, BC to live in Fosterville, NB, I took quite a few photos of Ramona the Belly Dancer in her Cleopatra costume and she seems to be coming right along, still lots of work remaining before the painting is completely finished. When finished, it will be for sale like the other whimsical nautical paintings I did and if they don't sell, I'll be leaving them to my kids when my time finally comes to an end, something they will hopefully enjoy and when looking at them, occasionally think about their old dad. As much as I enjoy painting and other artistic creations, I find that once the last stroke of the brush is made and I'm cleaning the paint out of it, my so called love affair with the painting is over and I don't have much concern for it any more. Whether or not the painting sells, I don't really care but that doesn't mean that I'll give it away or sell it at a ridiculously low price. I've been very fortunate to have lived as long as I have and that I made a good living from my artistic talents ever since graduating from Art School over 50 years ago. Painting, sketching and occasionally sculpting to me is still a thrill and magical and I find, even at this age, I am still learning to hone my crafts...peace, eh! - Trip

 My wife Sarah and I started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out my paintings and other artistic creations that we both produce, just click on the link. At the moment, if you buy any item or items that add up to $50.00 or more BEFORE SHIPPING, you will receive as a bonus, my book Arctic Odyssey, worth $20.00 - makes a really fine gift for a sailor or a wanna-be sailor or just a dreamer like me.  If you are interested in a caricature of yourself or anyone else, I'll be listing it at our Etsy Store for $45.00 each. 

  

LEN AND VINCENT VAN GOGH COMBINED PAINTING

On the Edge

          I've been putting some of my original paintings up for sale on Etsy and I'm rather reluctant to sell my Vincent van Gogh, after all, his works are way beyond my reach monetarily and I'd never be able to afford one of his originals. Since I've always been a fan of his incredible talent, and I think I'm safe in saying, he only sold one painting during his lifetime, which would most likely have been bought for a pittance. Now Vinnie boy wasn't of his time and he had a troubled mind; he was pretty much rejected as an up and coming artist, not like now, when one of his paintings sell for over a hundred million bucks, the rich snapping them up as soon as they become available, most likely not so much for his artistry but as an investment.

           Before I painted the large 2'x3' acrylic of "On the Edge", I painted a much smaller version, 3"x5", which I sold on Ebay. I was living on a sailboat at the time, so most all of my art stuff was small in size, I mean a 4'x4' floating studio was seriously tiny. Still, it's amazing how much art I still produced while living on my sailboat. When I eventually had a larger studio, not a huge studio but certainly a decent sized one, I painted "On the Edge". Not sure how Vinnie boy would have liked my rendition of his self portrait but I'm hoping he would have enjoyed the concept. If you look closely at the painting, you will see that van Gogh is holding onto his self portrait and he is beginning to float away from the world. The painting I selected for my very own original van Gogh was a self portrait with his ear still intact. So immediately after Vinnie boy cut off his ear, he literally cut it out of the canvas, probably a whole lot less painful than when he sliced it off for real with a sharp knife.

             There are rumors about why Vinnie boy cut off his ear such as being spurned by a prostitute, but the most likely reason was that he and another great painter, Paul Gauguin, whom he'd be living with, got into an extremely heated argument. I imagine Gauguin fled down the streets and alleys with van Gogh in pursuit with a big knife. However, unable to catch Pauly boy, probably enraged and frustrated, good old van Gogh returned home and sliced off his ear - besides being very painful, I expect he bled like a stuck pig. Vincent must have been a very unhappy man because not only did his paintings not sell, he was ridiculed by many of the locals. Not everyone is positive whether Vinnie boy committed suicide or if he accidentally shot himself in the stomach. Not sure why, only he would know the reason why he got his pistol, went out in a field and shot himself. Sadly. although he wasn't that successful in shooting himself, meaning he missed his heart, he eventually died very painfully from the gunshot wound to his belly.

              Vinnie boy is certainly one of my favourite artists and like him, I've sometimes lived "on the edge" as well; sometimes events in life can become overwhelming and makes it difficult to cope. I hope this painting finds a good home, someone who will enjoy Vinnie boy's great talent and my not so great talent to produce "On the Edge". - Peace, eh! - Trip

My wife Sarah and I recently started up an Etsy Store a little while ago and if you'd like to check out my paintings and other artistic creations that we produce, just click on the link.

TRIP'S TRIBUTE TO DR. KNAPP

                It's been a long time since I spent three summers at the Nanaimo Ferry Terminal sketching caricatures of tourists to earn a few bucks, which is probably one of the reasons I can say that my art can be found all over the world. Although my hands tremble a touch from the chemo treatments, unable to sleep much last night, I managed to draw a caricature of my surgeon, Dr. Gregory Knapp. I was glad that he smiled when he removed the wrapping paper because in actuality, Dr. Knapp is quite a handsome man.

               Now let me tell you about Dr. Knapp, if it wasn't for him, no one would ever be able to call me an A-Hole again because I would no longer have one. When Dr. Knapp first checked out my toothless wonder, which could only utter a single word, "fart", he had determined that I had cancer of the rectum. The cancer doctors said, "No," but certain that his prognosis was positive, once again Knappy boy, peered through my hairy orifice and nipped off another deeper chunk of my infection for a biopsy. The results were positive, which although it's not great to have cancer, it was actually beneficial because it meant that the operation I would undergo could be reversed and I wouldn't have an ileostomy bag attached to me for the remainder of my life.

             All kidding aside, over the months that Dr. Knapp became involved in my critical malady, each meeting I had with him, only made me fonder of him, not only as a surgeon but because there is a kindness and deep concern within his being. I also know that because my operation was supposed to be 3-5 hours and wound up taking 8 hours, he had taken the extra time to fix my problem.

               I feel as if I am a boxer in a ring up against a better boxer and Dr. Knapp is my trainer. He knew that I was going to get the crap beat out of me but still gave me hope. I'm probably in about the 8th round at the moment, bloody and bruised but he's still standing in my corner giving me advice. I won't win the boxing match outright but it's highly unlikely that I won't be knocked out. and in this case; I'm still a winner! 

              So thank you Dr. Knapp for all that you have done for me and my A-Hole; I wish you nothing but all the best that life has to offer to you and yours. Our paths may never cross again since I know that you are leaving New Brunswick very soon and this old man would just like to give you a big heartfelt thank you...peace, eh! - Trip

STILL SHUFFLIN' ALONG

View of Walk Around Our House

          Trip may not be trippin' the Light Fandango but at least I'm still shufflin' along. As most of the readers of this blog know, Sarah and I are going through a bit of a tough stretch but what you may or may not know is, although we haven't really reached out for any aid other than what comes with my problem, many of the people in our community, neighbours and friends and from afar as well have been very generous and thoughtful towards us. I cannot stress

enough about how good they make us feel and how much we appreciate their concern and generosity.

            Many people may knock our medical system, but having experienced much of it first hand, I'd like to mention that unlike our neighbours south of the border, I haven't had to mortgage my home or sell off my first born in order to pay for my treatments. From the staff who cleaned my room to the doctors and nurses who looked after me during my stay in the hospital and the Mural Nurses who visit me on a regular basis at home still tending to my needs, I have the highest respect for their professionalism and their concerns. 

             Something I found a little odd about my regular visits to the hospital is how many people find it unfair that they have to pay 2 bucks to park their vehicles, for as long as they want to, in the parking lot. From what I understand, the money collected is used primarily to help pay for the Internet and other things in the hospital that are useful for the patients and their visiting families and friends. Until these people have had to park their vehicles in other hospital parking lots at a cost of 2 bucks an hour, they should be thankful for such a low cost instead of complaining or parking down the road with their engines still running to either keep their vehicles cool in the summer or warm in the winter, which probably costs more than 2 bucks in fuel. For almost 77 years, I've hardly ever been sick or taken any pills, ate and drank as much as I pleased, didn't even get hangovers, I can honestly say, when my health suddenly went sideways, the last thing I thought about was the cost of parking our vehicle. 

             Since the thunder storm and rain, the sun shining gloriously today, I managed to do a few laps around the outside of the house without being attacked by a horde of blackflies or squeeters. Since I'm almost certain that my blood is toxic at the moment, I'm surprised that they find me delectable. I can't stress enough how important it's always been to me to be part of Nature and how even a leaf holds me in awe, so to be outside, able to smell the scent of the forest and touch a tree, gives me great pleasure. Actually, the simpler things in life, much of which we take for granted and carelessly destroy, are the most important aspects of my existence...peace, eh! - Trip            

PAINTING AND GOALS REACHED AND STILL REACHING FOR

             Considering everything that is going on in my life at the moment, I still believe that I will once again be a fairly normal person physically, certainly not the Trip who was able to leap a bar table in a single bound and sprint away from a saloon brawl, but will still be able to hopefully escape unscathed at least. Don't laugh, I've actually been in that position in my younger years, except when I landed on my back on the floor, I managed to roll over and quickly crawl away through the doors and then sprint off into the murky darkness - usually anyone who goes toe to toe, punch for punch, neither one wins. Now, with my slow-thinking chemo-brain and being as tough as a cream puff and unable to sprint away, I'd have to shuffle off at a snail's pace. But hey, those young man days have long passed and I've had to give up drinking beer, something I've always thoroughly enjoyed - loves the taste of a cold, cold beer!

                 The day before I once again started chemo treatments for the next four months, because my hands have begun trembling a wee bit, I managed to finish a commissioned painting depicting a vase of flowers. Now I know some artists would frown on painting such a thing but to me, when I received the photo, it became quite obvious that the bouquet was of a special interest to the person, a memento of some sort. And besides the fact that I will paint pretty much anything anyone wants, I also like to paint affordably, so that most anyone can afford a piece of my artwork. I have no idea how many portraits I have painted over the years but two that I did, one was of a woman dying of cancer to leave to her mother and the other painting was of a rabbi (and no, I am not Jewish - actually have never belonged to any sort of religious faith). The rabbi was the old man's father and both of his kids wanted the small portrait when he passed away, so he asked me if I could reproduce it. He paid me a great compliment when he came to pick up his two paintings because he couldn't tell which one was the original. Perhaps I should have become a forger? Anyway, as much as I would like another commissioned painting, I'm forced to hang up my brushes for the time being and hope the tremors will go away once all this cancer business has been concluded.

                It's good to have goals and I'm a firm believer in setting goals, which I have in place even now. The thing about goal-setting is not to have grandiose, reach-for-the-stars, lofty ideals but have goals that can actually be reached, otherwise one may feel somewhat disappointed, depressed or like a loser if these goals aren't attained. Reaching a goal, no matter how small, has always given me a positive boost and a feeling of accomplishment. I'm not one to put my wishes out to the universe; to me, they should be ones that I can attain myself or perhaps with a little help from someone who will be a part of my goal - two people are always better than one, for example, my Daisy and me often help each other reach a goal. I realize treating my rectal cancer ailment will most likely leave me with some permanent problems but if I can once again use that hairy orifice in a normal manner or perhaps not quite in a normal manner, I feel that one of my goals will be in place. At this age, whether or not I had been diagnosed with cancer, there are not too many years remaining. Sure, I have a lot of regrets in regards to my past but one of my goals in life was not to be ordinary but nor did I wish to be extraordinary and I feel that is still a happening goal and will be maintained as such until I take my final breath. One future goal I'm hoping to reach is our next year cross-Canada, spreadin'-the-love tour hippie-style but if it doesn't happen, I'm not going to be discouraged; I've had a blast so far just preparing for our trip and in my mind, I've already tripped across to the west coast - peace, eh! - Trip

FRUSTRATION IS MY ENEMY

Flowers in a Vase

          It's been a while since I last wrote a blog and although I'm not really feeling like a ball on fire, thought I would try and put a few thoughts down before I begin more chemo treatments early next week because I know I'll be feeling pretty crappy then, probably have chemo-brain and light up a dark room upon entering. Since leaving the hospital, I've had good days and not so good days. I can be feeling quite great and then all of sudden, it's as if someone pulled a plug and I start fading away rather quickly. 

           I'd like to mention that during my stay in the hospital, a person (won't say who he is) in the room next to mine was as equally annoying as when he wasn't sick. Although I knew him, I was worried that if he recognized me, he would have wheeled his skinny-ass into my room, so I constantly avoided any eye-contact with him. And, taking precautions, when the cleaning staff went through my room and placed a sign saying, "WET FLOOR" in the doorway, I asked them to leave it there, in case my neighbour mistakenly thought my room was his. One morning, he stopped in front of my doorway and began arguing with one of the nurses, eventually yelling out, "Jesus Christ!" 

            I was about to answer, "He's not in here, could you please look elsewhere," but fortunately, I held my tongue because it may have started up a conversation or more likely an argument I would have regretted. One day, when a nurse told him he had poop all over the back of his wheelchair and they had to clean it off, I had to laugh when he exclaimed, "No! I like it like that!" When I first realized who my next door neighbour was, I felt rather angry but as the days went by, he became my entertainment and I even felt sorry for him at the end, especially since no one ever came to visit him during the two weeks I was there. I had to remind myself that it's easy to criticize someone else less fortunate and until I've actually walked in their moccasins, it was best to keep my opinions to myself.

               Because I'm about as energetic as a soggy noodle, don't exactly sleep well during the night, it's frustrating to spend much of my time watching movies and programs on Netflix in a prone position. And, since I've been called lazy, should at least be painting, although I'm not really interested in dabbing paint around, I've decided to resume the "flower in a vase" painting, especially since it is a commissioned piece. I would like it completed before the chemo treatments begin and besides helping towards my unexpected medical expenses, it will feel real good to get something accomplished. And, while I'm thinking about it, if I haven't already, I would like to thank everyone who has sent "get well" cards and even donated money anonymously; I can't believe the amount of people who have been so helpful in so many ways; it is most appreciated...peace, eh! - Trip

My wife and I recently opened an Etsy Store and if you'd like to check out our artistic creations just click on the link. 

ILA, BLONDIE AND FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE TO MY RESCUE

          Life has certainly taken an unexpected huge curve for me. Me and my new constant inseparable companion Ila (ileostomy bag) - hardly a thing of beauty but most definitely a real bag. Ila goes everywhere with me including bed but she is hardly a turn on. Not sure how long she will be my constant companion but we've made an agreement - if I treat her well, she will do the same for me, which reminds me it's time, just like a baby, to give her a kindly burp and perhaps even a change. My wife, Sarah has comes to terms with Ila too. At first she may have been a little jealous for all the attention I was displaying but she has undoubtedly become quite content to leave us alone for our little quiet times.

            Hmm, although Sarah understands and tolerates my affair with Ila, I'm not so certain about Blondie. I can't be completely certain that Blondie was a mere figment of my imagination or perhaps the woman of many men's dreams but she certainly appeared to be very real to me, or maybe surreal would be a better definition. She came to me unexpectedly a few nights ago and as her young, naked body straddled across mine, her long blonde tresses tickling my chest,
I reached up and held each of her firm breasts in my hands; unlike Ila, she was quite beautiful, hardly a bag. Clearly, she had firm intentions of having her way with me but strangely, while she whispered to me in the darkness, another woman lay at my side and a man with a black mustache holding a baby lay on the other side. Blondie seemed surprised by my rejection, because how could an old decrepit man turn down such a choice nubile woman. She was reluctant to leave but as I was laying on my back, I became more interested in the park, which could be seen through the open doorway.
               Extracting myself from the bed, careful not to awaken by bed mates, I tip-toed across the  wooden floor and wandered over to the park, which was brimming with people from another era, almost Victorian in appearance, many, mostly children, sitting on blankets selling their wares such as comic books. I found this very odd; I'd never heard about a lawn sale in the moonlight before. As I wandered about, I caught a glimpse of Blondie disappearing through an open door into an old house. Deciding to follow her, to see if I could get a handle on my peculiar situation, I wove my wave through the crowd until I reached the open door. The house had been lit up when I made my way to the doorway but upon entering, all the lights were suddenly extinguished.
               It was darker and quieter than a tomb, so I had to feel my way along. As I shuffled about, my hands, palms flat against the walls, which felt like freshly peeled wall-paper, I somehow knew there was a nearby stairwell present. Not taking my feet off the floor, I slid them over the wooden fllorboards until it seemed as if I was cornered, no place else to go. It wasn't until then that I had felt afraid. As the terror built and I succumbed to my helplessness I cried out in the darkness, "I'm lost!"
             Upon hearing nothing, only the echo of my empty voice, almost in tears, I cried out once again. "I'm lost! Please help me Sarah!"
               When I heard Sarah's worried voice answer back and she suddenly appeared like Florence Nightingale coming to my rescue within the murky darkness, the relief I felt was unimaginable!
                In reality, perhaps I had been sleepwalking or in a state of delirium, I had wandered from the bedroom, most likely in search of the bathroom, which is directly but two steps away from one doorway to the other. Somehow in my dreamlike excursion I had become turned around. Fortunately, since there is indeed an open stairway a short distance away from our bedroom, if had I taken that direction, I may not be writing this tale now.
                  The gorgeous Blondie has yet to return to my dreams, which is definitely alright with me. I have yet to hallucinate since that evening and hope it doesn't occur again...peace, eh! - Trip