Rare in his art, this unique piece originates in Peter’s experience of West Coast enchantment. Drawn inexorably by the darken’d foreshore, friends find a place where conversation naturally deepens. Life’s missteps become humourous. Our troubles dissolve in the intertidal mirth. A shaft of moonlight calls forth play, and new resolve.
Back to the Artwork pageRare in his art, this unique piece originates in Peter’s experience of West Coast enchantment. Drawn inexorably by the darken’d foreshore, friends find a place where conversation naturally deepens. Life’s missteps become humourous. Our troubles dissolve in the intertidal mirth. A shaft of moonlight calls forth play, and new resolve.
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We are not alone in this forest of ever changing hues and varied depths of understanding. Images that challenge us sweep in on gentle breezes or forceful gusts, but the strength we absorb from others keeps us grounded. Reach up from the darkness, and be craddled in the branches of the forest’s light.
Release yourself from the trap of materialism and superficial goals. Rejoice in the sights, sounds, smells, and the touch of the sky, and all that lies beneath its gentle blanket. Pause and admire the stand of Birch set in a forest bathed in the fading light of milky and misty yellow hues. Marvel at the simple complexity of golden ivory.
I hear the world differently than you. Visual cues present themselves, and guide me in ways unknown to most. I hear rustling leaves through oscillating shimmer, as they dance to an East wind’s command. The splash of a Northern Pike delights me, as ripples radiate then fade to still waters. A loon’s crimson eyes rise and fall in royal splendour, as its lonely call brushes my soul. Night falls as ashen shadows and azure skies cloak reflective silence. All who bear witness unite in my world. I am not alone in the presence of the night birch.
More than one hundred years have passed over Achray landscapes. A guardian of the land, entrusted to protect the pillars of the forest, ventured along Grand Lake shores in search of inspiration. Across the waters of Carcajou Bay, violet horizons roll in serpentine rhythms, while foreground branches bow in sunbathed splendor. He ensured his dependent lived forever in his oil sketch, as rocky shores, pristine waters, and windswept Pines were the culmination of Thomson’s Jack Pine visions.
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