It must be rather wonderful, to come back and paint in the house you grew up in. Has it had any effect on you work? I actually do paint for this house, just because the lighting is bad. I paint outdoors a lot, and when you bring a painting indoors it dies on you a little. When you put colour on the palette outside you don't need to have it so punched up. So you get a softer or duller version than you would indoors. Painting like that, you learn to give a bit more dark to the dark side, a little more colour to the colour side to get it to work indoors. I don't have the money to afford good lighting for the pictures, so I want them to be able to read in candlelight. In that sense I really do paint for the house. Were you making art when you lived here as a kid? Yes, drawing and sculpture and ceramics. When I was twelve I did a sculpture called Natural Form that won an award. You had to use two things to create a piece, so I used drinking straws and a piece of glass. I've always loved water and rocks and elevation. I was trying to get a sense of mountains and a sense of water. And that's how it ended up. It's quite a sweet piece. It's held enough fascination that I continue to keep it around. Back in the 7 0 s I used to put it beside the stereo and the bottle of wine. Did you go to art school? I went to UBC for several years and studied fine arts and English and philosophy. Then I went traveling, to Europe and Africa and finally all the way around to Australia and New Zealand. I was very fortunate because my first two trips to Europe were with my cousin who'd majored in fine arts. We did every museum and every church and every cathedral and I got a full running commentary. I don't think we left Italy until we'd seen every Bernini in the country. Traveling was really fun. I was amazed at the number of gorgeous places, and the art, and at different people's representations. I found the contrast between Vienna and Florence was huge. In Vienna everything is so strong and so brutal. Every man has a club in his hand and he's beating a wild animal. Or a woman. It's such a contrast to the Italians, who are much more sumptuous and sensuous. They're enjoying their wine and having a good time instead of trying to be some strong authoritarian power. What did you do when you finished traveling? I was pulled in to work with my father, who was in screen printing. I got thrown into the art department. I spent four or five years there, with no technical training except for the very good fortune of being able to do a little of everything. My guy at the time Balancing Act: a joyful, exuberant, dance in the face of insecurity was an aspiring architect and he taught me how to draft. So I ended up getting into architecture. One of my greatest passions became creating spaces. Then I got married and had a child and stopped working, though I was an executive member of the Arts Council for a couple of years. I was getting into computers, and found I really needed the art world for balance. The joy was going out of everything. Life just seemed way too regular and hard. So I started taking classes in drawing on the right side of the brain. That's where you're just looking at the subject and drawing, training your hand and you eye to move together. I loved that, and it started opening doors. As well as drawing you began to paint. I love drawing. I still find probably the greatest fascination just in a single pencil line. But I did want to start playing with watercolours and oils and see what I might be able to achieve there. I didn't take any classes for a couple of years. I was just pushing the medium around to see what could happen if you had no rules, if you had no knowledge. And then I realized that self-exploration is great, but it was time to see what the old guys said about the process. I started taking classes at the Vancouver Academy of Art with Paul Chizik, who teaches the old masters' technique. "Your head space, your stance, your motions, all translate and end up in the canvas." J a n u a r y | February 9