P Jean Oliver

I came west in my twenties for Emily Carr’s trees.

For a long time, mostly due to a chronically short attention span, I asked Emily to wait while I did other things. Now, trailing my art roots behind me, and freed from obligation, I’ll follow my friend into the field at last, and carry my part of a never ending conversation, communicated through the work.

When I paint, there have been times I can feel Emily looking over my shoulder, arm held out, sizing up the view with her thumb at the end of her paintbrush.