More than Chocolate Covered Strawberries

I have for you some chocolate covered strawberries.

View and purchase full resolution image here.

While you are making a choice on which one you will munch, before passing the plate along, let me show you the tulip I found in my garden yesterday.

View and purchase full resolution image here.

Between showers I grabbed my garden gloves.

Put on my hiking boots and began turning the sod.

While I was working the soil I thought about spring. I thought about summer and I thought about the business of creativity. You see, I have accepted a first right of refusal for the oil painting “East Point Cliffs.” My first participation in the BC Ferries showcase has netted a sale for a canvas print of “witness.” I have 100 beautiful cards ready in little envelopes for the farmers market this summer and more canvas photo prints arriving any day. Then there is the deciding of how many books to bring for the book reading of Leading Raspberry Jam Visions and Mona’s Work with Mayne Island writers at the Overleaf in Victoria Saturday April 24th. Plus, my solo art show “Sea, Land and Time” with the local Arts Council is confirmed for “September 2nd to 22nd. Is it any wonder I am turning over the business of creativity as methodically as each shovel of sod?

I am sure glad you enjoyed those strawberries.

Sprout Question: What does the business of your creativity taste like?

© 2010 Terrill Welch, All rights reserved.

Liberal usage granted with written permission. See “About” for details.

Purchase photography at http://www.redbubble.com/people/terrillwelch

Creative Potager – where imagination rules. Be inspired.

From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada

Randomness – a blogger’s truth

Feeling an unbending resistance through every joint in my body I slowly wake. What time is it? Hum, just before 7:00 am. I did sleep in. The slate tiles are warm in the middle of our kitchen. Routine sees me through the making of stovetop coffee with a couple of homemade cookies that I promise to follow with fruit, yogurt and hemp seeds in awhile.

I’ve been randomly thinking about Kathy’s post “The Secret Lives of Bloggers” since she put it out on April 9th. I haven’t responded. I just keep thinking. I am thinking as I check to make sure the heat is on in the studio building as I am coaching this afternoon. I am thinking as I watch a beautiful Varied Thrush in the garden, and as I hear the rooster crow and the sheep asking for breakfast at the farm in the valley. I am still thinking as I curl into our very old Morrison chair and snag the travel section of Saturday’s Globe and Mail from the coffee table.

Bonny Reichert is telling me how to be “at home in Paris.”  I read about dark French coffee as I sip a medium roast, single origin, organic, fair trade, artisan, Ethiopia Sidamo Co-Op Shanta Golba, from our local Salt Spring Coffee (we take our coffee seriously on the west coast of Canada). At that moment it tastes very dark – and very French. My two cookies made with half whole wheat flour, half the sugar (all brown) and a quarter of the chocolate chips with an added cup of chopped walnuts and pecans transform into Laduree Bonaparter macaroons and elegant tiny cakes that I have ordered decisively (because sweets are serious business in Paris – and I had already heard this before reading Bonny Reichert’s article). I am no longer sitting quietly in our strawbale, timberframe home cradled by various shades of spring verte and grande fir trees. Saint-Germain is bustling. Raspail farmers market smells soak past my nose into my sensitive taste buds.

I wonder again about Kathy’s post and how much we need to know about each other to share an experience. In fact, how much do we really know about someone even if we live with them daily? How well do we really know ourselves? Take for instance Laurie’s recent “University of Lifeposts. Attempting to know ourselves seems to me to be one of the greatest adventures of living…

So my dear friend and blogging colleague Kathy, at “Lake Superior Spirit,” what you share is just right and it is enough. I believe we only ever know fragments of others and a few more fragments about ourselves – even if it is our sole intention for each day we live. Yet those moments that slice our energy in pure connection to self, to another, or to a place; in this we know all we need to know. And Kathy, your blog does this with the expertise of a French chef choosing the day’s cuisine needs from local markets.

Sprout Question: How well do you know your creative self?

© 2010 Terrill Welch, All rights reserved.

Liberal usage granted with written permission. See “About” for details.

Purchase photography at http://www.redbubble.com/people/terrillwelch

Creative Potager – where imagination rules. Be inspired.

From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada

Evening Sea Oil Painting

The sea hag swished her skirts then drapes them elegantly over dark rocks. Embracing the shore she pauses – then glides away, only to return again. Ah what a temptress. With the last light of a sunset sky caught in her folds, she lays the sea before us.

“Evening Sea” is painted on 100% natural cotton, 11X14 inches by one and a half inches.

View full resolution image here. (much more detail)

I do not have any process shots of “Evening Sea” beyond the initial underpainting that I shared earlier. It is one of those times that I settled in and painted until I was done and then fussed a bit around the edges the next day. This doesn’t happen often when painting but it did this time. I still look and see something that I might want to change but the roll of the sea is caught in the patterns of reflection and the movement is trapped in the paint showing through from underneath. So I don’t touch it. I leave it and watch the sea in its evening beauty.

Sprout Question: Can you tell us about a piece you created with ease?

Note: If anyone has any tips for photographing oil paintings, I am all ears (or eyes). They are much more difficult to get “true” then my watercolour paintings and I’m struggling a little with it – okay I’m struggling a lot (it took about 20 shots to get this the way I wanted it) but a person has to start someplace.

© 2010 Terrill Welch, All rights reserved.

Liberal usage granted with written permission. See “About” for details.

Purchase photography at http://www.redbubble.com/people/terrillwelch

Creative Potager – where imagination rules. Be inspired.

From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada

Creative Community

As I mentioned on Monday, I have been reading about Camille Pissarro and admiring his work and that of other impressionist painters that were part of his community. There was Monet, Manet, Renoir, and Cezanne to name a few. The influence of these fellow artists in Pissarro’s work is sometimes mentioned when author Linda Doeser discusses a particular painting.

Ah, to have been part of these passionate (and at the time unacceptable notions) about rendering the quality of light by exploring the spontaneity and immediacy of lively colour and rapid brush strokes with no hint of drama or sentimentality.

“spring salad” photograph rendered coarsely in oils – view full resolution and purchase here.

Then I thought about Creative Potager and those of you who regularly through your comments and my connections to your own sites are part of my creative community. To name just a few…

The use of line and creating greater connection between drawing and painting. Jerry Shawback http://www.thewhole9.com/jerryshawback

Always giving our best and writing from a place of showing rather than telling. Laurie Buchanan. http://holessence.wordpress.com

Bringing the flow of her everyday into focus for the rest of us. Kathy Drue http://upwoods.wordpress.com

Sharing the exquisite world of film as a creative medium of expression. Sam Juliano http://wondersinthedark.wordpress.com

Discusses the practicalities of promoting and selling art work. Itaya http://itaya.blogspot.com

Shares her studio process and her success while celebrating and acknowledging yours. Martha Marshall http://artistsjournal.wordpress.com

Sprout Question: With whom are you presently discussing your creative ideas?

© 2010 Terrill Welch, All rights reserved.

Liberal usage granted with written permission. See “About” for details.

Purchase photography at http://www.redbubble.com/people/terrillwelch

Creative Potager – where imagination rules. Be inspired.

From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada

Rediscovered Love Poem


View and purchase full resolution image rendered in oils here.

In the middle of a quiet afternoon, I rediscovered a love poem and some photos from our time in Arequipa Peru…

I have an image of your face. I came across it in a dream
the way you might find photos in a bureau drawer inside a haunted house…

Is it a negative? It shows the opposite of what the world could ever seem.
Nothing in the world could be so two-dimensionally luminous.

Is it a window? Endless space is etched out in the background scene.
Ice crystals melt upon the foreground glass as it reflects your warm essence.

I analyzed this solitary still… as I once studied sequences in streams
of long pi decimals, where every point is crucial and mysterious.

I believed in music waiting just outside the daily lockstep prison of my life.
These dots might be the stenciled notes a spinet box could play.

Or could this be your aura, passing through someone’s eyes of trouble and strife – prisms in reverse that cast your silhouette in dreams by night, or images by day.

Eventually the scattered tiles of metaphors turned sideways like a knife,
and cut one vibrant moment from my life… your name, your face, is what I finally could hear, see, say.

by David L. Colussi, February 14, 2003

Sprout Question: When do/will you take time to visit the treasures you are keeping shut away?


© 2010 Terrill Welch, All rights reserved.

Liberal usage granted with written permission. See “About” for details.

Purchase photography at http://www.redbubble.com/people/terrillwelch

Creative Potager – where imagination rules. Be inspired.

From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada

The Crone’s Passion

The Crone’s Passion – a woman’s story (a longer than usual read)


I read an invitation I received from Hystersisters to participate in the Bloom study: “The primary purpose of this study is to determine the safety and effectiveness of LibiGel®, an investigational medication for Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder (HSDD).” Today, I savoured the last lines of Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette’s 1928 novel Break of Day. And today, I am compelled, driven by a compulsion, to write to you about a coming of age story. This is not the usual pimply-awkward coming of age story. Rather it is about the full-bloom-turning-at-the-climax-of-life coming of age story.

As with the finest stories, I shall begin by sharing with you the end I have in mind. The question is posed by Colette near the close of the one-hundred and forty-one page publication of Break of Day, which Judith Thurman clarifies in the introduction: it is not really entitled Break of Day but more accurately translates as Birth of Day. The question is “how many of us see the day appear?” The narrator does not stop to allow pondering of an answer – she gives it immediately, as freely as a lover’s kiss on our naked skin. Her reply: “the ageing of the sun, which each morning shortens its course, takes place in private.” I agree. Too often this is true.

Thurman’s introduction to the novel imparts “here, as throughout [Colette’s] oeuvre, the male of the species is the weaker but nobler creature, while the female monopolizes the ‘will to survive.’” I have not enough knowledge of Colette’s work to argue this analysis. However, I propose that perhaps Break of Day is not about the male species at all. Perhaps Break of Day is primarily about desire. About love! In fact, perhaps it is primarily about female desire and love. Not precisely about the womanly desire or love for another but the actual physical ability to hormonally suffer lust at the expense of common sense. Perhaps Colette’s male character, Vial, and possibly all the characters in the novel, are props to bring our attention to what all women shall experience – if they live long enough, no matter how many “investigational medications” are invented, – the  loss of sexual desire. Contemporary medicine’s concoction of “hypoactive sexual desire” as an unbecoming “disorder,” may well be a defining outbreak caused by a society which is unwilling to see the day appear. Is it possible that we have willingly sold our crone rites of passage for the mythology of an endless summer in youth?

Beyond the financial fortunes to be harvested by soliciting our fear of aging, why might this be? Wine cannot be made if the grapes are left to wither on the vine past their full plumpness. Do we want those plump grapes so badly that we are willing to forgo their picking, tramping and bottling into sustaining comfort during the second half of our lives? This is my fear – your answer will be “yes.” I am compelled – driven – before even waiting for your reply to barter with you, in fair trade, for a chance that you may be able to bottle your best! Come with me . . .

From the beginning of Break of Day, Colette winds inseparably between the light of day, and the passage of time as desiring women… “A little wing of light is beating between the two shutters, touching with irregular pulsations the wall or the long heavy table where we write or read or play, that eternal table that has come back from Brittany, as I have come back.” In the middle of her long paragraph describing such things as her favoured yellow plates, she states “a woman lays claim to as many native lands as she has had happy loves. She is born, too, under every sky where she has recovered from the pain of loving.” Colette concludes that her time that she now has under the blue sky is “doubly” hers with its light air and grapes that have ripened so quickly – except, she has spent a lot of time “not knowing of it!” I ask of what she has not known. Colette’s narrator answers: “That noble bareness that thirst sometimes confers on the soil, the refined idleness that one learns from a frugal people – for me these are late-discovered riches.”

The story’s mistral brings the beginning of transformation with “a strange tribute of withered petals, finely sifted seeds, sand and battered butterflies” being pushed under the door – as with the Bloom study, conjuring up our fear of the worst, not so much the fear of dying but more the death of our youth:

Be off with you, I’ve discouraged other tokens before now; and I’m no longer forty, to avert my eyes at sight of a fading rose. Is that militant life over and done with then? There are three good times for thinking of it: the siesta, a short hour after dinner when the rustling of the newspaper, just arrived from Paris, seems oddly to fill the room, and then the irregular insomnia of the small hours before dawn… Humble as I always am when I’m faced with anything I don’t understand, I’m afraid of being mistaken when I imagine that this is the beginning of a long rest between myself and men. Come Man, my friend, let us simply exist side by side! I have always liked your company. Just now you’re looking at me so gently. What you see emerging from a confused heap of feminine cast-offs, still weighed down like a drowned woman by seaweed (for even if my head is saved, I cannot be sure that my struggling body will be), is your sister, your comrade: a woman who is escaping from the age when she is a woman.

She goes on to describe the bodily changes that come with the middle-of-our-supposed-age, then declares “let us remain together; you no longer have any reasons now for saying goodbye to me for ever.” With fact and possibly astonishment, she imparts her final recognition: “love, one of the great commonplaces of existence is slowly leaving mine.”

Instead of succumbing to the palatable urges to grasp, strain and cling to desire, such as the Bloom Study will rely on to fill their voluntary study quota, Colette grips her truth as  “the arrogant song of a blackbird comes rolling up to me like big round pearls dropping from a broken thread.” I ask us as women and as women leaders to do the same. Why you might ask – when science, cosmetics, drugs and fashion can forestall this necessary and eventual truth? I ask us because I fear we may misplace gifts we have to receive beyond our bodily sexual desire. For there will come a time, as the mother of Colette’s narrator confirms, when we will be and may want to be alone:

it’s the final return to single life when you refuse to have any longer in your house, especially if it’s a small one, an unmade bed, a pail of slops, an individual – man or woman – walking about in a night-shirt. Ugh! No, no, no more company at night, no more strangers breathing, no more of that humiliation of waking up simultaneously! I prefer to die, it’s more seemly.

If we should spend our middle years gripping and clinging to our youthful expression of sexual desire, we shall again, as with our youth we are grieving, miss out. We shall miss out on the rich harvest available to us. If only we have the courage to press and bottle our voluptuous memories, sipping and tasting their lushness frequently, before time passes and we must make the final passage to death solo, single, alone.

In our time that finds us void of nature yearning, we may cry “if only I had known!”  In fact, I did lament and grieve with such a cry. Colette’s eloquent rendering of this struggle is reflected in my own journal writings from a few years ago:

I am obliged to face this alone-place amidst so much beauty and love. I am forced to acknowledge an old and familiar feeling of being bound, trapped and held too tight. What is it that creates this dis-ease – this desire to break free? What is it that has kept me still and waiting this time? A waiting that holds the belief that this too shall pass, and I will arrive on fresh uncultivated ground and rediscover something of great value under the virgin soil. Stay still I tell myself. Breathe into it! I am birthing another phase of my life in which I am virtually baron of sexual sensation. The well traveled paths of intimacy have been erased from the surface of my breasts, thighs, and pelvis through the removal of all that is female. I can climax it is true but without the deep tremor and contractual satisfaction that was granted my body before surgery. Loving hands are met at best with curious compliance and at worst with clawing and scratching reminiscent of running my hand backwards over the coat of a cat. I no long greet these trespasses with involuntary moans and straining-rhythmic pleasure as these gifts are so freely and lovingly given. I can no longer slide close and nuzzle these caresses to my love without involuntary gasping and franticly fighting to free myself of every blanket and point of body contact. I grieve this loss! If only I had known, I would have engaged with even greater abandon in the arms of my many lovers! I would have stored these delights with the vivid vibrancy only afforded trauma memories. I would have found a way to keep these sometimes rash and sometimes delicate human contacts from becoming only ghostly glimpses just barely retrievable in my present day thoughts. Damn it anyway!!

The age of forty-eight seems much too young to be groping around in the dark for lost sensations of pure pleasure. Whose body is this anyway?! I want mine back! I want my body that sang from the touch of boys, men, women and the sensation of a child nursing my breast! How cruel to say in such calm repose, “Let’s take your ovaries as you are so close to menopause”. Could it not have been said “I am so sorry; we recommend this life saving measure knowing that one of life’s great pleasures will go with these small body parts?” I wonder if I would be less angry, experience less sorrow if I had known? The answer is probably not… for I could not have foreseen the loss until after, when it is too late. I selfishly grieve for me and in great compassion I grieve for my love/my lover/my partner/my friend – my friend who forlornly replies “you know it is the same for men.” I know that he feels this to be true and to some degree it may be true. Impotency is common for men. “Drugs help” he says, “they are working on these drugs for women as well.” But my heart is breaking. I silently cry… how can I express my love to you without my body?!!! How will you be able to express your love to me! We are so much more than “just friends.” How will we discover new ways of intimacy? Where are the possibilities? As you stay cloistered in your den below and leave me to toss back the covers alone in the open attic of our sleep chamber – I wonder how we will discover new intimacy? As you sleep late and I wander the downstairs with care not to disturb you – I wonder how we will discover new intimacy. I can hear the cast iron bed shift under your waking. I must leave to face the day and smile, remember to smile as the sun kisses the valley floor!

I can assure you, in the months and years that followed this lament, we did find new ways of expressing our love and experiencing our intimacy – welcoming surprising, lush late-blooming beauties with nonsensical abandon, carefully bottling them for long twilight sips. I beg of us not to wile away precious years clutching the last rose of our sexual desire. Sip your wine that you have put down before the grapes withered on the vine! For as Colette surmises “‘autumn is the only vintage time’ – perhaps that is true in love too.”

Complete your rite of passage. Enjoy the crone’s passion. As you admire the last shriveling treasure of your desire smile and proclaim as Colette’s narrator proclaims, “in future I shall gather nothing except by armfuls. Great armfuls of wind, of coloured atoms, of generous emptiness that I shall dump down proudly on the threshing floor.” Seek to be awake to see the day appear – even if it means you are chilled from sitting through the night air so not to miss its arrival. In the natural rhythm of life, you will have time for sleep later.
Note: References are hyperlinked. Originally posted with image of “Last Rose in October 2009 on the now-defunct Gaia Community website.

Sprout Question: Has the passage of time influenced your creativity?

© 2010 Terrill Welch, All rights reserved.

Liberal usage granted with written permission. See “About” for details.

Purchase photography at http://www.redbubble.com/people/terrillwelch

Creative Potager – where imagination rules. Be inspired.

From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada

What are you waiting for?

Brave the unknown…
Quick whistle of shore birds…. longer notes of an eagle in solo flight over head… waves cresting – moment by moment…

Rush, swish, rise and fall – connecting in a dance – moment by moment

Crisp dusk moves swiftly, heading off the last of today’s sun – moment by moment.

Cedars lose themselves in shadow yet remain unyielding in their whispered fragrance – moment by moment.

Last light is often the light most cherished. May darkness wrap you in a warm blanket of possibility,

as moonlight serenades the sea…

I have come to trust and know that nothing stays the same. We are all in our physical existence for but a split second of eternal time.

Sprout Question: What are you waiting for?

© 2010 Terrill Welch, All rights reserved.

Liberal usage granted with written permission. See “About” for details.

Purchase photography at http://www.redbubble.com/people/terrillwelch

Creative Potager – where imagination rules. Be inspired.

From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada

Walk by the Sea

I never tire of walking trail along the sea. I hope you are not yet tired of my images from these walks. The photos today are from a walk that you won’t find on any map. The walk is only known by locals. It is on private land and permission is granted at your own risk. It is a privilege and a honour that I do not take for granted. So I am not going to tell you exactly where this is on Mayne Island. If you know, smile wisely and enjoy the photo essay along with everyone else.

Come with me….

The trail is rugged in places. I often stop to be able to look up from placing my feet carefully between tree roots and sandstone sticking up on the rough trail. In the next few years, you won’t see many photos like this one where to show the trail in the deep shadows, the sea and sky over exposed. We will all know how to do HDR... but when we look in real time we must choose what we can see at one time… so I have also chosen in this photograhy.

As I walk, a sea lion surfaces off the shore. I know it is there because when it breathes I can feel it on the back of my neck. I look. There she is. I do not try to take photos as past experience tells me, my lens won’t reach. She rolls up to the surface. Breathes. Then rolls her long sleek body over and down she goes, surfacing again many yards ahead of me. I don’t see her the next time she surfaces.

About 45 minutes later I make my way to the point.

The sandstone is warm from the sun. I sit and wonder at the beauty of its shape.

Looking over on the other side I catch a wave coming in.

And then I think I know…

High tides and winter storms have carved out such a place where I now admire its beauty.

I don’t want to go. I want to stay and be part of the sandstone and then part of the sea, then part of the sandstone… until day becomes night and night day and time has no relevance.

I do go though. I am not sure what makes me leave, but I do.

Two hours later, I am putting the key back into the ignition. I go home. I make lunch. I leave these images in my mind until last night… or rather early this morning as I was still editing at 1:00 am. Now I have savoured them long enough… I can now share them with you.

Sprout Question: If you could do only one more creative of work in your life time – what would you do?

© 2010 Terrill Welch, All rights reserved.

Liberal usage granted with written permission. See “About” for details.

Purchase photography at http://www.redbubble.com/people/terrillwelch

Creative Potager – where imagination rules. Be inspired.

From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada

Distortion

Exactness is not the same as expressing the exact emotion in our work.

Our discussion in yesterday’s post “Shadow Memories” entered into my dreams, leaving various images and reflections scatter around at dawn where small birds and coffee tell me it is now morning. Shadow memories are distorted reflections, yet their fleeting brilliance, can engage our emotional responses more deeply than the original image or experience.

From my training and experience as a counselor, I know that some memories are stored in our brains differently. These memories can be trauma memories or any experience that is overwhelming. We store these experiences without “feeling” first. When the time is right, we can “reflect” on those memories and experience the emotions connected with that moment for the FIRST time.

Why am I telling you this? What does this have to do with writing, painting, photography or other forms of creativity? I believe it may have everything to do with creativity. Creative work that moves us, positive or negative, must elicit an emotional response. Countless examples tell us that it is not the perfection or accuracy with which the creator has captured the original experience but rather, the accuracy with which an emotion is captured that makes, impactful work. The entrance to that emotional connection is likely a distorted emphasis or reflection of a subject.

Take for instance the sketches above. When sketching, I have little ability to edit. I sketch quickly. My marks are made in rapid succession on the paper. I “feel” rather than show you exactly what I am seeing. The feelings are not just the ones present at the moment but also the ones that flicker in the shadows connecting through all time and space that I define as my experience. The sketches are far from being an exact replication of the nude male model I was drawing. Yet, in the distorted strokes of the charcoal on paper there is little doubt that they reflect a nude masculine form. Shadow memories flicker through or prance in the forefront of our creativity providing passages into deep emotions for ourselves and then for others.

Today I shall write as I sketch. I shall not edit. I shall write and allow the distorted brilliance of shadow memories to catch my imagination with vivacious autonomy.

Sprout Question: How do you access the exact emotion expressed in a piece of work?

© 2010 Terrill Welch, All rights reserved.

Liberal usage granted with written permission. See “About” for details.

Purchase photography at http://www.redbubble.com/people/terrillwelch

Creative Potager – where imagination rules. Be inspired.

From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada

Shadow Memories

Shuffling the source material for my new book Mona’s Work, I’m having difficulty deciding what story to write next. It is not the material that is difficult. The bits of paper, the scribbler and the recipe book are all straight forward. It is the shadow memories.

The memories I want for the book are also connected to ones I would rather not revisit. Is this why I have been working on Mona’s Work since 2007 with only a slim volume of stories to show for my efforts?  I have seen enough therapists, made my way through enough healing circles and drawn enough pictures about these experiences to feel the work I need to do is done. I wish not to haunt my readers with these stories as it seems unnecessary. The memories are not related to the same people, or the same places just the same time in my life.

I’m determined that these shadow stories not become part of the final cut but will I need to write them anyway – so that I can mine deeper into the my memory for the stories I do want to retrieve? Or can I just note them and place the memory on a “parking lot list” such as I use when facilitating so that groups do not derail? Items placed on a parking lot list are revisited at the end of a process to see if there is anything that must be done with them. They are seen as valuable in the first instance – just not part of the immediate work. They are placed in the parking lot so as not to be lost (as if that is ever going to happen).  Can I do this with the shadow memories? Or should I write through the memories, allowing the darkness in behind the bright colours of Mona’s Work?

I wonder if, as in the image below of “city morning in spring,” I can find the balance and beauty of my shadow memories – as is evident in the buildings showing their shadowy bulk behind the trees illuminated in the morning sun.

View and purchase full resolution image here.

Sprout Question: How do your shadows impact or influence your creative process?

© 2010 Terrill Welch, All rights reserved.

Liberal usage granted with written permission. See “About” for details.

Purchase photography at http://www.redbubble.com/people/terrillwelch

Creative Potager – where imagination rules. Be inspired.

From Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada