Why not the right time is actually the perfect time

I get it, it’s not the right time to buy art. Really — there is so much else to buy, like electricity bills, groceries, or that holiday you’ve been saving up for.

But when it comes to buying original art, the wrong time might actually be the perfect time, and here’s why.

Art speaks to the soul, and the soul needs care and nourishment during the harder moments in life. When life is taking unexpected turns, art can provide comfort, peace, and inspiration.


It is with the eyes of grief that the soul sometimes sees the most clearly, what really matters. And what makes sense on our worst days, is what speaks to the soul.

I’ve sure lived this. When my sister passed away, I had no attention span to read for one year — and for one full year, I only read poetry. Poetry did not make sense to me, until she passed away.

Some of the people who have spoken to me, who’ve been impacted by artwork, were experiencing complex grief. One grew up in a war zone, and lives every day with PTSD. Some have lived with the loss of a spouse or a sibling.

When everything is upside down, art makes the most sense. You may be there right now, experiencing something really unexpected. You might be trying to numb the most unimaginable feelings even just while reading this post. Can I encourage you? Look at art. Take this time to find out what fills your cup. Feast your eyes. Nourish your soul. Art doesn’t let you numb your feelings — it helps you understand them.

It might not be visual art — you might want to pick up a poetry book, or check out what theatre productions are happening near you. Have you ever been to the symphony? Now might be the best time to give yourself the gift to experience a new art form.

But, maybe visual art is something to check out, if you’ve never taken the time to simply just browse the incredible array of talent that is out there in the world, here is a place to start— check out these artists on Saatchi. That’s what I do sometimes. You can use the search tool to look up themes and colours that light you up.

Has an impulse buy ever changed your life?

I once bought an original artwork while laying on the couch, during the pandemic, when I didn’t have stable hours at work. I was browsing the website of the artist Sarah Delaney. She spoke of life as a non linear series of lines — and her connection between meaning, moving through time, and the linear composition of the artwork spoke so deeply to me, I bought the work, then and there. I never once regretted this decision. The work symbolizes that tough season of overlapping griefs, and every time I look at it —which is often — it reminds me of what it means to move forward,  when it feels like I am walking in circles.

I find that many people who stop at art fairs to take in my work have a wistful look on their face. They are interested in buying an original work, but something is stopping them. Probably, that something is valid.

Life is expensive.

And that’s why I’m not here to tell you to spend money you don’t have.

I try not to do that too.

I would however, encourage you to think about your life, and the things you own. What in your home, do you love? What, as Marie Kondo would put it, sparks joy?


Original art can encourage you to follow your dreams. It can symbolize a family value. It can take you back to a beloved spot. It can remind you of what lights you up.

Original art can give you a sense that you are connected to a greater movement, as original artwork from serious artists can gain value over time. But financial value is just one small part of its value.

If the work inspires and encourages you, I’ll stop playing the role of the artist here, and I’ll be your bestie instead, just for the moment. I want to say this loud and clear — you are worth the price. Your home is worth being a space that is comforting and inspiring for you, with an original painting hanging on the wall.

It’s not that the work is expensive — it’s that you are worth the price.

If you absolutely love original art and really wish you could purchase a piece, but feel conflicted because you are on a budget, here are some tips. They might not be appropriate for every artist, but they are worth a try.

  1. Ask the artist about a payment plan (yes, I do have that! :))

  2. Let the artist know your budget, and ask about archival, or smaller works (older works that are not currently part of the artist’s feature collections)

  3. Consider suggesting a trade. What skill might you have that the artist could benefit from?  Artists tend to think outside the box. A fair trade of labour, or another handmade product, might be something we’d be up for.

  4. Start saving — make an intention that in a certain timeframe, you want to buy an original artwork. Is it three years from now? Five years from now? Is it for a milestone birthday that is a few years away? Consider how much money you’d have to put away each month, and do it. Once again, you are worth it! After this, make a payment plan with yourself, and stick to it. You might even consider asking your favourite artist for a commission, after all the time and energy you put into saving up.

  5. If you have a supportive community, consider asking for original art as a group gift for an important celebration.

Maybe you are at the end of this blog, and you still wish you could tell me that you don’t get art. You don’t get why original art is generally more expensive than you think it should be.

For one thing, you are right, you don’t get art — because to “get” something requires thinking.

You feel art.

We “get” art the most when we don’t get life.

When life makes no sense, art makes sense.

The value we put on what inspires us, and speaks to our soul, that’s really subjective. So is the price of art. The art that takes several months of layering to make, not to mention the materials, is worth the cost. Not only is it the hours of work that went into the painting, but hours, and hours of practice to get to that point to make the work. Finally, the work’s original quality, the fact that there is only one of it in the world, adds to its value. In a world of things made for the masses, it is really special to know something you have is the only one of its kind.

So, when it’s not the right time —

—when it feels like everything is going wrong, and life is upside down, think about art as a possible way — not as a shortcut to sidestep the wild path that life has handed you — but as a way to see the world differently, while walking in circles.

When life doesn’t make sense, art makes sense.

And honestly? People do far worse things with finances during these times.

Art is an acknowledgement of our inner, emotional landscape. And during the hardest times, it’s a beautiful thing to honour them.

How Was Paris?

I’ve been trying to answer to the question I’ve been asked a lot recently, which is, 

How was Paris?

How is Paris? As in, how is Paris even real

Paris is itself, a work of art. 

Paris is being inside of a choose your own adventure novel. 

Paris is a box of chocolates, every chocolate uniquely delicious — the best one you’ve ever had —- and the next one even better than the last. 

If you know what is good for you —


 You should really go to Paris. 



To experience the city is to walk in something brimming with thought, symbol, iconography, history, and romance. From the locks on the bridges where lovers have thrown keys into the Seine, to delicate details of each carefully created pastry, to the sparking Eiffel Tower at night, the city is a warm embrace between delight and elegance.

From November 4to to 10th 2025, my teenage daughter and I spent five days in this enchanting place.

While life throws its unfair share of curveballs, some things seem to fall together at the right time. This trip was one of those experiences. Brimming with excitement as the days of departure drew near, I wondered if Paris would not live up to the expectations that were building with each encounter I had with friends who have visited. 

Whether it was fifteen years ago, or two weeks ago, they all seemed to say the same thing: 

“Go! You will absolutely love it.” 

A common tip they all gave was not to overbook timed visits at museums. They all told me to make room for the whimsical surprises that Paris would hold around every one of her corners.

We landed with heads full of dreams. Full of plans and directions, glued to my phone wanting to make sure we navigated the city and used our short time there well, it was my thirteen year old daughter that had her head up and eyes open, and many times, led us into the world of contemporary art.


This was such a delightful surprise to experience - being led by her into the world I love and am endlessly inspired by. 

The first gallery experience was an exhibition at the Grand Palace. Setting off to Musee Orangerie in hopes of showing her the Water Lilies by Monet, we encountered the usual long line outside the museum.  Off in the distance,  the striking glass ceiling of the Grand Palais caught her eye. We decided to forget the line for the time being, and head towards the glass ceiling with the French flag beckoning us from a distance. 



The Grand Palais was built in 1900 for an international expo, welcoming inventors and artists from around the world.


As we walked, the Eiffel Tower loomed large to our left, and a grand traffic circle with statues all around us seemed to suggest we were  continuing into a historic area of the city (then again, what area of the city is not historic?)


Since the time when it was used to welcome inventors, artists, and spectators from around the world, the Grand Palais has been repurposed into a welcoming space for anyone, and given the grey skies and rain that day, it was the perfect spot for us to explore indoors, away from the steady November drizzle. 

During our visit, there was a contemporary art show of three experimental artists. Seeing the poster for the show, my daughter pleaded to check it out. Niki de Saint Phalle, Jean Tinguely, and Pontus Hulten used found objects to make sculptural works, and often works that move and make delightful, quirky noises. (My daughter said the sculptures/inventions reminded her of Wallace and Gromit). Niki de Saint Phalle was an experimental artist who filled the world with immensely bright sculptures of people, often female forms, and animals. Her bold colours and creative interpretations of form remind me a lot of Neck Chand’s masterful sculptural works. 

paper mache sculpture by Nikke De Saint Phalle

Other artists’ works we were delighted to encounter were at the Tokyo Palace, a hub for contemporary art that we found by complete mistake. Having spent hours navigating the metro system to Versailles (a feat that is not for the faint of heart), we took the bus back to a neighbourhood near the Eiffel Tower in anticipation of an intimate classical music experience scheduled for 8 pm. We experienced some metro system interruptions, and thought it would be better to head to the venue and find something to do nearby for a while. Well, find something to do, we did! 

We got off the bus around six thirty pm, knowing we were a three minute walk from our eight pm venue. A large building with the name “Tokyo Palace” was the first that came into sight.

“Mom, this is a museum of contemporary art!” My daughter observed while enthusiastically heading towards the doors.

We walked into the large black building to find the place full with people enjoying tasty dinner at the lobby cafe. After scarfing down our own meal — delicious mushroom risotto for me, and impeccably crafted lasagna for her, one large show invitation in particular was calling to us. 


“Echo, Delay, Reverb” American Art, Francophone Thought 


Curated by Naomi Beckworth, with works by Amy Sillman, Julie Mehretu, Felix Gonzalez- Torres, among a host of other artists* 

 “Heavier than Air (written form)” Julie Meheretu


This immensely dense show in both thought and works was overwhelming to try to take in within a short amount of time. Seeing an original piece by Julie Meheretu was such an incredible surprise. One of my favourite artists living and working in our era, I find her works and her art practice very compelling. 

The building was vast, the works intricate, soulful, and engaging. As the name of the show suggests, the installations seemed to express a wide array of thoughts and ideas. A true representation of thinking out loud, the works were poignantly executed, provocative and intimate, like wandering through a large, complex mind made up of well formed thoughts about justice, visibility, and hope. 


As we continued on our trip, more surprises did, indeed await us. Walking towards a bus stop, my daughter looked over and noticed a pop up contemporary art show including engaging, interactive works by a host of artists inspired by urban aesthetics. Included were largescale paper works by the illustrator collective Icinori. In all exhibitions we saw, I was struck by the unique ways art was being displayed. The creativity was not just in the making, but in the work’s unique interaction with the space. The work wasn’t on the wall, it was a wall to walk through. It was a house filled with swirling feathers. It was a tide of canvas in the shape of a wave rolling towards me.

Largescale drawings by Icinori

 

Throughout all of Paris, I was touched by how engaging the art galleries were for people of all ages, abilities, and walks of life. To be honest, I expected such a famous art hub to be more pretentious, and I subconsciously avoided this thinking the contemporary would be intimidating. Every time we visited these galleries, it was my daughter leading us, asking me to go inside. To my surprise, the spaces were engaging, inspiring, and welcoming. Not intimidating in the least. I’m a big believer that the coolest people are actually warm, and while I can’t say this of every experience we had in Paris, I definitely found this to be true in the authenticity radiating through the contemporary works I encountered from artists all around the world. 

“Zone of Nonbeing” by Char Jere´

Since returning to Canada, I’ve spent time reflecting on our experiences with a few friends. With one friend, we observed that Paris is a city that defines blink and you’ll miss it. When you go to Paris, (and you will go to Paris, because you must go to Paris), all these shows I’ve described will no longer be there. The artists will be showing their works in another city that will no doubt be grateful to have them. Sure, the mainstay art museums will be there, and they are wonderful in their own right. 

But if I, and my friends are right (and trust me, we generally are) — something is there, waiting for you. 

I can’t tell you what it is, but I have no doubt it will fill you with delight, giving you the most creative responses to one of the very best questions—

“How was Paris?” 





With works by Allora & Calzadilla, Laurie Anderson, Siah *Artists in Echo, Delay, Reverb include Armajani, Firelei Báez, Lynda Benglis, Tom Burr, Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, Paul Chan, Jimmy DeSana, Vivienne Dick, Mark Dion, Torkwase Dyson, Hal Fischer, Andrea Fraser, Coco Fusco, Charles Gaines, Ellen Gallagher, Andrea Geyer, Felix Gonzalez-Torres, Dan Graham, Renée Green, Adler Guerrier, Hans Haacke, David Hammons, K8 Hardy, Hock E Aye Vi Edgar Heap of Birds, Sky Hopinka, Juliana Huxtable, Char Jeré, Joan Jonas, Mike Kelley, Mary Kelly, Caroline Kent, Glenn Ligon, James Luna, Tala Madani, Tiona Nekkia McClodden, Julie Mehretu, Meleko Mokgosi, Wangechi Mutu, Lorraine O’Grady, Pope.L, Walid Raad, Kameelah Janan Rasheed, Martha Rosler, Cameron Rowland, Beatriz Santiago Muñoz, Allan Sekula, Paul Mpagi Sepuya, Cindy Sherman, Amy Sillman, Lorna Simpson, Kiki Smith, Oscar Tuazon, Fred Wilson, Cici Wu and Anicka Yi.

Exercises for the heart -- five books that spark compassion

If you’re like me, you reach for books that stretch your perspective and leave you thinking long after you’ve closed the cover. Stories can give us a tiny window into lives impacted by war, poverty, and injustice. They challenge how we see the world and ourselves, sparking compassion and a desire for enduring advocacy. I’m sharing a few gems here in case you’re looking for something that will birth reflection, stir empathy, and inspire your own journey of art or activism as you seek to respond to the narratives that are rendered below. If you’ve read any of these, I’d love to hear your reflections!

1. Long Walk to Freedom by Nelson Mandela

Mandela’s autobiography traces his life from rural childhood to political activism, twenty-seven year long imprisonment, in which he missed his children growing up as well as so many other life events. Through this entire experience, he works in a political capacity, eventually leading South Africa out of apartheid. It’s both a personal narrative and a national history of struggle, resilience, and transformation.

As Mandela was a Lawyer, his wording is often very technical. He’s not out to entertain his readers — he’s sharing the story of his life from the voice and perspective that is true to him. I found this both a challenge, but an honour to read the narrative that was so clearly meant to be expressed according to his personality, and not necessarily the preferences of the reader. 

Why I think every artist should read this book - Mandela’s persistence in holding to vision despite oppression teaches about the art of resistance, about patience with long processes, and about the power of personal narrative to become collective memory.

2. Say You Are One of Them – Uwem Akpan

Say You Are One of Them is a collection of five short stories, each told from the perspective of a child in a different African country, depicting the harsh realities they face. In Kenya, a young girl is forced into prostitution to help her family survive. In Nigeria, siblings are groomed for child trafficking, and a boy disguises himself to survive religious riots. In Ethiopia, two girls—one Christian, one Muslim—are torn apart by religious conflict. In Rwanda, a child witnesses the impact of ethnic violence on her family. Across these stories, Akpan portrays the resilience, loyalty, and small acts of hope that persist amid trauma and injustice. This is one of the heaviest, most rewarding books I’ve ever read. Kleenexes are mandatory.

Why I think every artist should read this book 

For artists, this collection offers lessons in perspective, empathy, and emotional truth. By centering the stories through children’s eyes, Akpan weaves together the tragic relationship between innocence and trauma. Artists can explore contrasting tones—fragility against brutality, hope amid despair—and experiment with storytelling that captures unseen or silenced voices.

3. On the Way to Casa Lotus – Lorena Junco Margain

Summary: Written in arrestingly beautiful prose, this is a visual artist’s memoir of healing after an experience of medical malpractice leads to lifelong medical complications. This generously honest and heartfelt read explores themes of forgiveness, vulnerability, identity, and resilience.

Why I think every artist should read this book - The book models how a creative mindset and an open heart can lead to personal transformation and inner healing, despite extraordinarily difficult circumstances. For artists, it’s a reminder that a rich, poetic perspective on life can be birthed out of the deepest brokenness and despair. It’s a beautiful reminder that our bodies deserve our attention, unconditional love, and advocacy. 

4. 1000 Years of Joys and Sorrows – Ai Weiwei

Summary: Memoir of Chinese artist Ai Weiwei, intertwining his father’s persecution as a poet during China’s Cultural Revolution with his own journey as a dissident artist under surveillance and imprisonment. It’s about bravery, freedom, art, and truth in the face of authoritarianism.

Why I think every artist Should read this book: Weiwei shows how art and politics are inseparable when it comes to human rights. His story urges artists to be fearless truth-tellers, and to see their practice not just as personal expression, but as a tool for social change and legacy.

5. Ishmael’s Oranges – Claire Hajaj

Summary: A poignant novel about a love story between Jude, the daughter of a Jewish Holocaust survivor, and Salim, the son of Palestinian exiles. The book explores the impact on their children, the racial biases they face, and their struggles against inherited trauma, cultural divisions, and political realities.

Why I think every artist should read this book -  The novel wrestles with identity, belonging, and inherited conflict — themes artists often engage with. It demonstrates the complexity of love across divides and how personal and political stories are deeply entangled. For artists, it inspires ways to explore contradictions and tensions in their own work, seeding compassion for those caught in racial and political divides.

What to Make of This Artist Statement

My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death

-Jesus of Nazareth

This life offers no shortage of experiences with sadness, hey?

Personal encounters, stories of loved ones,

and taking in the daily news leads to appointments with grief that seem both too common, and never comfortable.

Grief can be a catalyst for despair;

leading to feelings of hopelessness,

disillusionment, and unfathomable,

emotionally excruciating pain.

Through the making of abstract large-scale tapestries, I explore how the repurposing of material — often clothing — from one form to another, applies to the nature of transformation. This creative practice involves a complete change of things I hold in my hands. Due to rips and stains, their purpose no longer applies, and I find sadness, and comfort in the cutting and re-purposing of these daily objects that at one time clung so closely to my body,

or those of my loved ones.

From my experiences, when it comes to tragedy, it seems there is a very thin, and almost invisible silver lining.

It’s almost as if you have to squint, and at times, believe, you are seeing it,

A tiny ring of light behind dark, stormy clouds:

tragedies present opportunities for personal growth.

This is not some kind of consolation prize, but rather a mandate to make meaning out of experiences appearing entirely senseless, and unjust.

Repurposed materials, like the body, like the earth, are a composition of elements and therefore a site of inevitable transformation. The collection and reworking of otherwise discarded material is linked to this idea of life as a cycle, one that inevitably involves dying and death, but also the creation of something new, and it seems, no matter how hard I try to parse the two; they are eternally, inextricably linked.

The tapestries are reminiscent of blankets, an enduring universal symbol of comfort through the ages. The paintings reference emotional landscapes, suggesting that the way through the grief processes is inevitably a journey through the terrain of the psyche, and for those who conceive of it — the soul, and the spirit. While much of the journey is overwhelming and out of control, there are some possible directions that can lead to the cultivation of interpersonal growth. As a fellow grief experiencer, I reach for a semblance of control and when it comes to the artistic process, I for once, get to be the storyteller. I transform found materials into artworks, and explore the nature of grief, creating a visual language of lamentation, and comfort, all the while taking my own time to heal, question, and process.

The textile works are both intricate and large, inviting the viewer to look closely and step back, mirroring the process of tuning into emotional needs and also reframing, or gaining perspective.

While the process of change as a result of grief is inevitable, it does seem there is one aspect of this arduous journey that remains possible to control, or at least, to hope for: that transformation leaves room for interpersonal growth, despite all the heartache, headaches, anger, rage, insomnia, and inexpressible sadness.

Growth is an open word that can mean many things for many people: For me, this has meant abandonment of fear, deepening of empathy, humility, appointments with divine love, gratitude and joy. This art is the means by which I explore the nature and outcomes of transformation, and that elusive silver lining, if I am squinting hard enough to see it.

Spirited - Artist Statement

Here is my artist statement for my recent series, Spirited

Spirit is ever the evasive word. Slipping in and out of conceptions of reality, it is the very definition of something loosely held. It’s root word being breath, describes something

of the expanse beyond, and tiny spaces within.

Her Element, Marcie Rohr, 2023

In the end, spirit may mean different things to different people, but spirited seems to be something rare in this world we can all agree on. Gritted teeth. Tenacity. Advocacy. Vibrancy. Relentless stubbornness doused in good fun. Determination. Endurance.

I make textiles because they connect me with a past marked by habits of work done by hand. Reminders of the endearing, enraging, monotonous grind of “women’s work” are not far off when my hands are busy. Stitching large scale tapestries, I think of old hands, maybe from one hundred years ago, chapped from washing dishes in scalding water, or arms hauling a load of wet laundry to hang on a line. I try to find the balance between bemoaning this archaic domestic work, and accepting it’s essence as a dying art form. When I’m bent over a textile, holding it in my lap, or stitching yarn as it hangs on the wall, I feel a kinship, a connection, a kind of doting tenderness flowing through me, that is, devoted attention to what I’m doing, right then and there. I’ve found that in this practice of artmaking, nothing I do can be overlooked; every square inch calls for intention. I could use a sewing machine, but I don’t. I could sit in a chair at a desk but I don’t, I sit on the floor, feet often falling asleep, surrounded by scraps of found cloth and glue and paint. The devotion to simplicity in the making is so fierce it could be called perverse, with all the ways I could make things easier for myself, but I don’t.

Hooray for Life, Marcie Rohr, 2024

There is something in the makeup of these textile pieces, and the layers of the paint, grown from all that focus; puzzles woven into their form, not unlike complex emotions colouring personalities; myself, people in my life I call family and friends, and undoubtedly you, too. The artwork, woven or painted from undivided intention, and determination, takes on its own unique vibrancy, similar to a person: unique, beautiful, obstinate, sometimes hard to love.

In short: spirited.

The textiles hanging like that, all loose on the wall, especially exude a kind of vulnerability that I’m aiming for. They are anything but performative. In this way, they remind me of a stubborn streak I have,  determination —much to my ego’s chagrin— not to make art to evoke a sense of wonder, and therefore, detachment from the grind of reality — the wet laundry, the dough, or whatever work that so far today has been left undone in my world. I want to build art for connection, a kind of embodiment of the posture that we as humans might adopt when we want to relate to each other, and not impress each other. It’s a very hard thing for an artist to do, all poised for performance, and I still don’t have it right. This series is simply another iteration of my attempt that for years I’ve been working on.

It must be true that making art is a slow, monotonous grind.

Signs of Life, Marcie Rohr, 2024

Grandmother-root-word spirit is connected to the ancient and ephemeral, but the picture we imagine in spirited is the exact opposite— to be unflappable, a stick in the mud. Is someone spirited really ephemeral? Not so much. They fill the room with themselves, in all their human imperfection, entirely unapologetic for the fire in their eyes.

Spiritual Transformation. Marcie Rohr, 2024

These pieces, I hope, exude something similar. Rooted in desire to encourage the expression of being alive, not just despite, but through the grind of monotony that is the work of my hands. (While I have skin and bones structuring my essence, what am I doing with myself)?

Spirited illustrates a desire to rise to an occasion with strength, and courage, despite a host of imperfections and obstacles — and believe me when I say in my life, there is an abundance of both. Spirited articulates a desire to say “I am here” while I am here, in the here and now. With the love and tenderness, the slow grind of cultivating many layers of these works, they feel complete when they resemble topographical landscapes, often areal views. They speak of a relentless craving to see beyond circumstantial obstacles, and to soar, weightless.

At the same time they are expressions of intent to dig inward, journeying through layers of mind and essence and finding things inside, strange and beautiful pieces of a grand puzzle that will never be quite complete, but still, I fiercely love.

She, too, is a Soft, Growing Thing. Marcie Rohr, 2023

If spirited connotes a desire to rise to an occasion, what occasions does this life relentlessly call for? Ones of connection, vulnerability, the slow grind of kindness. Relentless compassion. The granting of wisdom, the monotonous work of forgiveness.

I slog through in hopes of crafting a life that looks a little bit like art.

And about these works, I hope, if you sit long enough with them, they will begin to look a little like life.

Sights for Sore Eyes

I’m writing an entry that I started when I was recently in Mexico. Moments of rest during my times away from home have become really important nuggets of inspiration. I’ll start with my entry written one morning in a beautiful jungle town.

Some days aren’t quite as idyllic as this one. This morning I woke up in the picturesque town of Sayulita, in a dreamy boutique hotel with a rooftop pool overlooking the town and surrounding jungle hills.

We will probably take a stroll toward the oceanfront cafes to find some breakfast, and that will be the most pressing task for this effortlessly beautiful day. Looking around, everything is a delight to admire. When it comes to finding inspiration, there are far worse places to be.

Some days are not nearly as dreamy, and I’ve found that days like these can seem so distant, that I wonder if they ever truly existed.

As an artist, I’ve realized that just having a collections of photos on my phone is not adequate. I found I don’t take the time to really look through the photos, and when I do, I focus on the look of the photo, not always connecting to the feeling of the moment as it was my experience back then.

For my series Before the Fall, I wanted to figure out how to keep a repository of positive memories handy, as nostalgia became an increasingly important element in my work. One of the ways I did this was through music. I kept a playlist of songs that took me back to certain moments, just by the feel of their tune. I kept adding songs to my “Before the Fall” playlist all throughout the year that spoke the feeling I wanted to be evident in the painting. That and I made SURE TO DANCE while painting. This was absolutely essential to the making of this work!

Another way I accessed memories, and also planned a future painting, was in taking a lot more time than usual to look at the light and shadows, and the people, and any other details that I might not have noticed even when I took the photo. In the era of constant scroll, I have found there is so much to be said about simply taking the time to look longer at my own photos.

The songs, taking the time to look, and lean into the happy feelings there, have kept me dancing while painting on many a rainy Vancouver afternoon.

Remembering the warmth of the sun on my skin, sunlit mornings, and humid jungle air in my lungs, has elevated my mood and energy levels on more than one occasion. This habit has also led to my focus on representing the uplifting essence of a memory, as I did in my painting After Spring, shown above, as opposed to the form and structure of an image, like the beautiful one below, even though I like to represent images sometimes too (I can’t wait to paint this one!).

Through my recent paintings, I feel as if I’ve started an experiment. Do the joyful, playful feelings I entertain while in the process of making the work radiate out and become obvious to viewers?

From my recent experience at the Harmony Arts Festival, the answer seems to be a resounding yes. The word that kept coming up in response to the paintings was “refreshing.” As viewers walked into my art space, I could see their eyes light up as they looked over the paintings. So many of them said, “these paintings are so refreshing!”.

It’s hard for me to find the words to describe how happy that made me to hear; because that’s exactly what I was hoping for. People felt the brightness, and the essence of what a vacation (or any moment of peace and joy) is meant for, just through viewing the works.

If you take a gander through my series, Before the Fall, and feel like you are on a sun soaked, bright and colourful adventure, I’ll be so glad to hear about it! It is yet to be determined if bright, colourful forms are what people want to collect, but I’m okay with that. I want to infuse a little brightness and joy into someone’s life, even if it’s just enjoying the work for a moment.

I’ve already selected some images from my recent trip that will be the inspiration for future paintings. But lately, I’ve also been finding lots of peace and joy in drawing flowers, and taking walks near home, and I can’t wait to take those happy feelings to the studio when the sun is a little less warm and the fall rains come.

That, and I’ll have to start working on my new playlist.

Do you have an incredible moment from a recent adventure that you want used as inspiration for a commissioned work? This fall I am taking a few commissions, and space is limited. Contact me if you are interested.

How do you hold on to your special memories? I would love to know.

The Making of Before the Fall

This last series of work began with an impactful experience one year ago, and it’s not an exaggeration to say that this has been the most impactful painting experience of my life so far.

In August of 2023, my spouse Carmen and I were able to take an anniversary trip to Mexico. We arrived at the hotel to learn that they gave us a room upgrade. We opened the door to the most beautiful room, with a sunlit vista of the ocean. I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty of that moment. It wasn't just one thing. The ocean was beautiful. The evening sunlight pouring in was wonderful. The room itself was beyond our expectations and incredible. But what hit me was something else-- it was a realization that after a tragedy, beauty itself can be incredibly healing. In that moment, I was truly encountering something transcendent and I knew it would change me. I spent the rest of the week, and months to follow, remembering that moment, while nurturing an awareness to the beauty around me. I realized that it was a way to move through the grief I have experienced since the loss of my sister to cancer in 2021.

The lingering thought might sound really basic, but it was really important to me:

If, through my artwork, I can help someone experience something even close to the joy and peace I felt through beauty, why would I ever want to do anything else?

If, through my artwork, I can help someone experience something even close to the joy and peace I felt through beauty, why would I ever want to do anything else?

Art is said to be a tool used to confront, provoke, and bring about discussion, and I am so thankful for all the artists that do that. It's just that in that moment, what I experienced was so impactful, especially in the wake of a life changing loss.

Because life will ALWAYS confront, provoke, and bring about plenty of discussion. Maybe in the past, this was the pinnacle role for art. But is it possible that in an era of information overload, we are totally overwhelmed? and that maybe now, art does not need to be responsible for bearing the responsibility of confronting and provoking, because life itself is doing that quite a lot?

I liken my joy-seeking practice to gratitude. For the past year, in painting these artworks, I've been focusing more on the beautiful things, such as beautiful memories of the trip we took to Mexico, and even placing myself right back in that sunlight moment when we first opened the door to see the ocean view for the first time. I take time to remember that moment, how the gratitude and serenity washed over me. I also am remembering the joyful things in my daily life, and my heart has become saturated with gratitude. Even thought my circumstances have not changed, because I have been choosing to see the world in a different light, I truly see everything differently. If there is more beauty in my art, I see that as a symbol of the gratitude that I am practicing, and the joy I am finding. This has been the most transformative experience for me, and as I lean into it, I am convinced that it is all I want to contribute to the world of art. At least, until the world becomes unbroken!

Through this series, I have realized my mandate— that I want to make soul nourishing art.

Through this series, I have realized my mandate— that I want to make soul nourishing art.

If the experience of seeing the ocean was really impactful, what happened when we came home, and I started to respond with painting what would later be known as Before the Fall, was more like a heavy miracle. Speaking of miracles, a recent conversation with a close friend of mine has led me to ask — do miracles ever happen if there is not a juxtaposition of a crisis? It seems miracles and tragedy inexplicably, deeply interrelated.

I came back to Canada with a potent drive to find, and convey beauty with my own artistic voice. For me, the essence of beauty is wholeness and flourishing, and in my mind’s eye, that included a lot of jungle foliage. This was a way to convey the essence of something tangible to me — “What happened before the Fall was the Summer, and I went to Mexico).” But it was deeper than that. It was an homage to the garden of Eden, this sense that before now, this present moment, there was something lush and abundant, and idyllic. The mindset I adopted could be related to anyone who knows what this feels like — to look back on a beautiful, perfect moment, that happened BEFORE something tragic. I was curious about why this idea even came to mind. Because my sister passed away in 2021, I have been living in the wake of her passing, and I’ve been focused on that. What was this subconscious longing to linger in the sweet memory of the ideal BEFORE? I wasn’t sure, but I knew it was important, because the impulse to stay in that headspace kept nagging. I made a playlist that also spoke to the feelings I wanted to search out and convey. At first it felt REALLY FAKE to seek out this nostalgic, happy mindset on my harder and more emotionally low days. It felt like I was lying to myself, which was a really strange posture for me as I pride myself in being a very honest person! In the past, art was there for me to delve into and express any and every emotion. But this series was different — I was looking for joy, nostalgia, and serenity, and I wanted them to bask in their own light. Ultimately, I wanted to give my collectors the gift of this experience of joy through these works. And If I had to sum up the feeling with just two emotions, they would be joy and peace.

Through September and into November this was my focus — happy paintings, joy, peace, serenity, nostalgia, and I was deep into this work when I got an earth shattering call from my brother, with the devastating news that my three year old niece was diagnosed with a rare, and terminal disease.

It is quite the understatement to describe this season as a new wave of grief, and it is hard to put into words what it feels like to grapple with the pending loss of one family member in the wake of losing another.

In that somewhat strange and tragic light, this series has become something of my own personal Ode to Joy. I’ve decided to keep looking for beauty, I’ve found out that leaning into happiness is anything but contradictory in the face of grief.

After that call, returning to the happy place felt, at first, totally inappropriate, and absolutely impossible. I gave myself a lot of space, and even took three months off from working on these. But I realized that avoiding their completion was not going to get me anywhere. Their completion became synonymous with leaning into gratitude, and remembering beautiful moments in life. Their completion was both a difficult terrain to cross, and the only way out for me.The final push came this spring, and with a big, colourful burst of song and dance, they came into their own. 

I truly hope you take the time to look at these works. In this age we’ve become really accustomed to rushing. I hope we all learn to slow down — art is always asking for that. Sometimes I think of the old adage “stop, look, and listen” and apply it to my art practice. When life, and these days, gried, gets a hold of me and feels just too unbearable, I stop. Take a breath. I decide to look — I look at an old photo of the ocean. I look at the sunlight. I look at a flower. And then, I listen. I listen to words of healing and hope (see the book list below for examples). 

It is with so much gratitude that I share these works. I hope they do bring peace and joy wherever they are experienced.

Now, I would be missing something if I didn’t share what books I’ve been reading while making this art. I’d like to recommend them to anyone facing anything similar.

The Book of Joy by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and the Dali Lama,

Renewing the Christian Mind by Dallas Willard and Gary Black Jr.

Life Without Lack by Dallas Willard

Amazing Grace by Kathleen Norris

The Light We Give by Simran Jeet Singh

1000 Years of Joys and Sorrows by Ai Weiwei

The Bible with a good commentary, starting in the Gospels

Long Walk to Freedom by Nelson Mandela

The Struggle is Real by Nicole Unice

and for relationship issues that will come as a result of the grief experience,

The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work by John Gottman and Nan Silver



The Best Advice in Two Words

An art practice is a lot like life.

There are many phases and stages, kind of like a trendy haircut I’ll get one year, and then I’ll look back at a photo and cringe a bit, five years later.

Because it’s a continual exercise in vulnerability and experimentation, there are many things about the artistic process that can seem a little embarrassing later on. That, and it’s also common to look back with a kind of admiration that only hindsight can bring, and wonder why I stopped using a certain technique, and when.

Looking back on the stages of my life as an artist, I’m reminded of the encouragement from creatives who are a little farther down the road in their practice. Two of my favourite pieces of encouragement are so simple; they both just have two words. One was from an awesome artist, Zoe Pawlak. She simply said something to the effect of “start somewhere!” I was inspired, both by her, and the simplicity of her advice. Around that time, I decided to open an instagram account.

Ten years later, with those two words still in tow, I imagine that one day, I will look back on today, and remember the ways I decided to take myself just a little more seriously as an artist. “Somewhere” can be anywhere, or anything, and I agree, it is indeed, a great place to start.

“A Tall Order” Marcie Rohr 2016, pen and acrylic paint on paper, 4 x 6 in

Looking back at some older artwork, I’ve always enjoyed the phase that I made these small, intuitive drawings. These little pen and acrylic paint works were a nod to a simple life. I thought they would look great in a tiny home! I sold them at different fairs, like the Royal Bison art Fair, and a little shop in Edmonton called Habitat. Through these works, I was able to start somewhere, in a few different ways.

“She Brings a Promise” Marcie Rohr, 2016. Ink and acrylic paint on paper, 4 x 6 in.

The other two word, favourite phrase came from Gathie Falk, when She said “keep going!” in an interview, in response to a question of how to encourage new artists.

After years of keeping going, just like She said, I can see what She means. It seemed I would always call myself an emerging artist. This is how I thought of myself for twenty years. Suddenly, with two galleries representing my art work, and many solo exhibitions under my belt, I have to say, I must be a mid career artist. This is, of course, just a title. What matters is that I believe anything behind me is small in comparison to what is ahead. Deep down I truly believe I will always be emerging. I have big hopes and I’m excited to see what happens as I continue to start somewhere, and keep going.

“Make Believe” Marcie Rohr 2017, acrylic on birch panel, 30 x 24 x 1.5 in.

If I was going to add anything to these amazing little bits of advice, I would say, “start anytime!” because anytime is a great time to start. I would tell myself and others, never ask if I am/you are too late so start learning anything — anything at all! There is no such thing as being too late when it comes to a creative practice. If you are an emerging artist, keep going! If you are a mid career artist, I hope you are challenging yourself to keep things fresh and new, by taking a new class or experimenting with fresh materials in the studio.

Here’s to embracing experimentation, and looking back on the past with a cocktail of admiration and cringe for all that was expressed in that previous life.

Let me add here that when I was looking at what paintings to show for this post, there were a few I laughed at and also cried a little on the inside thinking that at one point they were my best work. If that was my thought back then, what would I say about my work today, in twenty years from now?

There’s only one way to find out!

Finishing off this post with a photo from around 2017. I can’t believe how much I’ve learned about curating my booth since then. I’m dying a bit while also looking at that young emerging artist momma with a lot of admiration. I am a big believer that time is not linear, so I’ll send me a big hug and whisper some encouragement to keep making art!

If you are a creative, I’ll send it your way too!

Peace,

Marcie