Illustration I am working on right now about people and the media - creation/dissemination .

I don't think I have used a pantone colour on a cover in a long time. Everything is CMYK or digital these days. This cover was from a while back when I was doing lot of 2 colour covers.

From the back cover: “In 2002 a fifteen-year-old Canadian citizen was captured in Afghanistan for allegedly killing an American soldier. Badly wounded, Omar Khadr was transferred to the US Bagram Air Force base and then Guantánamo Bay detention camp. He would remain there without trial until October 2010, when a Military Commission admitted evidence that Canadian Courts considered tainted.”

The Woman Who Mapped Labrador

Mina Hubbard

Now in Paperback

In 1905 Mina Hubbard became the first woman to cross Labrador, in a canoe, ending her epic voyage in Ungava Bay in Canada’s subarctic. I superimposed a map of her route onto a paddle. The cover is matte laminated with gloss UV on the paddle.

detail of paddle

Poetry Chair

The poet was asked to create this chair for a fundraising project at a cultural centre. She based it on the cover I did for her book of poems. Check out the Chair Project.

The main character in this novel is a landscape painter of the Song Dynasty who is on a journey to deliver a message to the Chinese Emperor. His teacher has instructed him to paint four landscapes, one for each season, during the year it will take him to travel across China to the Emperor’s Court where he is to present the paintings to the Emperor as a gift.

"He then bowed to the blank page as he held the brush over it. He paused, drinking in the radiance and freshness of the blank sheet. It would never be so perfect again. It saddened him that he felt this need to sully its purity. He waited, the brush hovering over the page, waited until the empty space within him gave birth to mountains."

I found this piece of an old root that had grown around a pebble in a riverbed at the back of farm. It seemed like a perfect image for this book of poems.

I brought back pebbles in a box. 
For our brief span, their starlike endurance. 
Wary of revolutions, those old soul peddlers,
I kept them within lifeshot − 
yet the pebbles speak only of water 
flowing over them on the mountain, 
and spell out in silence the word forever,
least human of words:
the cruellest, and the most foreign. 

Small stones on the table: 
I sensed there a refusal, 
a stellar eternity holding itself cold and dense. 
I reached out my hand to take them. 
They were warmer than my hand.