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Madeleine Wood
Growing up on Vancouver Island I am familiar with arbutus trees; they are memorable. I didn't see them again until my mid-thirties visiting Gabriola Island. Their abstract patterns turn my head. By my mid-forties I was ready to commit to a project. On Mayne Island I began shooting close ups like a prospector collecting gems. From limb to limb I sought green and russet combinations in all their permutations—gold, orange, sienna, alizarin, violet, mauve, mint, turquoise, olive and umber—to later capture in paint.

This annual shedding of skin seems a risky business, Dare I attempt new patterns, as I shed skin no longer needed? - February 2007
Two years later I'm out on a limb, living on Gabriola full time. Autumn closes to winter with most of the peeling done. I am forced to see other contrasts: skin turning ochre, then red against the evergreens, misty clouds and dark waters. Young golden branches diverge over rocky purple shoreline. Branching out, swooning red over turquoise bay, a serpentine tree leaves sensual impressions.

In time my partner and I compose new ways, releasing flecks of coloured passion. I am called to engage and aspire to change. By spring we have begun to expand, finding a new place to endure our dreams. - May 2010