Tag Archives: story

Macbeth – The Witches Chant – illuminated manuscript page and the gruesome story behind the creation of this

Macbeth - the witches chant - william shakespeare - illuminated manuscript - fine art glicee print

During the mid-nineties I was an avid calligrapher. I created this piece at the age of 21 in late 1994. I had become fascinated with illuminated manuscripts such as the Book of Kells which is likely the most famous example of illumination. The Book of Kells is four gospels from the New Testament.

This page began as a class assignment. I remember being utterly amazed when we as a class at the New Brunswick College of Craft and Design travelled to the Harriett Irving Library at the University of New Brunswick in Fredericton to see first hand a fine reproduction of the Book of Kells. There were only 1,480 created from the original manuscript in the whole world. We had to wear white gloves while handling the book.

I also enjoyed reading stories by William Shakespeare and in particular, The Withes Chant from Macbeth. Continue reading

The Cathedral

mandala, markers, fabriano quadrato artist journal, jessica doyle art, drawing, ink, sketchbook, sketch, pen

A short fictional story…

A simple handshake made her heart flutter… made her exhale and unable to inhale and she hasn’t been quite the same since.

On Christmas Eve everything changed. I felt electricity flowing when I turned and shook your hand and wished you Merry Christmas near the end of Mass. I haven’t been the same since. That ‘flutter’ still exists. I still didn’t know who you were. I don’t believe this has ever happened before to me.

And then you shot around the pew that separated us as the congregation stood to form lines to receive the sacrement. I couldn’t help but smile and talk to you. I know it was church and that you are not supposed to talk but your smile made me melt and your eyes mirrored what I felt. It was so cliché that I asked what your name was saying that you look familiar and did we attend high school together?

I felt blood rush to my head and nothing else existed but your smile, your face, your bright shining eyes your and second handshake upon introducing yourself while I introduced myself to you. My nerves exploded.

And we did attend high school together. We were in law class together.

You told me you worked in Alberta at the tar sands and that you had a house on the Old Rothesay Road.

I told you I bought a house over East and that I was an artist. You asked if that was hard and I said “At times” but that I rent rooms too, to supplement my income.

We walked down the length of the pew and joined the moving throngs of Catholics in the central main aisle to receive the sacrement. I wanted to keep talking… I wanted to hold your hand… wanted to scream I like you… wanted to put words to what I was feeling inside.

You had said that you likely wouldn’t be attending the 20th high school reunion but that you might attend the 25th in 2016.

I walked back to the pew after communion and the heat creeping over my body was almost more than I could endure, while kneeling to pray. When I rose to sit you were still kneeling behind me. I could barely breath. The rushes never stopped. Then the congregation rose to sing the processional hymn Silent Night. I’m singing and thinking that I need you! How do I get in touch with you.

When people began to leave the service and began talking amongst each other I turned to you and dug out a business card and gave it to you as you said you weren’t on Facebook. My folk’s were leaving and I had to go with them. I walked slowly from the church and then outside into the frigid Winter air darting my eyes to see if I could catch another glimpse of you. I didn’t see you. My mind wrestless with thoughts. Is he married? Is he single? I can’t believe I dug out a business card in church and gave it to a man.

mandala, markers, fabriano quadrato artist journal, jessica doyle art, drawing, ink, pen

I climbed into the back seat of the car while dad climbed into the front. We waited for mom. Then you walked in front of the car, crossed over and got into the drivers side of a beige pick-up truck, alone and sat there staring across at the headlights of the car I was in. And I stared back at the dark truck you were in. I wanted to jump out and run over to you. All I could do was stare and hope that you’d contact me via my website contact page as there was no phone number listed on the business card that I had given you earlier.

A star from fell from the sky that night after mass while she stood on the backyard deck around midnight.

Christmas Eve came and went.

I drew the pen marker drawing inside a Fabriano Quadrato Artist Journal on the 23rd of December while thinking about skyscrapers and how humans are stacked one on top of the other within them and how it’s better to live on the upper most floors where the street noise is faint and water and sewer pipes are not continuously flowing within the walls.

On being a landlord

orchid, chinese lanterns, sunroom, saint john, NB, geranium, windows, sunnny

One meets all kinds of people when renting rooms in their home; pipefitters, programmers, boilermakers, university students, ESL students, vacationers, web designers, carpenters, mothers, fathers, safety inspectors, labourers, painters etc…

For the most part (99%), people are kind, pay the rent on time and do offer a smile and conversation when you meet them in the common areas of the household such as the kitchen, living room or hallways. But, occasionally, things go awry and people aren’t so kind and you begin catching them in lies and then you are left being owed $600.00.

More than anything, renting rooms in one’s home teaches you tolerance. It forces you to respect other people’s privacy and beliefs.

And every so often your spirit is tested and you are placed precariously close to losing everything you worked so hard for, to achieve. Continue reading

Playing with colour and varnish and strolling the aisles

Size – 8.5 by 11 inches (21.5cm by 27.8cm)
Medium – Acrylic with varnish on acid and lignin free paper

I drove to Michaels one snowy day not to long ago and perused their isles of dream’s. I really did get lost that evening in that store, along with the other 12 or so women and a few men who had ventured out into the cold. It’s funny how in an art store it’s so quiet. It’s akin to walking into a library.

You open the door… you walk in and instantly smile. La-te-da. Continue reading

A Short Illustrated Story featuring Little Dude

Things have become ridiculously serious around here lately. To lighten things up I’ve put together a morbid little illustrated short just for you because I love you.

And Artist’s Tips will return tomorrow!!! Muahahahahahahhaaaaa!

I am feeling much better. Thank you.

A Short Illustrated Story

Yes, the drawing of the little dude catching the big fish was drawn on pretty pink acid free cotton Canson paper using a Pilot G-tec C4 pen. :)

In the walking one finds solace from the haunting past

Thanks range for the spark to write this.

I attended a public elementary school where corporal punishment was practiced. Boys and girls were segregated in the playground each having to play on opposing sides of the school. In Grade three this practice was abolished. Corporal punishment remained all six years I was a student there.

In grade three when I was ALLOWED to play with boys, we girls and boys were very confused. Off school property we had no problems with this.

In the mornings we had to say the Lord’s prayer. Anyone who wasn’t of Christian faith had to leave the room. I didn’t like it.

This is what I remember in Saint john, New Brunswick, Canada from a couple of decades ago. There may have been rules or policies in place about the lord’s prayer that I, as a 5 to 11 year old were not aware of, but the memories of hearing the strap waft down that single corridor from the principals office and watching the boys play on the better side of the school playground still echo firmly in my mind.

Not all was bad at that elementary school. Three of those six years I was taught by fabulous teachers whom ignited the imagination and nourished the creative side.

But this post is about corporal punishment. Continue reading