I began my series of drawings of Saturna Island, knowing I would focus my initial studies on the fog alarm building at East Point. I was drawn to this building the moment I first saw it. Imagine: Standing on a peninsular looking out. To your left, to your right, and directly in front, lay stretches of glistening water. Sky and water meet in the distance. Islands dot the water in between. Behind you, surrounded by tall, golden, grasses is a small, white building. Now picture in your mind, the houses you drew when you were a child, the simple forms with windows, a door and the steeply pitched roof. This is exactly what the fog alarm building looks like.

We are lucky enough to have the opportunity to stay in a wonderful cottage on the island within walking distance of the hut; early mornings, afternoons, early evenings. Every time of day bringing with it a different light, and with every change in light, a different persona, in both the building and its surrounding landscape. I described Saturna as magical in my last blog. The fog hut on Saturna and its surroundings epitomizes such magic.

When I began drawing, I focused most of my attention on the correlation between the hut, and the landscape. But it quickly became evident another element was coming into play. At the moment, my family and I are currently searching for a house to buy. I say house lightly. What we are really seeking is a place to call home, a house that feels right the moment we walk into it. Does such a place exist? I believe it does. Like the magic on Saturna, it is something you feel, but can’t quite put into words. Perhaps the simple form of the fog building, perhaps its relationship with its surroundings, or perhaps the feeling that everything is just as it should be, building and landscape coexisting harmoniously as one, brought up thoughts of home as I was working, the home we are searching for, and the home of my childhood. Life and subject intertwined.

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