The Cypress Hills

We were a dot in the prairies, within a sea of wheat and cattle as far as the eye could see. Perfectly flat. Everywhere. Except one. The Cypress Hills stood off in the distance as something wholly different.

In the summer we would frequently go to the park on the Saskatchewan side to sell newspapers to the campers (why campers would want a newspaper is beyond me, but sell newspapers we did). For me it was less about hawking papers, and more about the opportunity to get out into the woods. To explore wilderness. To be in a completely different world than what I was accustomed to.

And I loved it.

To this day I think about how I felt as a child, driving up to the hills, the magic I felt deep in my bones. Every time anew, that wonder rushed back.

I try to capture that feeling in this new painting, that sense of awe I experienced so many years ago. Did I achieve my goal? Who knows. For me I did, and that's good enough.