MocraGifts

When Nature Takes Over....

2021-07-28T13:37:00.001-07:00

A little triplet of experimental dabbling in acrylic, ink and mixed media over the past couple months. Creativity comes in stops and starts for me, as the "new abnormal" era drags along....

"Flight of the Pollinators" (2021)

"Wisteria Feathers Fantasy Flight" (2021)

"The Four Seasons" (2021)

Another dabbling from last year's collection...

"Dance of the Katsura Leaves" (2020)

More to come...

"Just living is not enough... one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower"

~Hans Christian Anderson

2020 : The "Art Year" That Went Sideways...

2020-12-28T17:18:00.001-08:00

Along with the Year of 2020 going sideways.... So did my art and creativity....

But, my story first begins in October 2019, when I dreamed up a few paintings I decided to call, "The Utopian Series". As we know Utopias are never what they seem...

I was on a roll... and started a painting that was to be the first in a series, early December 2019.

Then came the "Covid Year" ..... and with it came "My Un-Creative Year"....

2020 was planned for being creative, full of promise, and living. 2020... it rolls off the tongue! But 2020 became the cursed year of stagnation and not much of anything happening. Just trying to make sense of a world I once knew turned upside down on its head. Perhaps, a dollop of melancholy became my worst affliction.

But, I promised that the painting I started in late 2019 would be finished before the end of Covidworld 2020. And, so my long awaited painting: "KILROY WAS HERE" is now completed. The original painting has had some 2020 additions to it, reflecting the Dystopian "Utopia" that was the Covid Year of 2020....

No matter what happens in the future, we need to keep our eyes focused on God, during the storms of life...

From UFOs and Aliens, to Covid Lockdowns and Murder Hornets, 2020 has been one very crazy, weird year. I don't think it is going to end in 2021, though.

There is some small bits of writing that cannot be read in the photo of this painting, but critical to the whole meaning....

The "alien writing" on the radio telescope satellite dish spells out: "KILROY WAS HERE"

The words under the UFO, and continuing under the title of the painting: "NO I DON'T COME IN PEACE. I come in the name of Satan and my purpose is to deceive, harm and destroy you"

and, "NO I AM NOT AN ALIEN FROM OUTER SPACE. I am a demonic fallen angel. I am not an extraterrestial. I am interdimensional"

Under the two cherubs, gazing down is a verse from 1 Peter 3:12 - "For the eyes of the LORD are over the righteous, and His ears are open unto their prayers: But the face of the LORD is against them that do evil."

There is always Hope, Grace and Mercy to be found in our Lord, Jesus Christ

May we enter the Year 2021 in the Peace of Christ.

Six Months Later....

2020-03-31T17:35:00.001-07:00

It has been that long since I last wrote on this Art Blog, and in six months our world has changed, forever, due to a manufactured global economic crisis spurred on by a flu virus….

It’s all rather dystopian… We know, not yet... the future outcome...

I recently came across an old black and white, late-1970s photo I had taken with a Pentax ME Super 35mm SLR camera (the old-fashioned, non-digital kind that used Kodak film). This was scanned from the original photo...

It was based on Ray Bradbury’s ominous 1951 sci-fi story:

"The Pedestrian"

Photo: "The Pedestrian", M.E.Craver (circa 1970s)

Here is the full short story, to be read in dread... errr... bed...

...in the dark of night, under a harsh light....

http://www.riversidelocalschools.com/Downloads/pedestrian%20short%20story.pdf

To enter out into that silence that was the city at eight o'clock of a misty evening in November, to put your feet upon that buckling concrete walk, to step over grassy seams and make your way, hands in pockets, through the silences, that was what Mr. Leonard Mead most dearly loved to do. He would stand upon the corner of an intersection and peer down long moonlit avenues of sidewalk in four directions, deciding which way to go, but it really made no difference; he was alone in this world of A.D. 2053, or as good as alone, and with a final decision made, a path selected, he would stride off, sending patterns of frosty air before him like the smoke of a cigar. Sometimes he would walk for hours and miles and return only at midnight to his house. And on his way he would see the cottages and homes with their dark windows, and it was not unequal to walking through a graveyard where only the faintest glimmers of firefly light appeared in flickers behind the windows. Sudden gray phantoms seemed to manifest upon inner room walls where a curtain was still undrawn against the night, or there were whisperings and murmurs where a window in a tomblike building was still open. Mr. Leonard Mead would pause, cock his head, listen, look, and march on, his feet making no noise on the lumpy walk. For long ago he had wisely changed to sneakers when strolling at night, because the dogs in intermittent squads would parallel his journey with barkings if he wore hard heels, and lights might click on and faces appear and an entire street be startled by the passing of a lone figure, himself, in the early November evening. On this particular evening he began his journey in a westerly direction, toward the hidden sea. There was a good crystal frost in the air; it cut the nose and made the lungs blaze like a Christmas tree inside; you could feel the cold light going on and off, all the branches filled with invisible snow. He listened to the faint push of his soft shoes through autumn leaves with satisfaction, and whistled a cold quiet whistle between his teeth, occasionally picking up a leaf as he passed, examining its skeletal pattern in the infrequent lamplights as he went on, smelling its rusty smell. "Hello, in there," he whispered to every house on every side as he moved. "What's up tonight on Channel 4, Channel 7, Channel 9? Where are the cowboys rushing, and do I see the United States Cavalry over the next hill to the rescue?" The street was silent and long and empty, with only his shadow moving like the shadow of a hawk in midcountry. If he closed his eyes and stood very still, frozen, he could imagine himself upon the center of a plain, a wintry, windless Arizona desert with no house in a thousand miles, and only dry river beds, the streets, for company. "What is it now?" he asked the houses, noticing his wrist watch. "Eight-thirty P.M.? Time for a dozen assorted murders? A quiz? A revue? A comedian falling off the stage?" Was that a murmur of laughter from within a moon-white house? He hesitated, but went on when nothing more happened. He stumbled over a particularly uneven section of sidewalk. The cement was vanishing under flowers and grass. In ten years of walking by night or day, for thousands of miles, he had never met another person walking, not once in all that time. He came to a cloverleaf intersection which stood silent where two main highways crossed the town. During the day it was a thunderous surge of cars, the gas stations open, a great insect rustling and a ceaseless jockeying for position as the scarabbeetles, a faint incense puttering from their exhausts, skimmed homeward to the far directions. But now these highways, too, were like streams in a dry season, all stone and bed and moon radiance. He turned back on a side street, circling around toward his home. He was within a block of his destination when the lone car turned a corner quite suddenly and flashed a fierce white cone of light upon him. He stood entranced, not unlike a night moth, stunned by the illumination, and then drawn toward it. A metallic voice called to him: "Stand still. Stay where you are! Don't move!" He halted. "Put up your hands!" "But-" he said. "Your hands up! Or we'll Shoot!" The police, of course, but what a rare, incredible thing; in a city of three million, there was only one police car left, wasn't that correct? Ever since a year ago, 2052, the election year, the force had been cut down from three cars to one. Crime was ebbing; there was no need now for the police, save for this one lone car wandering and wandering the empty streets. "Your name?" said the police car in a metallic whisper. He couldn't see the men in it for the bright light in his eyes. "Leonard Mead," he said. "Speak up!" "Leonard Mead!" "Business or profession?" "I guess you'd call me a writer." "No profession," said the police car, as iftalking to itself. The light held him fixed, like a museum specimen, needle thrust through chest. "You might say that, " said Mr. Mead. He hadn't written in years. Magazines and books didn't sell any more. Everything went on in the tomblike houses at night now, he thought, continuing his fancy. The tombs, ill-lit by television light, where the people sat like the dead, the gray or multicolored lights touching their faces, but never really touching them. "No profession," said the phonograph voice, hissing. "What are you doing out?" "Walking," said Leonard Mead. "Walking!" "Just walking," he said simply, but his face felt cold. "Walking, just walking, walking?" "Yes, sir." "Walking where? For what?" "Walking for air. Walking to see." "Your address!" "Eleven South Saint James Street." "And there is air in your house, you have an air conditioner, Mr. Mead?" "Yes." "And you have a viewing screen in your house to see with?" "No." "No?" There was a crackling quiet that in itself was an accusation. "Are you married, Mr. Mead?" "No." "Not married," said the police voice behind the fiery beam, The moon was high and clear among the stars and the houses were gray and silent. "Nobody wanted me," said Leonard Mead with a smile. "Don't speak unless you're spoken to!" Leonard Mead waited in the cold night. "Just walking, Mr. Mead?" "Yes." "But you haven't explained for what purpose." "I explained; for air, and to see, and just to walk." "Have you done this often?" "Every night for years." The police car sat in the center of the street with its radio throat faintly humming. "Well, Mr. Mead," it said. "Is that all?" he asked politely. "Yes," said the voice. "Here." There was a sigh, a pop. The back door of the police car sprang wide. "Get in." "Wait a minute, I haven't done anything!" "Get in." "I protest!" "Mr. Mead." He walked like a man suddenly drunk. As he passed the front window of the car he looked in. As he had expected, there was no one in the front seat, no one in the car at all. "Get in." He put his hand to the door and peered into the back seat, which was a little cell, a little black jail with bars. It smelled of riveted steel. It smelled of harsh antiseptic; it smelled too clean and hard and metallic. There was nothing soft there. "Now if you had a wife to give you an alibi," said the iron voice. "But-" "Where are you taking me?" The car hesitated, or rather gave a faint whirring click, as if information, somewhere, was dropping card by punch-slotted card under electric eyes. "To the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies." He got in. The door shut with a soft thud. The police car rolled through the night avenues, flashing its dim lights ahead. They passed one house on one street a moment later, one house in an entire city of houses that were dark, but this one particular house had all of its electric lights brightly lit, every window a loud yellow illumination, square and warm in the cool darkness. "That's my house," said Leonard Mead. No one answered him. The car moved down the empty river-bed streets and off away, leaving the empty streets with the empty side-walks, and no sound and no motion all the rest of the chill November night.

*******

Ray Bradbury (1920-2012), is an American author best known for his fantasy stories and science fiction. Bradbury's best writing effectively combines a lively imagination with a poetic style.

Collections of Bradbury's stories include The Martian Chronicles (1950), The Illustrated Man (1951), The October Country (1955), I Sing the Body Electric! (1969), Quicker Than the Eye (1996), and One More for the Road (2002). His novel Fahrenheit 451 (1953) describes a society that bans the ownership of books.

His other novels include Dandelion Wine (1957), a poetic story of a boy's summer in an Illinois town in 1928; and Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962), a suspenseful fantasy about a black magic carnival that comes to a small Midwestern town. He has also written poetry, screenplays, and stage plays.

*******

Sleep tight, and don't let the boogeymen... errr.... bedbugs bite!

With Faith and a Spiritual Ecology

2019-09-29T16:32:00.003-07:00

"Little Chapel By-the-Sea" (2016)

I came across a very little book, in a used book nook, that urged me to take another look:

"An Altar in the Wilderness"

"Father Kaleeg Hainsworth, an Eastern Orthodox priest with a lifetime of experience in the Canadian wilderness, grounds this manifesto in the literary, philosophical, mystical and historical teachings of the spiritual masters of both East and West, outlining the human experience of the sacred in nature. The spiritual ecology described here is fully engaged with the wilderness beyond our backyards; it is an ecology which takes in nature as “red in tooth and claw” and offers a way forward in the face of accelerating climate change. This manifesto also challenges our modern self-conception as dominators or stewards of the natural world, claiming these roles emerged from western industrial history and are directly responsible for the environmental damage and alienation from nature we know today. The ecological scope of this book begins with a meditation on natural beauty as the divine that breathes through all aspects of life. We discover along the way that awe and mystery are so vital to the human experience of the natural world that without them we are doomed to treat nature as little more than a resource, a science or a playground for recreation alone. Instead, a new role emerges from these pages, one which accounts for the sacred in nature and places us in relationship to the world of which we are inextricably a part. This role is a priestly one, and Father Hainsworth outlines the significance and benefits of it in detail while also offering a vision of life in which a human being stands in the world of nature as at an altar built in the wilderness, a sacred offering in a holy place."

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This little book also introduced me to early conservationist, John Muir's letters, and to his strong faith in God, the Creator of all things. He practiced a type of spiritual ecology that cannot be found by those who only worship the creation -- but not the Creator of the Heavens and the Earth: https://vault.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/life/life_and_letters/default.aspx

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When we focus on God, we do not become anxious or fearful, like those who do not believe in God, especially with all the futile "Climate Change Protests" of late. Those poor, wayward people, sway in the winds of their unstable times, and are easily led by hungry wolves in their midst:

"Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:6,7)

I am a Christian Artist who thrives to focus on:

"...whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think on these things.…" (Philippians 4:8)

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For others like myself, this is a good starting point to begin to thrive as a Christian Artist, in prayer:

https://www.bible.com/reading-plans/12481-how-to-start-thriving-as-a-christian-artist/day/1

The world blooms in full living colour, especially with Faith and a solid Spiritual Ecology that can only happen with God in the picture! What artist would not want to reach for that painters' brush?

It's Hard Being Green...

2019-03-14T16:06:00.000-07:00

Just a silly little poem, with some rhyme -- and no reason... 😜

Kermit said it first: "It's not easy being green!" (for the frogs, I mean). 🐸
How many knew that Frank Sinatra agreed, most wholeheartedly?😁

"Bein' Green"

https://www.lyricsfreak.com/f/frank+sinatra/bein+green_20056467.html

Dr. Seuss wrote about "Green Eggs and Ham", served up to "Sam I Am"...
The ham kinda looked like leftover Spam... 👀

Then came the cheese.... even for mice, it won't please... 🐭
Good grief -- Oh, puleeze! It's NOT green cheese!
What is it, then? A green sponge squeeze! 🤣

"Green Cheese" (undated)

🍀🍀🍀

Contemplating New Collage Beginnings

2019-01-01T12:57:00.000-08:00

The New Year came in on delicate snowflakes....
as the early morning sun tried to squeeze through the clouds.

Like a dusting of white on the green and grey of the old year...

A West Coast winter contemplation -- a collage of green, grey -- then, a clean slate -- try again!

Contemplating the New Year
(photo by M.E.Craver)

Old things forgotten, sometimes re-appear in the New Year... I wasn't even looking...

Old things forgotten, come anew! Reminders of new beginnings not yet pursued?

Collage and Contemplation Journal w/ mini-collage insert (2011)

"Weaving a Walk with God" (2011)
...from the C & C Journal...

Amazing Grace... and, a clean white slate... and perhaps to create another C & C Journal... ? (Thanks, D. S.)

May your New Year 2019 be a blessed one!

Imitation of Life in a Granule of Sand...

2018-10-21T14:19:00.000-07:00

Imitation of Life (2017)

The Senses...

I don’t understand?

It’s not clear…

***

My hands feel

each

granule of sand.

My nose smells

the scent

of the earth.

I can hear

millions of voices

speaking.

I can taste

the sky

with

my tongue.

My eyes see

a forest

of minds.

My heart

beats

to the pain

(…and joy)

of being.

My soul reaches

into the depths

of eternity.

***

Perhaps…

it’s ALL too clear!

A Feathered Clue (2016)
(in the sand...)

Celebrating a Christian Earth Day!

2018-04-22T15:52:00.000-07:00

God is Lord over All Creation!

"This is My Father's World",

on Earth Day -- and Everyday...

The King of Glory

A Psalm of David.

The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof,

the world and those who dwell therein,

for he has founded it upon the seas

and established it upon the rivers.

Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord?

And who shall stand in his holy place?

He who has clean hands and a pure heart,

who does not lift up his soul to what is false

and does not swear deceitfully.

He will receive blessing from the Lord

and righteousness from the God of his salvation.

Such is the generation of those who seek him,

who seek the face of the God of Jacob. Selah

Lift up your heads, O gates!

And be lifted up, O ancient doors,

that the King of glory may come in.

Who is this King of glory?

The Lord, strong and mighty,

the Lord, mighty in battle!

Lift up your heads, O gates!

And lift them up, O ancient doors,

that the King of glory may come in.

Who is this King of glory?

The Lord of hosts,

he is the King of glory! Selah

Holy Bible - Old Testament Bible, Psalms - English Standard Version (ESV)

A Wetland Meditation for Colouring (2017)

Look at the World!

Blessings!

Searching for Springtime...

2018-02-28T13:27:00.001-08:00

Winter has come late, here... the deluge of snow burying the crocuses and snowdrops. It's March tomorrow, with no end of snow in sight on the West Coast....

West Coast Winter (2018)
(Photo: M.E.Craver)

The cherry blossoms on the trees have gone into deep freeze in the past week... the Arctic chill reaching from the West Coast to the UK...

We await for the Birds, Blooms and Blossoms of Spring... while turning up the heat a little higher in our homes... yearning for the sunshine, rain and rainbows...

The Sentinel in Springtime (2016)

Band-Tailed Pigeons Flock (2013)
(Photo: M.E.Craver)

A Flood of Poetic Proportions....

2018-02-01T13:23:00.003-08:00

The deluge of rain endless, with dark clouds and fog...

Feeling like the epic flood of new beginnings and life...

Primordial Brew (2016)*
* This piece of art was actually washed over with fresh rain water collected from outside!

Soon Springtime will arrive, where life explodes in joyful blooms and vibrant colours...

Peeling back the clouds of night, the blue sky turns on the light!

Seed Pod Explosion (2016)

Aseaonal Change....

2018-01-18T16:57:00.001-08:00

"Climatic Change North of 60" (1999)

Aseasonal Haiku

Joy, Spring-time arrives

Flora and fauna, anew

Birth, fresh beginnings

***

Summer days, heat-waves

Two-headed frogs in a pond

Chemical plant brew

***

An Autumn harvest

American Gothic farm-

house, crumbling, falling

***

Winter dark, icy.

A shot, a cry; murderous

See there, blood on snow

Copyright © 2009 M.E.Craver All Rights Reserved

Wetland Clearcut (2017)
Photo: M.E.Craver

New Year! New Beginnings!

2018-01-01T11:11:00.000-08:00

"An Owly New Year 2018"
(painted in 2017 😉)

I imagine.

And,

My Muse says,

“Create!”

But, it’s all been

done before!

And,

there’s nothing

new

under the Sun!*

I read.

My Muse says,

“Write!”

So,

I will write, I will create, I will PAINT…

Copyright © 2018 M.E.Craver All Rights Reserved

**(*Ecclesiastes 1:9)**

"Redwing Rest Stop" (2017)

May the Beauty and Serenity of Nature be a Blessing throughout the Year...

The Seasons, They Are A-Changing!

2017-12-04T13:20:00.002-08:00

Nothing remains the same. Everything changes... The seasons, the weather, the world...

Will you view it in blazing colour... or shades of grey? The mind's eye will always see what it wants to see...

"Shades of Man and Nature" (2017)

MYTHOS

The weather is a-changing.

I can feel it in my bones.

Like the witch-wind that

changes direction,

without warning.

Leaving me feeling dizzy.

Spinning, spinning.

Stirred in a kettle of

cauldron

cooked by the goddesses

of Mirth and Mire.

Spices sprinkled by the

Nine Muses.

The weather is a-changing.

I can feel it in my bones.

The Oracle of Delphi answers,

“Lo !”

Copyright © 2009 M.E.Craver All Rights Reserved

Can’t Poach a Picasso? Crave a Craver, instead…

2017-11-17T17:59:00.002-08:00

A couple items in the news caught my eye this past week or so.

One was the sale of singer-actress Britney Spears first piece of art, for a worthy cause. $10,000... Wow! Not bad for a first painting! We artists should all do so well, even if her art was donated for a worthy cause.

Britney Spears' Watercolor Painting Auctioned Off for $10,000

Most likely, it was what Britney wore while painting this fine piece of art that made it most valuable... 😉 At least the celebrity and entertainment reporter, Robin Leach, thought so...

..Moving along now, we find that one of Cy Twombly's blackboard scribbles also managed to be auctioned off for what every living artist's heart beats for: $70.5 million (after taxes)...?! Whoah! And, not even bestowed a title? Sacrilege!

Perhaps having a really cool name, and all that, works just as well as Britney's couture...

Cy Twombly blackboard covered in scribbles fetches $70 million at Sotheby’s

Untitled (New York City), 1968 by Cy Twombly

Sadly, artists like Twombly, Picasso, and Rembrandt had to pass onto the outer realms before they made a real killing with their art... Support your local artists who are still living on this fine planet of ours. It makes more sense! At least to the starving artists of the world, it does...

Imagine how much more valuable living artists' paintings may become after they have joined Twombly, Picasso and Rembrandt in the wild blue yonder above (of course, all artists go to Heaven, you know...) Your descendants will thank you for it, too!

So here I present a couple abstract doodles of mine which I "predict" could become very valuable over time, considering the popular taste in modern art, these days. Flowers and landscapes are soooo passe! I'll bet my bottom dollar they will be worth more than a "Cy Twombly", hands down... 😘

A Herpetology Abstract

(Can you spot the hidden cougar...?)

Check back with me in about a 100 years, and I will let you know... 😇

A Forest is Dying (An Ode to Mount Fromme)

2017-11-05T11:06:00.001-08:00

This poem was first published in, "Where We’re From: An Anthology", Lynn Valley Literary Society, 2010.

It is reprinted here, as a homage to a "lost cause" in environmental activism -- at great loss and cost to the future ecological integrity of this mountain and watershed.

And of course, ART....

"Brrr Naked Trees" (2017)

As I sit sipping hot

lemon tea

sweetened with sugar

I see in the corner of

my eye — Ghosts from an

aboriginal past

flit out from the forested path

across the street.

Turning to get a better look

they vanish like forest sprites

hiding their secrets from

ancient times.

The forest held many stories

told, then lost within the

encroachment of Suburbia.

Of paths once travelled by

Scouts and Girl Guides,

now

casual hikers and thrill seeking

mountain bikers; dirt bikers;

young and old; dogs; cats; coyotes and bears.

The odd emaciated mountain lion

seeking refuge in a townhouse dumpster,

complete with over-processed, undercooked meals

Six days old.

Its plaintive yowls unnerve the

folk of Suburbia.

“Call the conservation officer;

local SPCA; RCMP”, who

humanely put the cat out of its misery

with three shots to the skull

that echo between

the mountains and post-beam houses.

Modern drumbeats.

On the Seventh Day the Lion rests

forever.

Another forest myth

hidden away for eternity.

The voice of the forest has become obliterated

by the drone

of aeroplanes and lawnmowers;

the crack of a falling tree as it

dies from the fatal wound

of the Chainsaw.

The whispering Ghosts of the forest have

become overwhelmed by the

cacophony

of Suburban and Urban myths.

Of speed and sound

— faster, louder —

more, More, MORE…!

Be still and listen.

Look

and see the Ghosts of the

aboriginal forest.

Prehistory; pre-suburbia

when pace was slow; of purpose and meaning.

Only then the forest will yield its

ancient secrets.

Only then, the deaf will see and

the blind will hear.

Be still, be still my children —

the ancient forest will speak

from the heart and soul

of a mountain Lion.

***

(“The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it." ~Psalm24:1)

***

More about the "slow-motion clearcut" of Fromme Mountain, etc. can be found here. Homage to a "lost cause" -

https://friendsofmountainviewparkwetland.blogspot.ca/

Art for Conservation

2017-09-23T15:31:00.001-07:00

UPDATE! Do your online Christmas Shopping here, and help Amphibian Conservation :

https://www.preciousfrog.ca/precious-frog-online-sealed-bid-art-auction/

(Shipping COD will be provided if you can't pick up your art in person)

****************************************************

DO ART , and help conservation initiatives? What a novel idea! Not a new idea, but a very worthy one.

I love amphibians, especially those colourful frogs! So it was only natural that I would contribute a piece of "frog art" toward conservation of these "croaking" amphibians!

The Bronze Frog: A Colorful Interloper from the Deep South (starting bid, $30 Cdn)

Precious Frog is very excited to announce that we are partnering with TELUS World of Science to bring you the first art exhibition in Vancouver entirely dedicated to the amphibians of the province. The Precious Frogs Art Exhibition will integrate art and conservation by showcasing a variety of visual and media art pieces combined with scientific and educational information on the challenges faced by amphibians in our province.

Elsewhere in North America, artists have already demonstrated their creativity to raise awareness about the global decline of amphibians. In North Carolina, artist Terry Thirion had initiated the Disappearing Frogs Project, in 2013.

But this is a first in Vancouver, and with the Precious Frogs art exhibition, we hope to inspire artists to be a bridge between scientists and the broader public and to promote awareness and action for the long-term conservation of all of our precious amphibians. Additional film screenings, educational events, and art workshops will be presented at Science World in the fall as part of the art exhibition.

The Precious Frog conservation initiative is a three-month long art exhibition to be launched at TELUS World of Science in Vancouver on September 29, 2017.

A variety of threats are causing amphibian population declines both globally and within our own province. Currently 20 species of native amphibians (frogs, toads and salamanders) live in British Columbia and half are of conservation concern. The Precious Frogs project aims to inspire artists to be a bridge between scientists and the broader public and to promot awareness and action for the long term conservation of our amphibians.

Join us for the opening reception on Oct 3rd from 6-8pm with refreshments and the chance to purchase a piece of amphibian art for yourself!

The exhibition will be held at Science World from Sep 29th until Dec 15, 2017. Please note: Science World has a daily entry fee, please join us on the opening night to view the show fee free!

I would love to see you all at the opening exhibit. Join me and other artists for a worthy cause! And find out more about how this non-native Bronze Frog (also known as the "Banjo Frog") ended up on the South Coast of Vancouver, BC, Canada

Register now for a free night of art, food, and frogs!

https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/meet-the-artists-precious-frogs-tickets-38044783973?ref=estw

Thank you!

Monica Craver--

Something Artful Coming Soon...

2017-09-21T13:55:00.001-07:00

Stay tuned...

Inks, with a touch of conte.. for starters...

"A Fiery Fury" (2016)

MocraGifts

When Nature Takes Over....

2020 : The "Art Year" That Went Sideways...

Six Months Later....

Sleep tight, and don't let the boogeymen... errr.... bedbugs bite!

With Faith and a Spiritual Ecology

It's Hard Being Green...

Contemplating New Collage Beginnings

Imitation of Life in a Granule of Sand...

The Senses...

Celebrating a Christian Earth Day!

The King of Glory

A Psalm of David.

Searching for Springtime...

A Flood of Poetic Proportions....

Aseaonal Change....

Aseasonal Haiku

Copyright © 2009 M.E.Craver *All Rights Reserved*

New Year! New Beginnings!

Copyright © 2018 M.E.Craver *All Rights Reserved*

(*Ecclesiastes 1:9)

The Seasons, They Are A-Changing!

Copyright © 2009 M.E.Craver *All Rights Reserved*

Can’t Poach a Picasso? Crave a Craver, instead…

A Forest is Dying (An Ode to Mount Fromme)

Copyright © 2009 M.E.Craver *All Rights Reserved*

***

Art for Conservation

Something Artful Coming Soon...

Copyright © 2009 M.E.Craver All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2018 M.E.Craver All Rights Reserved

**(*Ecclesiastes 1:9)**

Copyright © 2009 M.E.Craver All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2009 M.E.Craver All Rights Reserved