‘Along the river’s edge’, acrylic, pastel, and pencil on canvas, 12” x 36”, 2024.
There's a particular magic that happens when art finds its destined space - not merely hung on a wall, but woven into the very fabric of a place's spirit. This is the story of how my work found such a home at Anupaya, a sanctuary nestled in the ancient folds of the Laurentian Hills, where the Ottawa River whispers its endless stories.
I first came to Anupaya on a whim - a New Year's Eve escape in 2022. Like many before me, I had followed Pete and Shan MacLaggan's vision through glimpses on social media, watching as they carved out this eco-conscious haven from the wilderness. But nothing could have prepared me for the profound sense of peace that settled over me when we arrived at Sumac cabin.
In those quiet winter days, I witnessed how the river moved beneath its partially frozen surface, how the pines stood sentinel against the grey sky, how the historic rocks held centuries of stories in their weathered faces. As an artist, these moments of deep observation are precious - they sink into your bones and emerge later through your hands, transformed.
Before leaving, I felt compelled to leave a small painting sketch - a gesture of gratitude for the space that had allowed my family and me to breathe more deeply, to see more clearly. It was a simple thing, really, but it resonated with Shan in a way that would lead to something larger, something that would become part of Anupaya's story.
When Shan asked me to create a larger piece for Sumac, it felt like the natural progression of a conversation that had already begun between artist, place, and keeper of the land. She shared with me the work of artists who spoke to her soul, and I listened - both to her vision and to the land itself. The painting that emerged wasn't just my interpretation of the landscape, but a collaboration with the essence of Anupaya.
I worked with the colours that the river herself had chosen - the mysterious blue-greens of deep pools, the warm browns of shoreline sand, the timeworn greys of river stone, and the steadfast greens of white pine needles. The raw canvas I left exposed became like the negative space in a zen garden - not empty, but full of possibility. The lines and forms that emerged spoke of topology, yes, but also of the invisible currents that move through all things - water, wind, and spirit.
This piece was born not from effort but from presence. Each brushstroke was a meditation on the way this land holds space for transformation, the way Pete and Shan have honoured its natural rhythms, the way visitors like myself come here to remember something essential about themselves.
There's a profound joy in creating art for those who truly see the natural world - not as a resource to be used, but as a teacher to be honoured. The friendship that has grown between myself and the MacLaggans is a testament to this shared understanding. The painting now hanging in Sumac is more than decoration; it's a visual echo of the land's own poetry, a reminder of the connections that can spark when we remain open to the unexpected gifts of following our intuition.
May all who come to rest in Sumac's embrace find in this piece a moment of recognition - of the beauty that surrounds them, and of their own place within it.
With gratitude,
Bridgette
Interior of Sumac cabin at Anupaya, featuring my painting. Photographed by myself.