Nathon Birch, Artist
Painting is an odd career in a lot of ways; some aspects of it are incredibly self-centred, self-gratifying: I paint the types of scenes that interest me on my own schedule and in the style that suits me. I do work that hardly ever feels like work but instead has always had the demeanor of some type of glorified, obsessive play. It’s a job that encourages introspection to an almost narcissistic degree and rewards it with praise and attention.
In other ways it can require a great deal of the more admirable human qualities: patience for the often long periods of time between shows where paintings might not be selling as often as I’d like and as such I essentially work for months on end with little or no pay. It requires discipline because like anyone who’s self-employed, there’s no boss who tells me when I need to work and when I could instead spend the afternoon outside, enjoying the local surroundings. To an extent it also takes faith that it will be worth all my efforts in the long run; that I’m not wasting my time on paintings which will make no difference to anyone in the years to come.
Usually though, none of this enters my head on any conscious level from week to week because I’m fortunate enough to be doing the only job I’ve ever felt truly qualified to do. I decided I wanted to be an artist when I was in my early teens and naively stuck to that plan, shrugging off anyone who may have advised a more sensible, prudent career path. If not many people ever made it as an artist I thought, maybe it’s because the majority of them took advice like this too seriously. About ten years later I had graduated from the Alberta College of Art and Design, found a few fantastic galleries across the country that still represent my work and, as they say, the rest is history.
But there are details in this history. In January of 2009 my wife and I moved from Victoria to Fernie to accept a job that she was offered, and although I was optimistic about the change in location and I thought I had some idea of what life might be like in this town, I have since realized that I was not nearly excited enough. I knew Fernie was a small town in the Rockies and expected to find some decent surrounding scenery and good outdoor sports; I didn’t know that it would be the friendliest, most welcoming community I’ve yet had the blessing of living in closely surrounded by a limitless natural playground. I had no idea just how brightly-fluorescent-pink the Three Sisters could look on a freezing cold, clear winter morning or how unforgettably bizarre it could feel to ride down S-Bomb in a violent mid-summer hail storm.
As a landscape painter, it is absolutely invaluable to have the option of venturing outside on any day and in any season to drastically blur the line between work and play. Whenever I grab my camera and either mountain bike, snowshoe, hike or ride a chair lift, I can find myself somewhere awe-inspiring and beautiful in not hours but minutes from my front door.
The more time I spend in Fernie, the more chances I have to search the trails and creeks and valleys and ridges surrounding it, and although I’m by no means an explorer, I can always find new treasures to put onto the next canvas.
Visit Nathan Birch's site to learn more about him and his work.
