One question I'm often asked is 'How long have you been doing this?' and I never know how to answer that. I've been doing this since I was a child. But not like this, not exactly. So that's not the answer I usually give because I know the asker wants to know about my art now. But in all honesty, I have been making art and music since I was a tot and I have referenced my box of Crayola crayons in interviews many times because it was such a treasure to me. As for the real answer? Well, here it is:

After I dropped out of post secondary for music performance I moved back in with my parents on Rice Lake in Alderville. Once I was able to land a job and pay my own bills I rented a little house from the Band Council. That house is still there but it looks nothing like it did back then. Back then it was in the boonies surrounded by sumac. It was dark. There was no green mile. Anyone driving that way was either on their way home or on their way To Town. I drove it often at night, on my way home from my job, and most times I was the only car on the road. 

I was still making music and in fact was playing more than ever and earning some money from it. But as rewarding as it is to perform it's also very stressful. I needed something to do for relaxation. This was when I mused to my Mom, who was still alive then, that maybe I should buy some paints. She immediately encouraged me to do so. You see, I had taken art classes all through high school in addition to my music classes. I wasn't a naturally gifted artist like some of my friends but I loved it. I loved the history, the architecture, and learning new techniques.

My very first "real" painting was of a yellow finch on masonite panel done in acrylic paint. I was proud of that painting and so I gave it to my Mom for Christmas that year as a teen. I continued to paint and although I never received stellar grades I took those classes because I really enjoyed them. As high school came to an end so did my painting. Not for any reason other than I was making music for hours a day and that's where my focus was. 

So, after college and moving back home, with my Mom's encouragement, I drove off to Curry's art store and bought my supplies. My house was small so I brought my easel outside onto the deck and painted there. The photo above is from that time.

I didn't know what to paint but I was living on the Rez and decided to try a quasi-Woodlands style as a way to begin. Pushing and blending that paint felt SO GOOD. It was meditative and internal. Like music, I could make something from nothing but there was absolutely no pressure involved. It was just for me. Eventually, family members handcrafted a giant easel for me (which I still have today) so that I could paint in the unfinished basement of my house all year long. As I continued painting I made the decision to stop imitating and begin to find my own style of mark making. If I was going to do this for me then it needed to come from me. 

I never intended to sell my art. I never intended to have this as my profession. I fully intended to return to post secondary to pursue academia rather than the arts (something I still regret to this day). Life got in the way of that. I was diagnosed with an autoimmune condition during surgery and had years of illness; my cherished mother died suddenly, and I was in an abusive relationship. Let's face it, life happens and changes our course. That's ok because Creator had a plan for me that I wasn't aware of. 

I kept painting for myself, for fun, for me. It got me through a terrible divorce, losing a child, and helped me find myself again. Somewhere along the way people asked to buy my paintings. So I began doing church basement art shows and farmer's markets then moved to outdoor art fairs, indoor art events, art galleries, magazines and podcasts. I'm not going to brag or list my accomplishments in this post because one of the 7 Grandfather Teachings is Dbaadendiziwin (humility). But I am proud of how I've grown as a self taught artist and I know there is much more to come. I feel like I'm just getting started - again.

I give you heartfelt thanks if you have stayed with me to the end of this rather long post.

2022.
Not a year I'd like to repeat.

It began extremely well with strong art sales and commissioned paintings. I was excitedly planning my next Thing, as I normally do in early winter. Most of my year is planned out by that time with some wiggle room for spontaneous projects. Then the news came sometime in the spring that my Dad was sick. A week later we learned it was terminal. Everything happened so suddenly that it was hard to adjust and I was a wreck. I finished up the art work I needed to complete and then cleared my calendar as much as possible. My family and I came up with plans for medical treatment, transportation to the hospital out of area, aids to help his quality of life, nursing and care team, end of life discussions. I booked camping nearby his house, as a sort of hotel room so that I could be there to help out.

I wasn't able to do enough. I wanted to do so much more. 

The thing about grief is that it allows you to talk about love. Every visit, every phone call, every text, we spoke about the little things. Things like, the cardinals and the deer that I saw on my walks outside when Dad couldn't leave his bed anymore. Things like updates on his grandchildren, what we ate for dinner, how nice the weather was.
We also talked about the big things. What he wanted to do when it was time to die. How to celebrate and to honour him after death. That the Spirit World is beautiful and Mom was waiting for him there. Always, always we ended each talk with I Love You. 

Not long after the Apple Route Studio Tour and just a few weeks after I seriously injured my ankle, Dad left this world. Expected and yet sudden after having returned to the land he loved in Alderville. I had a feeling he was waiting to be back home before leaving us. And that's what happened. 

Here's what I learned from going through this (which was much different than how my mother died). It's the 'in between' that is the heart of life. Those insignificant every day moments are what bonds us. Sure, the big things are important and memorable too, but there's magic in the every day. Those are the stories. Those are the moments you giggle about years later. Those are the moments filled with the most love.

And so, my dear friends, I hope you have some grace for me and understand why I was inconsistent with my art updates last year. My soul's priority was to love, grieve, and everything in between.

This blog post was originally published by the Northumberland Festival Of The Arts in 2021 and consecutively published in 2022 by Devour: Art & Lit Canada, issue 013. 

“Together in Solitude” (Oil on Canvas) by Jennifer Trefiak 2021​

Merriam-Webster defines resilience as a noun that means: “the ability to become strong, healthy, or successful again after something bad happens.”

That’s pretty heavy because the events that lead us to become resilient are not insignificant; these are life altering events such as death, job loss, discrimination, illness, abuse, and trauma. What’s interesting to me about resilience is that you don’t know if you are resilient until you’ve come through to the other side; it is a test of your endurance as a human being and a test of your spirit. Becoming resilient is a painful experience.

Just as you don’t know if you’re resilient until you’ve made it to the other side of adversity, you cannot celebrate resilience until you have healed from those moments that tested you. Some moments can never be celebrated at all, it’s enough to make it through alive.

For some of us, the past two years have been a blessing, and for others, it’s been a time of struggle. For the arts sector it has been both.

The arts became a shining light for the world to grasp onto during the frightening beginning of the pandemic when so much was unknown. We felt alone and so we attended virtual concerts, online art openings, and play readings. As artists we had endless time to create and to explore our inner worlds. The arts brought all of us solace and joy when we needed it the most.

The other side to that is that many artists have felt the financial and spiritual burden of the past two years. Those venues that we require to make music, display art, and read poetry have not been available until very recently. We too, have had to adjust ourselves to the virtual world, and for some artists and arts groups that has been difficult or impossible.

As for the spiritual burden, if you do not have an audience you do not have art. If your book isn’t being read, your song is not performed and your artwork not seen, then does the art really exist? Art exists only in relationship to the audience receiving it. At least, that’s what I believe. When we bring art to people there is an energy and a connection which emerges that simply doesn’t exist on a screen.

Slowly, we are gathering the pieces of ourselves and coming together. As we begin to move into public spaces once more, I dearly hope that the individuals who took pleasure and comfort in the arts from their living room couch will support us in person. I also hope that we as artists and arts institutions continue to make our work accessible to everyone.

Which brings me back to the topic at hand, resilience. When I find myself looking for answers I always look to Mother Earth. She speaks if you listen, and resilience is her middle name. When a forest burns there is a period of regeneration afterwards. In fact, many plant species require a fire in order to propagate and thrive. It’s a natural cycle of life and one which Indigenous cultures know well. A prescribed burn prevents widespread and destructive fires with a carefully curated one. Destruction creates resilience, regrowth, and beauty.

I believe that we as an arts community will move into a period of regrowth and beauty, like after a forest fire. Where resilience factors in is in how we move forward. Do we do the same as we’ve always done? Or do we take these teachings from this time period to enhance the experience of our shared love of all things beautiful and compelling? Once you burn you can’t forget. Those seedlings of creativity, so freely shared during the pandemic and carefully tended by those desiring them, will not forget their roots. Those lessons will structure our collective resilience and regrowth. They will guide us into the next phase of art creation and appreciation. Then, we can celebrate.

​

Hello dear Collectors!

I recently did a radio interview on Northumberland 89.7 with David Newland where we discuss the AGN Spotlight Series 3, my Alderville First Nations heritage, the Canadian "Residential School" discoveries and awareness, and how art can influence and impact society. 

This conversation was spontaneous, unscripted and unedited. David's questions were sensitive and thought-provoking and I'm grateful for his skill in being able to bring out the best in me and allowing me to share what I am all about. 

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think in the comments!

I need to start this post with a huge chi-miigwetch to my community for supporting my artistic career. In some ways it is easy to be an artist - be yourself, make things, repeat. In other ways it can be a real struggle - the admin work, financially supporting your art making, pandemic lockdowns....

I am filled with gratitude for having been approached by The Art Gallery Of Northumberland to be a part of their Spotlight Series 3 - an annual arts education fundraiser known for shining the spotlight on artists from across Northumberland County. This opportunity came to me when I was at a low point spiritually. I was missing my friends and family, all cultural events were on hold, my studio and gallery had to be closed to visitors, and I was beginning to wonder whether my art made a difference to anyone other than me. But, I had begun my new series on community and was excited with how the concept was developing. Interestingly enough, it was at this point that the AGN approached me with their community project. Funny how synchronicity  works.

Since that time I have filmed my mini-doc, given radio interviews and news interviews. If you know me, you'll know that I prefer to listen rather than speak. This experience has been WAY outside my comfort zone. But, I also know that if you don't do things that scare you then you are not growing as a person.

The AGN Spotlight Series 3 has given me the opportunity to tell my community about myself and my heritage, how my landscape art speaks to topics and issues I care about, and I've come to learn that it also means something to all of you. That is why I do what I do and am who I am.

A friend of mine, who recently passed away, David Tanner, once told me that to have a talent or a gift and to choose not to share that with the world was to fail both yourself and your community.  I feel my included quote above explains what he said to me perfectly. 

And so, I make art and share it. Whether it's good or bad (I never profit from anything I'm not happy with). Whether it's in progress or completed. Whether for sale or not. That is my small contribution to my community. And my community decided to recognize my work and share it to a broader audience. I am humbled and honoured to have been chosen, along with five other outstanding artists Kate Boothman, Cale Crowe, Oli Goldsmith, Kate Hessin, and Ian Jack.

I  do hope you will come together with me as my community to view these mini-docs. The Northumberland County artistic community has shared so much over the course of the pandemic and has also taken a huge hit. Your love of the arts makes our tiny piece of Turtle Island a vibrant, caring, thriving, compassionate place that I'm proud to call home.​

I was asked this question in an interview recently and I have to say I didn't have a really good answer. First of all, talking about myself is not comfortable for me and I feel I'm even more eccentric and awkward by being isolated for so long. As I said to my friend, I don't know how to people anymore. 

Here's the thing. When I first began painting I tried out different styles, techniques and subjects. I began painting just for my own pleasure and those early paintings were done in a quasi-Woodlands style with natural elements and animals. I found it quite meditative to paint these thick lines and swirls. As I continued painting and honing my skills I knew I could share my visions with people other than my family. I quickly realized that I needed my art work to look like 'me' and not like Norval Morrisseau or Daphne Odjig (as marvelous as their work is). I made a switch to abstracts and I feel like that really helped my style to evolve. (I've included one of my early paintings for you to see below.) Gestural brushwork and bright colours were a natural fit and an unconscious development. The subjects of these abstracts were landscapes, music, and nature. Not so different from what I paint now.

Today I find myself coming back to a little more realism, interpreting nature rather than imitating it.  I still use colour as an element in its own right and I continue to tell stories through my images. 

So, what's my style? My style is expressive. My style is emotive. My style is me. 

Help me out Collectors - how would you describe my style?

Painting from 2007, acrylic on canvas

​I've been painting landscapes ever since I began painting. Sometimes they have been abstract, sometimes not. Some have figures but most do not. If there is a figure it is represented by nature or animal but I rarely paint a human figure. I will expand more on that in another post. 

I don't just paint landscapes though. Each of these landscapes has an underlying theme or message that I send into that painting. These themes are central to each new series that I create. I've always told stories in my art work and it used to frustrate me as a child when people (teachers) wouldn't understand my symbolism and story telling.

Almost all of my paintings have water in them. Not all, but most.

​In Anishinabek culture, water is sacred and women are the caretakers of the water.
​In my last series, Hiraeth, you will see in each piece that I have painted GutchiGumi (Lake Superior) which translates to Great Water or Great Lake. I have tried to show you the spirit of the land of my ancestors. I have also woven themes such as climate change, conservation, feminine uprising and power, spirituality, and human connectedness to Mother Earth into these paintings. When in doubt, the titles usually offer a clue. Most of my titles are snippets taken from song lyrics, story or poetry. 

I suppose I should write a separate blog post for each painting in the series to give you a little insight as to where it's located and what I was trying to say. It's a fine line with art. In one way I think art should speak for itself and you as a viewer should interpret it as you wish. On the other hand, maybe some of you would like to know more about the my underlying themes and what I was thinking about when I made my paintings.
Let me know! Mystery or Story?

I've also had some Collectors inquire about my Indigenous heritage and that is another blog post that I am planning in depth (so many blogs so little time!). For now, just know that I am from Alderville First Nation in Ontario and have an interesting and artistic family history which I am looking forward to sharing with you soon.