VIII
I took a trip out to Waterton National Park with three of my children this past week and was awestruck by the profound beauty of new life amid the ashes of death and unearthed stone. The Kenow Wildfire was ignited by a lightning strike on August 30th, 2017 ….
March 30, 2026.
I took a trip out to Waterton National Park with three of my children this past week and was awestruck by the profound beauty of new life amid the ashes of death and unearthed stone. The Kenow Wildfire was ignited by a lightning strike on August 30th, 2017 and proceeded to sweep through roughly 38, 000 hectares of mountain range before its eventual demise. A massive evacuation occurred, as the fire reached the outskirts of the hamlet, but the iconic Prince of Wales Hotel was saved.
Visiting this historic landscape during the off-season was such a gift, as the shops, cafes and ‘attractions’ were boarded up, many homes sat uninhabited and even the statue was wrapped and tied up for the winter. Wildlife wandered at ease among the deserted space and although two roads were barricaded due to avalanche warnings; we did get to hike up to Crandell Lake in utter solitude.
Mount Crandell, AB.
Crandell Lake, Waterton, AB.
As we were nearing a precipice, my eldest son Jack noticed that several stones had embedded themselves into the roots of a fallen tree. As in the human experience, authentic beauty is revealed when we take the time to examine our roots and unearth how we have been shaped, nurtured and grown. It is not that every aspect of our stories is beautiful, but rather that beauty can stem from anything.
Jack, & Rebekkah, Mount Crandell, AB.
This photograph, along with select others from this expedition, will be available for purchase as limited edition, brushed aluminum prints on my virtual gallery this month.
VII
It brings me great joy to announce that both ‘Shaimaylia‘ and ‘Sara’ will be acquired by La Musee D’Arts Des Femmes ….
March 16, 2026.
It brings me great joy to announce that both ‘Shaimaylia’ and ‘Sara‘ are to join the permanent collection of La Musée D’Arts Des Femmes in Edmonton next month. The Women’s Art Museum is located on the rue Marie-Anne Gaboury and works tirelessly to collect, preserve and present the visual heritage of specifically Canadian Female Artists.
‘If there is no inherent risk, no discomfort, no driving force compelling an artist to create in a particular fashion, then that work will be empty.”
Jennifer Peters
The unforgiving, raw quality of the Alberta landscape appeals to my senses and has truly become the canvas upon which I write. I choose to wield my own body not for display, but rather necessity, as I cannot ask any model to take on the inherent risk or toll on the body that I am willing to go through for a given shot. I have fallen out of a tree when a massive limb cracked, experienced hypothermia, minor shock, abrasions, bruising and my most recent finished work “Shaimaylia,’ featured below involved the use of toxic paint surrounding both my eyes and a found snare around my neck. These choices are intentional. The intent is not to injure or harm, but rather to tell an authentic story by any means necessary.
In Studio - Shaimaylia
Shaimaylia: Detail
Translating these images to the canvas in studio serves as an incubation period; from the methodical and slow pace of fine details, to the arching, rapid movements of the raw impulse. Each and every finished work, whether that be on a two or three dimensional surface is a genuine piece of soul, birthed in my steps as a woman, a mother and a daughter within this stunning vista.
Both original works are currently being exhibited at the Sheep River Gallery in my solo exhibition entitled ‘Foothills County: Un Sonnet En Trois.’ Private viewings of this immersive arts experience can be booked via my website or by contacting the artist directly via email - jenniferpeters@acanadianartist.org
Sara
VI
Braids
March 11, 2026.
There is something so soft, so sensual about discarded cloth and the play of water. Perhaps it is the shifting curves within its supple texture or perhaps it is more the process of of the repetitive motion of fingers weaving old cloth upon the surface of our bodies. Regardless, there is an abiding joy in this blessed touch;
I was raised in a home that did not acknowledge the existence of sex or the vagina. The body was a source of shame, to be concealed and contained as a dirty secret. Breaking free from these constraints and learning to embrace my body, my vagina, the act of sex is a struggle to this day. I choose to wield my own body not for the sake of display, but in an effort to reintegrate the female form as a source of strength, rather than objectivity or shame. There is also an intimacy within my performance that I simply cannot achieve with anyone else, as I cannot know what it is to live and breathe within their skin.
Jennifer Peters
Shaimaylia: Detail
v
There is something utterly compelling about the soft curves of the female form within the raw elements of nature.
Driftwood I
March 6, 2026.
There is something utterly compelling about the soft curves of the female form within the raw elements of nature. The aging palette of driftwood in conjunction with the tender life of a woman’s skin create a symbiotic narrative that perpetually draws the viewer in and around a given work of art. Clothing, metal, glass, the hard edges of a straight line, … anything artificial tends to take away from the natural beauty of this new body of work.
Driftwood II
The unforgiving, raw quality of the Alberta landscape appeals to my senses and has truly become the canvas upon which I write. I choose to wield my own body not for display, but rather necessity, as I cannot ask any model to take on the inherent risk or toll on the body that I am willing to go through for a given shot. I have fallen out of a tree when a massive limb cracked, experienced hypothermia, minor shock, abrasions, bruising and my most recent finished work “Shaimaylia” involved the use of toxic paint surrounding both my eyes and a found snare around my neck. The intent is never to injure or harm, but to tell a story by whatever means necessary.
An artist must be transparent, authentic, vulnerable … this is our job and the gift we bring to society. To be naked is to be vulnerable and pushing my body to extremes is an integral aspect of my narrative both in and out of studio. If there is no inherent risk, no discomfort, no driving force compelling an artist to create in a particular fashion, then that work will be empty.
IV
I was meant to sit still beneath that tree. This process, this performance, this work was timely and necessary.
March 3, 2026.
I had the pleasure of an unexpected pocket of time yesterday. I spent over an hour waiting for the arrival of a beautiful friend; this space, albeit longer than anticipated, was intentional on my end, as I wanted to give myself an opportunity for creativity.
I climbed the fence and began trudging through the ample snow when I came upon an absolutely stunning tree. She was so compelling; I knew immediately that this was to be the site for my next piece. After adorning an old, Holly Hobby dress from my mother’s basement; it occurred to me that it would be excessively romantic to tie the braids unto my body in thick layers until such time as they arrived. Upon using up a full palette of braids, I then began to pull out the additional torn up cloth in order to bind my legs and feet into rugged footwear. I cut off one shoulder of the Holly Hobby gown and stuffed her ample skirt up near the top of my thighs. It is amazing to me how sensual a single element of skin can be when surrounded by thick layers of cloth. The ambient sun began to pull on my eyelids, as a chilly frost bit into the air and my feet turned red beneath a canvas of snow.
I was meant to sit still beneath that tree. This process, this performance, this work was timely and necessary.
When I was eleven years of age, a man came into my bedroom and raped me with his fingers all over my pink Holly Hobby sheets. Being drawn to this particular dress and adorning it here in this wilderness was no accident. I did not even link the Holly Hobby style of this gown to my bedsheets on that day; I only knew that it was necessary. Despite the hiked up fabric and the inherent violence of cutting off its shoulder and layering it in thick plaits, the process was peaceful and the gown beautiful in its own way. My experience as a child was in a sense redeemed through this experience and a soft space of sensuality, rather than sexuality was created. Weaving and tying the fabric, only to free my body from its grip was moving, palpable, intimate … joyful even. I did not feel lost, but comforted within the blanket of knots that cocooned my frame against the natural elements.
These plaits, these knots, the act of tying them tightly, only to unwind and release them was a small means of controlling what was utterly beyond my control. I finished tying my gown, as my feet were beginning to freeze and proceeded to prop up my camera using a stone, my jacket and some cloth. I placed my hand over its heart and took a bow.
This photograph is a memento of a beautiful experience, not only in weaving within the natural landscape, but in the gentle untying of said elements with a dear friend. My heart is full and grateful.
Jennifer
Les Tresses - Series Excerpt. 2026
III
February 26, 2026.
The Wooden Chair.
‘You need me every moment. Your awareness of your constant need for me is your greatest strength. Your neediness, properly handled, is a link to my Presence. The emptiness you feel within will be filled with problems or with my Presence.’
— Sarah Young
February 26, 2026.
The Man Who Sits Alone
There is a man who sits alone from dawn till weathered dusk.
His eyes they stare in placid peaks, gentle waves amid the throng.
His mug is taught, his shoulders bare, slumped forth beneath his brain. A brain that until this day has sliced and diced his wit to bone, a brain that will not let him be, countless hours spent alone.
Rampant thoughts they wreak deep furrows, etching slowly down his back; painful shots within his scalp they fly, withered hands betray him not.
His fingers flutter back and forth, hands flash in countless waves; tides of voices, pitched in Everglades, curdling whispers in this dark. Who is this torrid beast that comes to wreak insipid pain? Why can he not fly weightlessly as a paper through the air?
..
He stares at silent onlookers, those who could not look away;
They are nothing to this silent beast who hums amid his heart; weightless gnats, insipid few, they know not his valiant fight. Every moment, every breath … He keeps it all at bay; knowing well the monsters lurking here; vile pants and sweaty teeth. His soul is bound in agony, figure rocking still.
HIS SOUL IS bound in agony, his figure rocking still.
He is the crushing, pounding weight; He is this monster’s man, yet with every nerve he fights to curb his will, this violence he has on hand .. FINGERS TICK Out round and round, hands fluttering ever still.
For this man is crushed, so he sits in a bush; silent stares in repeated form. Go ahead Laugh. Mock him gently by, or stay and choose to see him cry, for no pain without can undo the searing loss within.
His brow is set and his seat stays firm;
He is the man who sits alone.
We cannot truly appreciate joy without suffering; we are not complete without anger, grief, doubt, fear … all of these emotions exist within each and everyone of us. It is how we respond to the deep pain within our lives that matters in the end; choose to love, choose to give and all will be given.
As someone who has struggled through sexual trauma, abuse and deep loss; my capacity to respond to life’s hurdles was severely handicapped. While there have been many times I have desired a different path in life; I am grateful for the eyes this experience has provided. We cannot have compassion for what we are unwilling to understand and so I give this painting with words in honour of the many brave women and men that have been crushed by the weight of their own stories.
We are not called to fix. We are not called to change. We are only to love.
Jennifer Peters
II
I am haunted by imagery.
From the moment I wake until my mind drifts to sleep; my thoughts are ever held captive by beauty. Beauty within every aspect of our existence; the raw, the ‘ugly', the minute - these moments, these gifts encapsulate what it means to be human. Assembling the broken pieces of our stories, our souls, our bodies … embracing, rather than rejecting the reality of death, decay and loss. These are the driving forces beneath my work and the elements to which I am perpetually drawn. Whether this be a discarded object, experience or emotion, honouring the inherent beauty within these elements is redemptive … sacred. The beautiful weight of stone, the exquisite hue of a weathered saw, the texture of a discarded railway tie. These are stunning and yet it is only when these seemingly disparate elements are combined that a truly gorgeous experience is achieved.
These experiences are never truly ‘solo exhibitions;’ while it is my vision, handiwork and concept, a beautiful aspect about the way I work is that it always necessitates a team of like-minded individuals. Framing, printing, welding expertise (my skills are rudimentary), instruction in working with new materials; these necessitate the input of others. An artist never stops reaching, learning and seeking to expand their creative tool belt. These skill sets, tools and supplies incur considerable costs and so my gratitude for the crews of volunteers who have helped transport, maneuver and assist in capturing select performances knows no bounds. I would not be where I am today without a village to support, mentor and encourage my studio practice. In this respect, my work assembles not only experiences, but the most unlikely individuals.
Thank you for joining me on this creative path; art is not a luxury for the wealthy, but the foundation of any healthy individual, community and society. If you have access to any deceased wildlife, antler sheds, feathers, nests, bones or discarded material; please let know via email (jenniferpeters@acanadianartist.org) or D.M. and I will pay you a visit. Anyone who chooses to donate an item will receive a small token of my gratitude and the opportunity to share their story. I am currently on the hunt for Western antiques, horse tack and used tablecloths or sheets.
With Gratitude,
Jennifer Peters
I
It all begins with an idea.
JENNIFER PETERS
September 21, 2025. - Foothills County, AB.
I have the deepest respect for any artist who chooses to tackle the enormous feat of going pro. It is not a journey for the faint of heart, especially for those who choose to tackle this feat without a partner in life. The work in studio is only a fraction of the massive amount of effort, time and hard work that goes into creating and presenting a given body of work. To create on a daily basis demands a ruthless devotion; there is no space for fear, doubt, turmoil … as with any entrepreneurial venture, there exists a single-minded focus and countless hours of delving into a given process before any genuine pockets of brilliance can arise. I find this process effortless, as an unceasing flow of ideas constantly bombard my mind, however finding the patience to channel and harness my insatiable creative drive was a definite and necessary challenge.
To truly master anything, one must carve out the necessary means and time to explore a given direction. Despite a promising debut, including a contract collaboration with internationally renowned artist Eloy Morales and my first international show back in 2018, my professional career came to a grinding halt when my son Anthony suddenly died while on a camping trip on July 2, 2018. I continued working, but chose to step off the professional track for a season while I grieved his loss.
I came back onto the public scene with an exhibition several years later entitled ‘The Room Upstairs.’ The show was exhibited on the top floor of CSpace during the pandemic in the year 2021 and caught the attention of writer Jeff Volmers. He came to visit the show and after an initial interview, proceeded to write and publish an editorial in the Calgary Herald on my work. My gratitude to this man and my mentor of many years, fellow artist Paul Van Ginkel, for his recommendation and support remain steadfast.
Despite this success, the reality of pulling it all off while caring for my four remaining children was too much. I could not successfully tackle marketing, showing and selling my work, on top of my studio practice without neglecting their needs, so I chose to once again step out of the limelight and focus on my children and studio practice for a season while they were still young. I slowly put the necessary pieces back into place and was able to launch a full-time studio practice in September of 2024.
Choose to pursue what gives you life and your passion will give life to those who surround you.
Jennifer Peters
My children must always come first and they do, but depriving them of my best self serves no purpose. Children emulate what they see, not what is said. Who are we to tell our children to pursue their dreams if we refuse to do the same? Self matters, as do the God given desires of your heart. I could not, nor can I ever stop creating; commercial success or not. It is who I am, who I am meant to be and what flows naturally from every aspect of my existence.
Thank you for your patronage as I once again tackle the slow ascent to garnering a platform for my work, both locally and abroad.
With Love & Gratitude,
Jennifer