Canadian Landscape Artist Shelley Leach

Shelley Leach © 2025

I’m a painter. An artist. I also take photos and write about the places I paint.

Sometimes I stop and wonder if anyone actually cares about the writing. No one’s asking for it. It doesn’t hang on a wall. But I care.  Writing about these places feels necessary. I’m not writing to be poetic or clever or academic — I’m doing it because the art would feel incomplete without it. I paint what matters to me. 

I write because sometimes a painting isn't enough. The image might show what’s there but the words help you feel why it matters, if you read this.  If something matters to me, then it matters. It’s not about convincing anyone — it’s about being true to why I create. No one can tell you something doesn’t matter if it matters to you, even when it doesn’t matter to everyone else. And if something matters to you, then it should matter to me too. Maybe it just all matters. And in the end, why wouldn’t it?

From July 29 to August 5, 2025, I had the opportunity to attend the Dumoine River Art for Wilderness (DRAW) Retreat, an annual artist residency hosted by the Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society – Ottawa Valley.  Established in 2017 as a way to connect art and conservation, DRAW brings together 15–20 artists each year for a week of rough camping and creating along the Dumoine River. The group includes painters, photographers, fiber artists, writers, naturalists, and other creatives who immerse themselves in the wilderness. We also had the opportunity to engage with Tamara King from Wolf Lake First Nation (WLFN); the Dumoine watershed is the traditional territory of WLFN.

It was a privilege to be selected for this recognized program. While the residency included a formal application process and the expectation to donate one finished piece to CPAWS, the time itself was open and unstructured. Each artist was free to explore, reflect, and create in their own way. My past projects have also been exploratory, but working in a shared environment offered something new. I arrived without a set concept, but left with sketches, writings, and the beginnings of new work. Whether this evolves into a larger body of work or remains a standalone experience, it reflects how my practice continues to shift and grow.

 This was my first time returning to this pristine landscape since 2013, and being back on the river was deeply inspiring. Unlike my earlier solo artistic journeys between 2008 and 2012, this residency placed me within a community of creatives who share a passion for environmental stewardship. It gave me the chance to explore new sections of the river, begin fresh sketches and studies, and develop work that is now evolving into larger studio paintings. More than a creative retreat, DRAW deepened my connection to the Dumoine River and strengthened my commitment to preserving the natural beauty of fragile ecosystems by creating purposeful art in the extraordinary Canadian wilderness. 

What follows are excerpts from my daily journal combined with after thoughts — snapshots of the sights, people, and creative moments that influenced this experience thus far.

Day 1 – Arrival (July 29th)

We met in Swisha on July 29th. Officially, it’s called Rapides-des-Joachims—a small municipality and village in western Quebec, part of Pontiac County in the Outaouais region. The village sits right on the Ottawa River, about 20 minutes from Deep River, Ontario.

While Swisha is part of Quebec, it’s not connected to the rest of the province by any paved road. To get there, you have to come through Ontario—via Deep River and Rolphton—then cross the Ottawa River. Officially, Swisha is in Quebec, but in some ways, it’s a place apart.

From here, we entered the ZECs.

There are two in this region—ZEC Rapides-des-Joachims, which surrounds the village, and ZEC Dumoine, which covers the remote Dumoine River watershed where we’d be based for the residency. For those not familiar with a ZEC (Zone d’Exploitation Contrôlée) is a type of controlled-use public land found mostly in Quebec. Unlike a national or provincial park, a ZEC is managed not just for conservation, but also for sustainable resource use. That means people can fish, hunt, camp, and enjoy outdoor activities—but under strict rules designed to protect the environment and maintain wildlife populations. 

Once you enter the ZEC, it’s a shift into wild country. The roads start out like your typical cottage access road, but gradually get more rugged—deeply rutted, rock-strewn, and unpredictable. For me, having spent so many years living in these kinds of areas, it weirdly felt like being back home. The farther you go, the more you start to feel like even 20 km/h is speeding and loosing something off your vehicle is highly probable if you go much faster. It’s rough. A high-clearance 4x4 is pretty much required—or a vehicle you’re not too attached to driving ever again.

We had one shuttle van and a few higher-clearance vehicles in our little convoy about 20 of us packed into 4 vehicles. When we arrived at the drop-off point, we unloaded our gear—it was a lot. As artists, we each brought our own kind of baggage plus the basics: tents, coolers, food, canoes, kayaks, and all the stuff you really need. The creative clutter of people getting ready to live and create—in an inspiring landscape.

But we weren’t there yet.

The road could only take us so far. Now we had to load everything into canoes to get it across the Dumoine River to our camp for the week . Upon arrival first on the agenda, set up our tents, get to know everyone as very few of us had ever met before, dinner and campfire and get ready for our first full day on the Dumoine.

Day 2 – Sunrise and a Morning Paddle with Aleta Karstad ( July 30th)

We awoke to a truly mesmerizing sunrise on our first full day at camp. My feature photo from that morning captures the sky at 5:30a.m.—I was the only one up. I love the quietness of morning; for me, it’s often the most inspiring time of day, setting the tone for everything that follows.  On this day the slow reveal of colour, and the reflection off the river set the tone for a tranquil, introspective start. It was one of those scenes that doesn’t just inspire art—it reminds me why I create at all. Some of my highlights from day two...

After breakfast, I set out in a canoe with Aleta Karstad, a longtime DRAW participant and one of the original artists involved in the residency. This was our first time meeting. Aleta is a highly respected plein air painter, naturalist, and author—her work beautifully blends art and ecology, and she has spent over four decades documenting Canadian landscapes with extraordinary care, sensitivity, and detail.

As we paddled, I felt both humbled and connected. While Aleta and I each have our own voice and approach, we share a similar way of engaging with the landscape—observing, absorbing, understanding—before we begin to create. It felt like we were speaking the same language.

Aleta’s knowledge of the natural world—both the minute and the monumental—is remarkable. But what resonated most was her quiet attentiveness: the way she moves through the landscape fully present, curious, and engaged. As someone who spent my youth with a mother who similarly explored and taught me to read the land, this wasn’t just inspiring—it felt familiar. There was a clear, unspoken understanding about what it means to witness a place through art.

We drifted slowly along the shoreline, eventually letting ourselves float into a barge of driftwood. We seemed to gravitate toward the same details and shared an ease in how we noticed things—a certain bend in the branches, light on the water, and a hummingbird that sat quietly on a tree branch while we rested along shore. We talked about our work, our experiences, and how art serves as both a response and a responsibility.

That morning paddle wasn’t just peaceful—it was grounding. It reminded me that our values are closely aligned, and that this residency isn’t only about making work in a remote place. It’s a creative exploration—a chance to connect, to reflect, and to renew our commitment to place-based practice.

We returned to camp in the early afternoon, ready for whatever would come next. 

Day 3 & 4 Planes & Rapids, with Bryan Raymond ( July 31st & Aug 1st)

 Day 3 I stayed around camp—swam in the river, and worked on a couple of small watercolour sketches. I didn’t keep a detailed journal that day, but it felt good to just be in the place without needing to go far. We also had the opportunity to engage with Tamara King from Wolf Lake First Nation (WLFN). Tamara is a knowledge-keeper from WLFN who works with CPAWS-OV, she is also an artist and padder. The Dumoine watershed is the traditional territory of Wolf Lake First Nation. She explained to us the history of Wolf Lake First Nation and the Dumoine Watershed, she also talked about what life is like for the community today. 

Tamara led us in a Indigenous beading workshop, which I thoroughly enjoyed. My first time beading.

In the afternoon, we had a surprise flyover—two Canadian Forces planes, a passed over camp at a very low altitude. Definitely training, but still an exciting highlight. I was pretty excited to see them. It’s not the first time I’ve had a sighting like that on the Dumoine. Back on one of my earlier trips between 2008 and 2012, I had a similar flyover experience. 

The next morning, August 1st, I headed out early with Bryan Raymond. Fog was still lifting off the river when we left camp, and we paddled up to a small set of rapids close by. The mist rising off the water created these swirling patterns—like little whirlwinds—and we were both completely drawn in by the atmosphere. The light, the quiet, the movement of the fog—it was a moment I won’t forget.

When we reached the rapids, we weren’t totally sure how to get where we wanted to go. There was a big rock in the middle of the rapids that we were aiming for, but the shoreline—we didn’t think was passable. It was slippery, packed with driftwood. So we decided to bushwhack.

There was no trail—just a steep slope and what I call the “scratchy trees.” Mostly black spruce, many of them hit by spruce budworm. The trees are thin and brittle and super grabby—catching on everything. We took our time making it to the rapids. We carefully made our way through the bush, climbing over fallen trees in no particular order, trying not to trip or slide down the hill—probably about a 40-foot drop/ or roll more likely into the river below. The footing was awkward, and the scratchy trees made sure we didn’t get through unmarked. Eventually, we made it to right in the middle of the rapids.

We arrived at the rock and set our artist stuff down. Bryan is an amazing plein air painter and was set up in minutes.  Me? Well, I’m more the type to look around, explore a little, take some photos, and study the area. We each had an apple and some water, and Bryan got right to painting. I was like, “Wow, are you kidding me?” I was memorized by how fast he could capture a scene and put it to canvas. Bryan is originally from the area and we had a lot in common and spent most of our time taking about our own lives living in these remote areas.

After a bit, I took some photos and then sat down on the rocks with my feet in the moving water. I did a little watercolour sketch, deciding what I was going to paint for my first larger piece. By early afternoon it was starting to get pretty warm, so we decided to head back to camp.

This time, we didn’t go back the same way—well, there was no trail, so it wasn’t exactly a “way.” We scaled across a fallen log, which shortened our route back to the canoe. I have to admit, I was a bit nervous. I was sure I would have been impaled on a branch if I slipped, but somehow I made it across.  It might not sound like fun to everyone—but for me, it absolutely was the kind of experience I was there for. The Dumoine Wilderness is truly that ' Wilderness' with few, if any, marked trails. Trusting who you're with, and trusting your own instincts, becomes essential. There’s no signage, no cell service just raw landscape, shared effort, and a sense of presence, it’s real, untamed nature. I did one small watercolour sketch on location and started a larger 16 x 20 of the same area back at camp.

Days 5–8 – The Flow of Camp Life with 20 Artists

The last few days on the river seemed to blend together in the best way slow mornings, warm afternoons, and the steady flow of camp life with 20 artists and creatives. I worked on my beading project, slowly but surely. It’s coming along and brought it home to finish.

I’ve always admired the art of Indigenous beading. It carries stories, memory, and connection with every stitch. A long time ago, I inherited several original beaded hair pieces — barrettes — from my mother. They mean a lot to me, and I’ve always kept them close. Working on my own beadwork during this trip felt like a quiet way to honour that tradition and those pieces, to understand them a little better through the doing. I have an even greater admiration now for the time and patience it takes to bead, although it was never something I didn’t appreciate before.

The days were filled with swimming, canoeing, hikes, etc.. there was no structure to the week just free to creatively explore.Most mornings, sometime between 5 and 8 a.m., people would head down for an early swim, a quiet ritual that seemed to wake up the body. Everyone just seemed to always be doing something, exploring the river, hiking nearby trails or discovering new possible trails, or just simply soaking in the surroundings.

I found myself visiting Black Bear Beach several times over the last few days, a short distance from camp by trail or canoe. Along the way is a natural spring tucked into the shoreline, where we filled our water jugs each day. Cold, clean, and constant, it became part of our daily routine, grounding in a very real way. Black Bear Beach got its name after someone spotted a bear there the year before which, honestly, seems like a solid reason.

I’d spend time there now and then, walking the shoreline and collecting driftwood, letting the river and its surrounding landscape quietly feed my creativity. I also got some canoeing 101 tips from Dot Bonnefette— practical, hands-on learning from someone who clearly knows the river like an old friend. Dot is also a talented artist, especially known for her beautiful paddles. I first met her back in 2012. Being able to learn from Dot feels like an honour. She has a way of sharing knowledge that feels generous and grounded, always with a sense of humour and deep respect for the land and water.

John McDonnell and myself took a canoe trip up river, paddling down river is much easier than going up river against the current on a windy day! However our final destination made it all worthwhile, and we did travel back down river. This time instead of pulling our canoe up through rapids, we were in the canoe going through some rapids, a little bit of exhilaration before returning to camp. 

Every evening ended around the fire at camp, with shared meals and stories. The boundary between days felt less like tracking time and more like living it. 

  What made this trip especially meaningful to me is something I don’t often talk about: for about two years, I walked with a cane or used a mobility harness on my service dog just to get around. I went through over three years — and more than 50 sessions — of physiotherapy. During that time, even standing or walking short distances took real effort, and progress often felt painfully slow. There were moments when I truly thought I might never live without chronic pain again.

Being out there on the river reminded me not just of how far I’ve come, but also of where I once was — and of what I lost. My physical health, after a significant injury. My ability to do things I once loved. Things I thought I might never do again. So while this might not seem like a huge accomplishment to others, for me it’s a quiet moment of self-acknowledgment. It might seem small to someone else, but for me, it’s a meaningful reminder of my determination and the effort it took to get here.

By Day 8 — pack-up and head-out day — I honestly felt like I could’ve stayed another week. I think most did. The weather couldn’t have been better, and everyone seemed to have found their footing in each day. New buddies appeared daily, with people heading out on small excursions, paddling, sketching, painting, writing, collecting and exploring — each person responding to the landscape in their own way. It was one of those rare times when 20 strangers, all with different creative goals, came together to use our talent as artists and creatives to support CPAWS conservation work.

In this short synopsis, I’ve only been able to highlight a few of the creative adventures we had. I could name every artist who took part — each one contributed something real and lasting — but there simply isn’t space here to tell every story. Just know that behind each moment was a group of people fully present, fully engaged, and fully inspired by the Dumoine.

November, we’ll have our first group show in Deep River — and it promises to be a truly unique experience. With so many different creatives at camp—from painters and fiber artists to potters and photographers—the show will offer a rich and varied look at the river and its surroundings. No one really knows exactly what everyone will submit, so it’s bound to be full of surprises. If you love art, nature, or just discovering new perspectives it should be on the to-do-list.

Some of the Art I created from this residency ; several watercolour sketches, a painting of my tent at night, a piece I started on location from my day trip to Richard Rapids. In this painting its busy but what I was truly trying to capture was exactly that feeling of being in the thick of it! Then, a painted canoe paddle. It feels like a visual story, a tale—not just my own, but one taken, or maybe one yet to come. I didn’t plan this paddle before painting it, it was more painting intuitively but this is how it appears to me now: at the grip, the sky shifts from day into night. The shaft is wrapped in birch bark—something grounding, familiar. On the blade, tall pines rise with the shape of the paddle, like sentinels marking the entry into something deeper. In the center, there's a soft, circular watercolour. It’s a view looking upriver, a glimpse into the vastness. A peaceful kind of vastness. Not overwhelming, but a reminder of how all the parts like the birch bark, the sky, the trees—come together to hold something much larger. But again, I painted it intuitively, so... it’s a tale still unfolding. I also have some more pieces on the go and will add when complete. 

Be sure to check back for dates and details about the upcoming group shows featuring all participating artists from the 2025 Dumoine River Art for Wilderness Residency. Our first group show from DRAW 2025  begins November 1st, 2025 at the

Valley Artisans Coop Gallery, 33373 Highway 17 in Deep River, Ontario.

I continue to add photos and artwork created and inspired by 'Dumoine Art For Wilderness' DRAW 2025 with the Canadian Park and Wilderness Society - Ottawa Valley.