Linda Langerak Art


Ever since I can remember, creativity in art, music, drama, photography, as well as the written and spoken word are things I have always been passionate about.  I have tried and been involved in all of them, to varying degrees over the years in my quest to determine the best outlet for me.  Painting and photography outweighed all else.

I've always been fond of a story that my parents have told numerous times over the years, of my young pre-school coloring book days.  Apparently, I would sit at the kitchen table and flip through a coloring book, page by page, before finally choosing a picture I wanted to color.  Next, I would go through the process of selecting what I thought to be the perfect crayon to use as my coloring tool.  Now the hard part! I would scan the page of my desired selection, crayon hovering above the page just waiting to be placed on the page to come to life... when finally I would decide on the precise spot that my crayon should make its mark. And I literally mean a mark. I'd place a single, select, solitary mark (which most times were no bigger than an inch in length), and voila my page would be done, and the tedious process would start again.  Perhaps this was the start of why I do what I do today.

My older sister was also appreciative of art and was very talented and creative herself.  She would draw these magnificent houses whereby it looked as though the front layer (walls), of the house had been removed so that you could see inside and view all the rooms and the fine detail and grandeur that she drew on the page.  I loved viewing the type artwork she created that was so detailed, methodical, and precise.  I just cannot, or rather I choose not, to do that myself.  It is very rare that I sit down to do something as such.  Rather, I have always been drawn to creating abstract art.  For me, it's the best way to express what I'm thinking or feeling inside


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In a Grade 8 Art Class in Junior High, my teacher shared a poem with our class that inspired me to never hold back from creating what I felt inside. It's always remained a favorite of mine:

"About School"

He always wanted to say things

But no one understood

He always wanted to explain things

But no one cared

So he drew

Sometimes he would draw and it wasn't anything

He wanted to carve it in stone, or write it in the sky

He would lie out on the grass, and look up at the sky

And it would only be him, and the sky, and the things inside that needed saying

And it was after that

That he drew the picture

It was a very beautiful picture

He kept it under his pillow 

And he would let no one see it

And he would look at it every night 

And he would think about it 

And when it was dark

And his eyes were closed

He could still see it

And it was all of him

And he loved it

When he started school he brought it with him

Not to show anyone but just to have with him

Like a friend

It was funny about school

He sat in a square, brown desk

Like all of the other square brown desks

And he thought it should be red

And his room was a square, brown room

Like all of the other rooms.

And it was tight and close

And stiff

He hated to hold the pencil and the chalk

With his arms stiff and his feet flat on the floor


With the teacher watching

And watching

And then he had to write the numbers

And they weren't anything

They were worse than the letters

That could be something

When you put them all together

And the numbers were tight

And square

And he hated the whole thing

The teacher came and spoke to him

She told him to wear a tie

Like all of the other little boys

He said he didn't like them

She said it didn't matter

After that they drew

And he drew all yellow

And it was the way he felt about morning

And it was beautiful

The teacher came again and smiled at him

"What's this"? she asked

"Why don't you draw something like Ken's drawing?"

"Isn't that beautiful?"

It was all questions

After that his mother bought him a tie

And he always drew airplanes and rocket ships

Like everyone else

And he threw the old picture away

And when he lay out alone and looked at the sky

It was big and blue and all of everything

But he wasn't anymore

He was square inside and brown

And his hands were stiff

And he was like everyone else

And that things inside him that needed saying

Didn't need it anymore

It had stopped pushing

It was crushed


Like everything else


- Author Unknown


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One last item to share on this page... I have a song that most definitely stirs the same passion and emotion inside of me that I get when I pick up a paint brush to paint. "I Breathe" by Flowers & Machines is an incredible piece of music to listen to. 


Original artwork and photography

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