Stephanie Taylor’s paintings are more than landscapes — they are layered memories, emotional whispers, and love letters to the places she calls home. Blending impressionism and abstraction, her work captures not only how a place looks, but how it feels: the brightness of a summer ridge, the damp weight of a coastal forest, the bittersweet beauty of a melting glacier. As she prepared for her upcoming Artist in Residence at Fairmont Chateau Whistler, Stephanie reflected on her creative process, her deep connection to the West Coast, and the ever-changing voice of the landscapes she paints.

Your paintings have such an emotional pull, like they’re telling secrets about the landscape. When you stand in front of a blank canvas, what’s the very first “whisper” you listen for?

I think it is so interesting how a photograph captures a version of reality that doesn't capture the feeling of being in a place, or how our eyes and our minds perceive things.  We often remember towering peaks that look small when we look at the pictures later, or colours that just don't pop the way we remember.  A painting doesn't have that limitation.  I try to capture how it feels to be in that place, to emphasize what struck me in the moment.  Often that means choosing a bright underpainting that will infuse the scene with light and emotion and provide a contrast to representational elements.

You blend impressionism and abstraction in a way that feels both familiar and dreamlike. Do you ever feel you’re painting a place as it is, or as you wish it could be?

Maybe it is a wish in some sense, but I think of it more as layered memories.  A forest isn't just a forest- it is a place I played as a kid, walked with different people and dogs, in different weathers and moods.  I'm not trying to idealise nature, because I think sometimes ugliness and decay are beautiful too.  I'm trying to capture something that is beautiful but also too bright, too dark, too wet... I continually ask myself, what am I showing here?  And sometimes that changes as the painting evolves.  Sometimes things reveal themselves as I go, a sort of creative journey.

At your most recent Artist in Residence in Whistler, you created in the middle of the mountains themselves. Do you think painting on location will change the “voice” of your work?

Ummmm.... well I am from this area so I think that is my most natural voice.  I definitely have focused on the palette of the west coast.  I spent 4 years in Ontario and only done a couple paintings inspired by that area, and 3 years in Nunavut and never even attempted that.  I think my work needs a few decades to percolate through to the brush.  I don't know.  I remember once seeing a very abstract Gordon Smith work and just glancing up at it and thinking immediately, it looks like dead seaweed.  I had never seen the piece before- it was called Beach Tangle.  He just knew that palette so well that it came out immediately even though it was just... colour.  I think that takes time.

If your brush could write a love letter to one place in BC, what would it say?

I think the whole point of painting is that you don't need to put it into words.  I just really love where I live.  I've been all over the world and nowhere else is like this.  Can you paint the smell of seaweed and ripening blackberry?  The small feeling of being on a mountain ridge?  The incredible sadness watching glaciers I've looked up at my whole life disappearing?  I guess it is a sad love letter.  Lots of angst.

When people stand in front of your work, what do you secretly hope they’re thinking?

I hope they can see lots of different things.  My work isn't like a postcard that just captures one thing.  It can change, you can notice new aspects of a scene all the time.  I hope it is a bit like a living landscape in that way.  It changes all the time.