Steve Bloomer 1920-2005
Stephen S. Bloomer was born in New York State in 1920. He knew very early that he’d be an artist: all he wanted to do in school was draw. By his late teens he was studying illustration full time at the Philadelphia Museum School of Industrial Art; but as America entered the war in 1941 he left after his third year of schooling to join the U.S. Army Air Corps.
In 1942 Steve married fellow art student Margie Russell. Through violin lessons and singing with his family Steve had had an early introduction to music, but when Margie introduced him to her family he was introduced to a whole new kind of music: American folk music. He started playing guitar and learning to sing the songs of greats like Woody Guthrie, Leadbelly, and John Jacob Niles. Now in the army, when the opportunity arose to put on a show, he was able to not only paint the sets, but also be part of the entertainment.
At the end of 1945 he returned to finish his final year at college in Philadelphia, but was instead wooed away by the position of Art Director at Webster Publishing Company in St. Louis, Missouri, where he illustrated and oversaw the design of textbooks and remedial readers.
It was around 1952 in St. Louis where Steve started yet another career. As television was entering its heyday Steve became “The Finder” on public television station KETC. His show gave him a chance to combine his abiding fascination about how the world worked with his natural talents for drawing, singing, songwriting and performing.
After a few years he was drawn back into the world of commercial art, when, in 1956, he moved his family to Montreal to take a position at Stanfield Advertising Agency. Before long, however, he was immersed in television once again; and for many years shared his love of nature with the Canadian public every week as the host of CBC’s “This Living World”. Here he shared a small jungle-like set with wild animals of all sorts — sometimes a baby alligator, sometimes a cheetah. With a boa constrictor casually draped across his shoulders, or cuddling a chimpanzee, he would discuss the habits and attributes of animals, and give his viewers a glimpse of how the natural world has a place in our world.
It wasn’t long before Steve was known in the community as the man to bring some animals and a guitar to entertain schools or groups of Boy Scouts or Girl Guides. He also developed a reputation as the local expert where you could take a sick bird or a motherless raccoon. The Bloomers’ own menagerie of three cats, a dog, an iguana, and various turtles and fish, had to coexist with guests such as raccoons (not the ideal bedfellow for a turtle or a fish), a chimpanzee who was a regular visitor, and even, on one occasion, a baby bear. Steve took full advantage of this particular billet to remind his neighbours that he did indeed have an interesting job. He made sure to be out walking the bear on a leash across the park while the morning commuters marched past. To his surprise, only one man turned his head. Without even breaking stride, he looked over at Steve and remarked “That all you got to do, Bloomer: walk a bear?”
1967 was the year of Expo ’67 — the Montreal World’s Fair. Here Steve branched out yet again, doing public relations for the Youth Pavilion. Not only did they book performers like Gordon Lightfoot, The Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane and international folklore singers and dancers, but Steve was thrilled to have the opportunity to bring his own personal favorites — blues legends such as Odetta; Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee; and Josh White — to Montreal to share with the people who came from all around the world.
There was simply no precedent for this kind of venue, so Steve’s job required not only some skillful coordination but also some creative troubleshooting. If a flight came in late he became an emergency taxi service to ensure the show went off as planned. It was in that capacity that he got to find out just how many large, Senegalese Lion Dancers he could fit into his Volkswagen bus, along with a full complement of spears and sabar (traditional drums made of tree-trunks). Answer: all of them.
In 1968 and 1969, Steve worked at the Commercial Art Centre (CAC), which led to an educational television experiment called “Tevec” (Television educative du Québec), a distance education program aimed at rural Quebec. Here Steve had to mobilize all his communication skills to put across material that produced not just interest, but results – his audience had to pass their exams! And how were the results? An expected 15,000 registrants ballooned to 35,000, and gave Tevec a Neilson rating of 38.5% of the whole population where the average for educational television elsewhere was 0.03%.
The rewards of meeting that challenge made Steve realize how vital his abilities could be, and may have given him the spark for what became his ultimate passion: teaching at John Abbott College (CEGEP). Present at its inception in 1970, he first taught “The Art of Listening” and “Colour & Light”. Because the CEGEP was brand new there was no established curriculum. Here again, Steve’s “seat-of-the-pants” experience served him well. In “The Art of Listening” he investigated sound with scientific equipment such as oscilloscopes, but also improvised instruments like French horns out of funnels and lengths of garden hose. (Now, finally, he had a use for the tortoise shell that had been lying around the house. Covered with a drum skin and attached to a section of hockey stick, it was transformed into Steve’s own invention: the oddly elegant, two-stringed “Blue Ninny”.) At John Abbott, Steve realized his opportunity to pass on the inspiration he had gotten from some of his teachers much earlier in his life, and he discovered his wonderful gift as a teacher there. He continued teaching Drawing and Painting until he retired in1988.
As a life-long environmentalist, it was only natural that Steve would champion the project to turn the parcel of land East and North of the Pointe Claire Plaza into the conservation area called Terracotta Natural Park. He, along with the other founders, succeeded in convincing the City of Pointe Claire to purchase the land for this purpose. It remains to this day a natural preserve where people can go to escape the asphalt, and appreciate the green.
Along with everything else, from 1965 until 1990 Steve freelanced for the National Film Board, creating beautiful watercolours to illustrate filmstrips for libraries and schools. Some of these (for example, “Raven’s Feather Dance” which he wrote, illustrated and narrated) were turned into videos and can still be found in public libraries and viewed at the National Film Board’s Mediatheque.
In his retirement Steve continued to enjoy life — reading, painting and playing music with friends and family.
Steve Bloomer died on November 13, 2005 after a short illness, surrounded by his loving family.
A memorial service was held on Sunday, December 4, 2005 at 1:00pm at Beaconsfield United Church, 202 Woodside Road, Beaconsfield. The duration of the service was one hour, followed by a reception.
posted by Bloomer-Ludwig at 2:49 a.m.
14 Comments:
Your Wonderful Father
Carolynn:
I have been trying to think of what to say to you ever since we heard the news from Gary. I can truthfully say that your father was one of the most important people in my own life for many reasons.
At a time when my own family was in a period of disarray and I felt adrift, your little house on Brunet was an oasis of music making, books, art, crazy instruments, and most importantly, of friendship and love. Your parents were the essence of hospitality and I remember many wonderful meals shared and songs sung at your Friday night music sessions. I treasured every moment that I spent there and if I close my eyes I can see it vividly — the instruments, a wonderful watercolour of a watermelon slice by your mom that I have tried to reproduce many times, your father's paintings everywhere. At a time when a lot of art was blobs and streaks your dad could really really DRAW.
And even more important, your dad had a playful approach to creativity that I have tried to emulate — witness the "Great Ninny" whose sound, I think your dad referred to it as "somewhat greasy", I can hear in my minds' ear. I deeply wish that I had taken one of your dad's courses at John Abbott since from everything I have heard it was a truly remarkable experience. But your father was a natural and constant teacher who shared his knowledge and passions with anyone in earshot — and if my memory doesn't fail me — he had a voice — more gravelly then my own opera singer mom's — but no less able to project — that made earshot cover a not inconsiderable distance. So I feel that just hanging around him was my own private art course. And at a time when whatever ability that I might have possessed was extremely well hidden, your father was endlessly encouraging.
His talent as a teacher and its effect on my life was not restricted to art. Like my own father, your Dad was, or so it seems to me, interested in just about everything under the sun. I remember going for a walk with him down to the lake, I think that we were taking Skinner for a walk. It was a sunny winter afternoon and must have been heading toward spring since the ice in the river was starting to break up. So as we are standing at the lake your father gestures at the cracks in the ice and noting how one ice flow rides up on the next -started telling me about geology and plate tectonics and glaciers — and suddenly these 6 inch pieces of ice are standing in for continents. For that moment we were giants.
As far as art went your father was someone who made art not for the galleries but for the pleasure and passion of making it. He was for me the model of how to live the artistic life and I was enriched beyond measure to have known him.
I am certain that he and Skinner are singing together, lustily.
Love, Neil
Steve the Storyteller
Steve had an innate ability to tell a story, both verbally and visually. Story telling was in his genes or at least was passed down by his mother. She was a schoolteacher who collected all kinds of stories, made them her own in the telling, then passed them on to her children to tell. Our own family, mostly, and a few lucky friends got to hear him tell those (and we are so happy that brother David made an audio recording of several of them). But he regularly made up stories, too — often about certain recurring characters (who bore a striking resemblance to certain small listeners).
Dad's career in illustration was an obvious choice, for here he could employ his facility with drawing to tell stories. He was a realist — at least as far as picture making went. He loved drawing, and being able to convey the essence of things. This was central to the way he taught drawing and painting. He often exhorted his students to stop and squint at their subject and also their artwork, in order to see just the essential elements and not be distracted by, as he would say, “the fly’s eyelashes”. This way they would be able to build a stronger statement or tell a clearer story.
One place that always inspired Steve was a market. He was drawn to the colour, shapes, noise and teeming humanity found there; the repetition of pattern in the displays of fruit and vegetables, and the way their colours changed depending on whether they were in the shade or exposed to the sun. He studied the people: their demeanor and attitudes, sometimes bustling about, sometimes in watchful repose. He had a particular fondness for fish markets (and he could identify every type of fish!). He appreciated the mounds of crushed ice, and the many stacked, silver fish shapes with their still-shocked expressions and their glistening scales; and also the different types of people there. He loved the juxtaposition of plaid-shirted men wearing hip-waders and people in full-length mink coats tip-toeing around the wet floors in their expensive leather boots.
The ambience of these places — the pride of the vendors and their camaraderie, shoppers jostling each other to get closer to the produce, people pushing wagons and pulling shopping carts — all this was Steve’s raw material for the story that he’d then set about to tell, with lines, shapes and colour, on paper or canvas.
In about 1975 Jérome Couelle, then head of Visual Presentation for The Bay, knew my father’s talent at visually telling a story, as well as his versatility with materials, when he commissioned him to paint a very large canvas for one of The Bay’s dining rooms. The painting — of a river in the wilderness with a canoe full of coureurs de bois in the distance and a beaver in the foreground — was certainly familiar ground for Steve with his knowledge of wildlife and experience illustrating filmstrips and history books, and it succinctly conveyed, of course, the message (that The Hudson’s Bay had been here since the beginnings of Canada). That Steve was also able to make the painting look like an antique, complete with crackled glaze, was a bonus. Jérome — an artist himself — realized that as well as being a good painter and craftsperson, Dad also had considerable guts, so he next got him to design a backdrop for the main fashion display in The Bay’s windows on Ste. Catherine Street. Steve went to work — right in the window. Working on six-foot white panels he evoked a busy street scene full of shoppers using nothing more than a paint roller dipped in black paint. The silhouettes of figures seemed to appear magically as he thrust and parried with the roller, and a woman observing from the sidewalk outside was heard to remark to her friend, “See — he just puts water on, and the pictures come up.”!
Dear Margie and Family,
Despite our best intentions to attend Steve's memorial service this Sunday, a complex of unavoidable obligations are going to force us to change our plans and to send this apologetic regrets e-mail instead.
I did so much want to be there on Sunday, having worked closely with Steve on National Film Board projects for more than 30 years. I will always remember Steve as a multi-talented artist; with the watercolor skills of Winslow Homer and the storytelling/illustrator skills of Norman Rockwell.
Steve was also an educator, a storyteller, a naturalist, a concerned humanitarian, a devoted family man… and a good friend to all of us. He was also a true character, in the nicest sense of the word. Who else did we know who had an Indian teepee in his back yard and who regularly flew personally decorated kites?
We are all richer for having known Steve! He will be sorely missed!
With sympathy and caring, Joyce and Floyd Elliott
Shelly, Hansi:
So sorry to hear about your dad.
He is and will remain remembered fondly as a man ahead of his time — even by those on the periphery of his life. He was the only “dad” I remember who lit up when talking about his work.
My best to you.
I first remember Steve Bloomer as the man in the safari suit, on the TV show, "This Living World," where he showed -- with great enthusiasm and humour -- his affinity for the natural world and all of her creatures. I remember a rather precocious chimpanzee who was a regular on that show!
Steve was "the animal man" in the neighbourhood. My older brother David -- who also had a great curiousity about the natural world, and often brought critters home from the woods -- brought him a snapping turtle that was becoming a bit much to handle, and it joined Steve's turtle menagerie.
Steve later told me it was the meanest of the bunch, and it lived to a ripe old age.
My first in-person encounter with Steve was when he brought some animals to visit my kindergarten class when I was 5 -- there was a racoon and some turtles. He explained the difference between them -- painted, box and soft-shell.
When I was in my mid-teens, I joined L.R.Y., the Unitarian youth group, and met many other artsy kids with interesting parents. Carolynn Bloomer became a dear friend, and visits to the Bloomer household were always a joy. Steve often joined in -- telling a story, pulling out his fiddle to play a tune, sharing his interesting opinions on food, art, nature, music and more.
Once, when I stayed over,he woke Carolynn and me up, bursting into the room early in the morning to share that there was a Baltimore Oriole in the backyard. He didn't want us to miss this special event (though as sleepy teens, we didn't show that much enthusiasm).
Then, there was the time when many of the Bloomers were home and Steve heard the sound of a steam engine's whistle. We were all quickly urged into various vehicles, and took off down the 2&20 highway to get ahead of it, which we finally did in Lachine. We rushed up the cross-over bridge so we could experience it passing by below us.
Then, there was the trip to Toronto in the Austin Mini, with a large cargo of Bloomers and teens, madgigal singing.....
So many memories... Steve Bloomer introduced me to the work of the artist, Andrew Wyeth, who remains one of my very favourite painters.
I also had the privilege of being one of his art students at John Abbott, though I only attended for one year. It was special and memorable, and he had a way of making you feel as excited about art as he was -- though I was an eager student. I consider him one of the very best art teachers I had -- and I've had quite a few over the years. He also put such life into his own artwork; it lived and breathed. In the market scenes, one can hear and smell what it was like there.
So many wonderful memories of art, music, Skinner the dog playing the harmonica -- I could go on and on... Steve had endless enthusiasm and I suppose that his gift to us is that it passed a bit of it along.
Blessings, Laurie Foster-MacLeod
Ottawa
TOP DOG
Hello all,
I will post my speech from the memorial as soon as I am sitting in front of the proper CPU at the proper time.
For now what I do have to say is; Steve Bloomer was much more than a Grandfather to me, in fact I often think he was an enlightened being from Sirius who came here to teach the world how to see, listen, think and behave with the ART side of the brain....NOTHING was as it seemed to me until my Grandpappy told me "How it really was". There was not even 1 teacher in ALL of my shcooling who even came close to being as good (At being able to open your mind.) or as patient with students as Steve Bloomer was with anyone who took the time to listen for even 5 seconds. He made me understand that ART was not the painting on the wall or the sounds on the vinyl/cd/casette but actually a part of the artists mind/soul being poured out on the canvas/recording device, leaving it up to the appreciator to SEE/HEAR said "ART"......HOLY CRAP!!!! Thats worthy of a Nobel prize to the name Steve Sheldon Bloomer...If only I was as good a teacher to be able to make the comitee understand that.
In closing (For now) I must add that the world is a much better place having had Steve Bloomer in it ..... Singing "Amergatroid" while waiting in the car for the women to finish shopping.
Signed
Loving Grandson
Orion Curiel
Steve Bloomer was the kind of grandfather everybody wishes they could have. He told wonderful stories, had a house full of wondrous objects and books, and had a huge depth of knowledge on a million different topics. To a shy little kid like I was, Steve seemed larger than life. He had a big, loud voice and gave us big bear hugs. But instead of making me feel smaller and shyer than I was, being around Steve helped me develop my inner big, loud self. He had so much imagination and exuberance that it couldn't help but spill over onto those around him. A simple spaghetti dinner turned into an Italian feast in the Bloomer household. Huge bowls of spaghetti with homemade sauce, crusty garlic bread, and Steve singing the meal's praises, in Italian of course! A trip to the local park was never complete without a fleet of wooden airplanes and an arsenal of handmade boomerangs. A little after dinner music turned into an impromptu concert where every single person in the room had a musical instrument and was singing--even the dog! Steve had the broadest definition of "musical instrument" of anyone I've ever known. Apart from his seemingly endless collection of mandolins, violins, and guitars, there was an oboe, a stump with a drum skin stretched over it, a broom handle festooned with bottle caps, tambourines, spoons...something for everyone, in other words. As long as you had imagination, bravery, willingness to learn, or just happened to be walking by, Steve made room for you in his world.
I have lots of good memories of visits with Steve. I remember simple things like the warmth and comfort of the living room on a cold winter's evening after Steve had built a fire in the fireplace. I remember "camping out" in his homemade teepee, sleeping on buffalo robes and listening to stories and learning about nature. I remember him, with infinite patience, teaching me how to draw. This must have been excrutiating for him as I was a careful, organized child who couldn't just dash off a circle freehand and "not worry" if it wasn't perfectly round. I remember excursions into the heart of Montreal to procure bagels, riding in a van with no proper seats, let alone seatbelts.
Growing up as Steve Bloomer's grandchild enriched me in many ways, in my love of nature and of language, in particular. Because of Steve, I will never forget that "one good dog is worth a thousand men", and that no word is off-limits in Scrabble if you have a big enough dictionary.
Memories of Steve (just a few)
At Carleton University in 1963/1964 I met Hansi. Early in 1964 (I believe) we went to Montreal by train and somehow missed getting off at Pte. Claire or Dorval so we ended up downtown. Steve interrupted one of Marge’s famous pizza parties to come and get us in the old split-windshield Volkswagon van – I remember it well since the weather was bad and as we headed down what Steve called “the end of the world”, he was telling me to frantically keep the windshield wipers going! Turns out the wiper motor wasn’t working and that, as the front seat passenger, your job was to reach under the dash and manually move the mechanism back and forth! Our relationship continued to build from that point onwards . . .
Off and on over the next several years I visited Pte. Claire, always looking forward to seeing the family and playing music with Steve and the rest of the gang. I was just beginning to play the guitar and was truly dreadful, however, Steve never discouraged me from joining in although he frequently had to shout out the chords to me. Hansi and I were married on the West coast in 1968 – Steve always said that if she hadn’t married me, he would have.
My Dad was in the Canadian air force stationed in Colorado Spring in the late 1960s and, as one of the “perks” of being a command officer, could “requisition” a seat on one of the air force transport planes, which were constantly traversing the country. The U.S. commanding General’s plane (nicknamed the “Cosmo”) was coming through Canada and stopping in St. Hubert so my mother hopped aboard so she could visit the Bloomers. Imagine her “delight” when she was met by Steve and family with Steve wearing a Beatles wig – a commanding officer’s wife must always set the tone!
We had many a conversation down in the basement “studio” – I trying valiantly to explain my work on computers with the government and he trying valiantly to stay awake! We also talked about art and the thought processes behind it and discovered that we weren’t so much different after all since much of the same type of planning and investigation goes into both of our fields.
We used to get on “kicks” – building balsa gliders, boomerangs and kites. Whenever we visited, we would spend hours in the basement building in the morning and flying in the afternoon and evening in the park. One our major hunts for a glue which would dry quickly enough so that the creations could be built and flown on the same day. I still have a number of our creations in my own basement.
He started to teach at John Abbott and it was in the latter half of 70s that he conceived and built the famous Teepee which still stands in the side yard – again, we spent many an hour discussing how exactly teepees had been constructed and the genius behind the designs. I can still recall the first Bloomer re-union near Cooperstown when the Pte. Claire contingent arrived with a portable version of the Teepee strapped to the top of the van! He cut the poles in half and joined them back together with PVC pipe sleeves. The owner of the campground, equally astounded, immediately incorporated a photo of the Teepee in her marketing brochure. The kids loved it and loved to sleep in it and listen to tall tales around the campfire - built in an old aluminum flying saucer (kids’ sleigh of the 60s & 70s) on bricks in the middle of the Teepee,
After I left the Government to teach at Mohawk College, our basement chats turned to teaching methodologies, mutual laments about College administivia, student communications skills (or lack thereof), similarities between teaching in our respective fields, the planets, travel, the Maya – you name it, we talked about it. Steve was so widely read that there was virtually no topic upon which we couldn’t have a discourse.
When I took early retirement in 2001 to do contract work around the world, he was a wholehearted supporter and loved to hear of Hansi’s and my travels. I had taken quite a bit of video footage when I was in Oman and India and he sat through much of it very patiently – he occasionally “suggested” that some editing might help considerably by taking it from hours and hours to minutes. I have begun this task.
And, of course, still playing music – I had improved somewhat so he didn’t have to wince quite so often! Also, I joined a barbershop chorus in the late 1990s so my singing had improved. Latterly, we didn’t get together to play as much but this past year, we made a conscious effort to play and sing and I have some terrific footage of Steve and Dave and I playing as well as footage taken at Thanksgiving when the whole gang was there – Shelly and Carolynn and David and Steve and Hansi.
I have so many happy memories of Steve that we could be here for hours so I should come to a close and let others speak. He was a friend, an advisor, someone with whom you could share ideas no matter how outrageous and always encouraging – he came from the “you’ll never know until you try” school.
I will miss Steve terribly – he could be a curmudgeon at times but, damn it, he was our curmudgeon (as they say) and I’m not ready to have him gone.
Rob (Son-in-Law)
So Many Memories
Times with the Bloomers in St. Louis, singing, hearing wonderful stories, and then visits from them to Chaypee, my families' house where we would hear the VW bus chugging up the drieway around midnight. Exploring along the seashore with Steve always finding new things to show us, stars as we picnicked on the beach at night, learning new rounds as Steve strummed his guitar, putting up a weathervane on our cabin, a colonial-dressed hornblower, (Elisha's mothers maiden and Skip's middle name.) Still blowing in the wind.Going into the country to visit Steve's old French-Canadian friend with his wonderful menagerie and Jaques, the raven. The video of hoe the Raven populated the World shown all the time to visiting friends with kids and of course grandkids now learning Steve and Margie's rounds. Typical of Bloomer hospitality was when we arrived by train in Montreal from Winnipeg after a camping trip and found we couldn't get at our car on the train until the next day. Already a houseful at the Bloomers but Margie wasn't fazed. And so all of us Atkinses arew sure that Lish and Steve are swapping stories and also hoping that the ivory-billed woodpecker really does exist.
.
I was a Creative Arts student at JAC from 80-82. As part of a team teaching Art Studio class, we painted with Steve's encouragement.
As that word is written now, the word 'rage' is shines out. Rage for life.
He was a tall ball of energy.
His wild halo of tangled grey curls, near-white unpressed cotton shirts, work pants and untied sneakers housed a gesturing and thrashing whirlwind around the class. I never saw him lean or rest. And today, in a moment of looking for inspiration, I find his obitutary never having known his history. I am going to get out my paints today and 'see what happens'. Thanks. Elaine
Just out of the blue remembering Steve, Marg, David, Shelly, Carolyn et al at the other end of Belton Road. I was introduced to recumbent bicycles by Dave in the 1980s, learned boomerangs from Steve in the early 60s & then went into production building a bunch, LRY with Carolyn in the 60s, common friends in Pass-Creek BC with Shelly in the 70s, watching the Netsilik Inuit series at Stewart Hall with Steve, meeting a racoon up close, welcome by Marg into a house of curiosities, hearing Steve's plans to convert the quarry into a preserve in the 80s, Steve sitting me down during 80s with a film (Chaplin) in Brunet living room. Isn't it a time in history to re-vision 'indigenous' (Latin 'self-generating') intergenerational multihome (Longhouse, Pueblo & Kanata) for our time, so these stories continue? www.indigenecommunity.info
I'd been trying to recall the particulars of my favorite after school television program while growing up. I knew it was on CBC as that was the only television channel we received way back then (early 60s). But with the advent of the internet and Google searches, I came across Canadian television archives and this Steve Bloomer Memorial site. Steve's program was one of the biggest reasons I went on to college to become a wildlife biologist. Every week I watched and sent in a letter with the answers to the quiz at the end of the show. After years of watching, one week Steve read my name as one of the weekly winners! "Hi ya, Pete," he said. Best of all, a number of my school friends were watching that show as well! The pocket microscope I won in the contest became my constant companion in the woods. When I finally wore it out, my parents bought me a new microscope for Christmas. Thank you, Steve, for providing the inspiration to pursue a career in natural resource management.
Hello,
I am a former student of Steve's (John Abbott College) and I ran into a West Islander artist at a show last night in Ottawa and we talked about art and I found out that this lovely woman named Ann, who told me Steve was like a surrogate father to her(sorry I didn't catch her last name) told me about Steve's passing. I was very saddened to hear this news. Hearing his name again brought back so many wonderful memories of Steve's classes to me. Steve was a wonderful, kind and joyful teacher who inspired and encouraged his students. I thoroughly enjoyed taking his classes :) I remember Steve asking me to paint "larger" paint strokes,(I was always too tight with my paintings :) and he really inspired me overall.
I would like to thank Steve for all he has given me and for sharing his love of art with us <3.
My sincere condolences to you and the family, Sincerely, Barb Buchanan XO
Hello, I don't know Steve but after reading some of these I believe he painted? I have a painting that says it's by Steve Bloomer "Lachine Market". It's a lovely water color piece.
I am wondering if it is by the Steve Bloomer remembered above. My email is kimberly.s.philip@gmail.come I would love to know if this painting is his.
Sincerely,
Kim Philip
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