CHRISTMAS IN GRAVENHURST -

LOOKING A LITTLE LIKE CHRISTMAS - FEELING A LITTLE LIKE A WRITER ON A MISSION

THIS MORNING, IT IS BEAUTIFUL HERE AT THE BOG, WITH LAST EVENING'S DUSTING OF SNOW. I CAN'T IMAGINE IT WAS ANY NICER LOOKING, AT DAVID THOREAU'S "WALDEN POND," ON SUCH WINTER MORNINGS AS THIS. EVERYONE WILL BE SAYING IT, AROUND OUR TOWN TODAY…..AND IT WOULD BE HARD TO DENY, THAT "IT'S LOOKING A LOT CHRISTMAS." WE LOVE THE SNOW, JUST NOT UP TO OUR NECKS. I WAS EXPLAINING TO SOMEONE, THE OTHER DAY, HOW I ENJOYED CHRISTMASES WITHOUT THE WHITE STUFF. AS A YOUNG LAD, I SPENT FIVE CHRISTMASES IN FLORIDA, AND IT WAS AMAZING. INSTEAD OF WRITING FROM A WONDERFUL, SNOWY PORTAL LIKE THIS, I WAS SITTING ON THE BEACH AT PONCE INLET, JUST SOUTH OF DAYTONA, THINKING ABOUT THAT WALLACE STEVENS POEM, I ALWAYS LIKED, "THE IDEA OF ORDER AT KEY WEST." AFTER AWHILE, THE NO SNOW THING IS MADE UP FOR, IN FLORIDA, BY LARGE SCALE DECORATION. IT WAS FANTASTIC, THE WAY SHOPS AND MALLS, PLAZAS AND THE MAIN STREET, WERE DOLLED UP FOR THE ARRIVAL OF SANTA. I WAS SURPRISED THAT IT ONLY TOOK A FEW DAYS TO NORMALIZE TO A CHRISTMAS EVE BENEATH A PALM TREE….WITH A HARVEY WALLBANGER…….AND A NOTEPAD. THIS WAS FROM MY DRINKING-TOO-MUCH WRITING PERIOD…..OF THE 1970'S.

IN THE ANTIQUE TRADE, WE TRAVEL EVERY WEEKEND, SOMEWHERE OR OTHER TO SHOP. I GUESS YOU COULD CALL US PROFESSIONAL SHOPPERS. I LOVE THESE HUNT AND GATHER ADVENTURES, AND I WRITE ABOUT THEM IN BOTH THE BLOGS, AND FOR THE PUBLICATIONS I CONTRIBUTE MONTHLY FEATURE COLUMNS. I'M WORKING ON A YEAR LONG SERIES OF SPECIALIZED COLUMNS ON "ANTIQUE HUNTING," FOR "CURIOUS; THE TOURIST GUIDE," AND THIS WILL MARK AN INTERESTING ANNIVERSARY FOR ME. MY FIRST-EVER COLUMN SERIES, WAS SIMPLY ENTITLED "ANTIQUES AND COLLECTIBLES," AND WAS PUBLISHED IN THE NEWLY ESTABLISHED BRACEBRIDGE EXAMINER, IN THE SPRING OF 1978, I BELIEVE. IT WAS A SHORT-LIVED COLUMN BECAUSE I EVENTUALLY TOOK A JOB WITH THE COMPETITION, AS A REPORTER. WHAT I'D BEEN WRITING ABOUT, WAS THE ACTUALITY EXPERIENCED BY AN ANTIQUE DEALER / COLLECTOR, OUT ON THE HUSTINGS…..AT AUCTIONS, ANTIQUE MARKETS, MALLS, WAYSIDE SHOPS, FLEA MARKETS, ESTATE AND GARAGE SALES, AND AT CHURCH FUNDRAISERS, WHERE OLD STUFF IS PUT UP FOR SALE.

As I began both careers at around the same time, they've been intertwined ever since, and I love it that way. So I decided to do a throw-back to my first years in the newspaper realm, and pen a modern day……35 year anniversary series. From a more mature perspective, of course. I opened our first antique shop in the late fall of 1977, shortly after graduating university, and at the same time, I'd already written two manuscripts. Yup, I started all this as a late-blooming beatnik / poet, and the stuff was really, really bad. I shredded ninety percent of it, but somewhere in a former girlfriend's collection of old letters (hopefully they've been destroyed by now), are the sickly sweet, rose petal adorned love poems that….you betcha, rhymed. I'm so embarrassed. And it's not like I didn't have exceptional instruction in creative writing either. I had some amazing writers for professors, at York U., but you know what love can do to best intentions. So what do you say to an old flame anyway……."say, ah, Gail, I was sort of wondering, if it might be possible, you know, to get those letters I wrote you……um, back, so I can destroy everything we ever had." Damn it, I still get choked up, and for God's sake, she dumped me in the winter of '79. I wrote her a poem about it. Why wouldn't I? It was the only fire power I possessed, other than fists for the guy who stole my girl. Sounds like the title of a song. Worse thing is, I wrote her love poems before she gave me the proverbial "heave-ho," and then, if that wasn't bad enough for a career writer, I sent her lots of "I'm fading fast without you," sonnets, which really makes me cringe, in case they ever get into the public domain. Actually, I'm fortunate to have escaped the lime-light thing, so the impact of such sad correspondence from the love-sick, wouldn't set my career back. Actually, maybe folks would feel sorry for me, and tune in to these blogs more often.

Point is, I'm looking forward to this winter, as I do most years, because I've got some meaty writing / research projects, and I'm eager to get on with my new antiquing column series. So it's what I'm going to do over the holidays…..other than drink egg nog. I want to get out to some sales and antique malls, and shop, shop, and make some good finds to write about. But the point I was trying to make, before digressing, which is my best quality…..unless you don't have a lot of time to stop and read all this stuff, is that no matter how much we enjoy darting about, and traveling all over our region, I always enjoy arriving home to Birch Hollow;…… after all the festivities, to settle down here, for a few moments, and watch the gentle snow dust the lilacs and raspberry canes outside my window. I like, on these days, to come down and ignite an old oil lamp, I got from a Gravenhurst auction, a few years back, and recline with a nice cup of hot tea, to give some respect to the spectacular scene out over The Bog. It is quiet here for now. There's no sign of my cricket friend, and the cats haven't found me yet. I have lots of books I've pulled off the shelf to look at this morning, and at least two deadlines quickly approaching for columns…..but you know, I'm in that Thoreau mindset this morning, and this wintery scene is just to compelling to ignore. It is spectacular by its modesty, enthralling, because it beckons constantly, that I should embark on a wee walk over to the woodlands……as it would be good for me physically……and I might even find something more to write about……stopping in these woods on a snowy morning……to borrow a plume from poet Robert Frost. For the meantime, however, I will just content myself with the silence of Birch Hollow, and scratch some notes, punch a few keys on this keyboard in front, and feel contented celebrating another Christmas in my hometown…….Gravenhurst.

"Sometimes I say to myself - I have grasped happiness! Here it is - I have it. And yet, it always seems at that moment of complete fulfillment, as though my hand trembled, that I might not take it." wrote David Grayson, in his book, "Adventures in Contentment." I might suffer the same trembling, at being so close to a life's contentment, but I will take what it has to offer, and be eternally grateful.

Merry Christmas.

THE FOLLOWING CHRISTMAS-THEMED COLUMN, RAN IN THIS MONTH'S ISSUE OF "CURIOUS - THE TOURIST GUIDE." I WANTED TO SHARE THIS WITH MY READERS……SOME WHO MAY THINK MY HOMETOWN RANTS, AND PASSIONS, ARE INSINCERE. THIS IS THE KIND OF RESPECT FOR MY HOMETOWN, THAT IS BEING SHARED WITH MANY READERS IN SOUTHERN ONTARIO. YOU CAN FIND THIS PUBLICATION ONLINE, AS WELL.

EDITORIAL COPY

DECEMBER ISSUE 2011 / CURIOUS; THE TOURIST GUIDE

A Haunted Painting of a Christmas Past

By Ted Currie

"Art is sheer hard work, exhausting and painful, demanding the exertion of all man's powers. Yet it is also - and this is extremely important and noteworthy too - joyous, inspiring and satisfying, and informed with beauty." The quote is from the book, "The Humanism Of Art," by Vladislav Zimenko.

Zimenko writes that, "Works of art represent the idea of the poetic essence of human labour, thereby exerting a tremendously powerful ennobling influence on man and society." From a lifetime of art admiration, I can concur when he writes, "for art by its nature is wide open to man, holds out its arms to us, to take us in its fond embrace, attracts us and casts its spell on us with its bright colours, rhythms, and the vivid picture of life concentrated in its images."

I am a writer. It is what writers do, to ponder and then ponder some more! It can come easily to mind, or take days and weeks to create. At times it can be agonizing and at others, just a few moments in the presence of something exciting and exhilarating, to inspire a tome that will be tantalizing to read. To create from some source or item of inspiration, is why I require my clutter here. And of course my daily interactions with neighbors, shopkeeps, and other passersby, and whatever or whoever else peaks imagination, with a sort of casual but meaningful ease. Long before I set about to visit my office, overlooking The Bog, here in South Muskoka, I spend hours pondering and scribbling notes for the monthly column. In our strangely appointed abode here, at Birch Hollow, I have surrounded myself with unusual, storied antiquities, from primitive pine cupboards, and pioneer rockers, a spinning wheel and wool winder on the hearth, wood carvings and sculptures, and so many art pieces that there is no wall space left, for those panels stacked against the old church organ, we swear is haunted. We've often heard organ music, in the wee hours, without a player at the keyboard.

As a kid, who was sick a lot, I spent a lot of time in our family abode, convalescing on the couch, staring at the stucco ceiling, when not studying the art on the walls. We didn't have much in the way of art, but we had a wonderful seascape by an artist named "Looksooner," and an enchanting depiction of an autumn woodland, by a painter my mother knew from the Art Gallery of Ontario. Mr. Kranley had given her this painting, when she worked for him, one summer in Toronto. I still have it, and it hangs above my parlor chair, and the seascape is presently positioned above my office desk. When I was feeling miserable, with the aches and pains of a cold or a bout of influenza, I'd stare longingly at both these paintings, and they offered a gentle, peaceful escape. If I was fevered, the seascape's waves pounding on the rocks, always made me feel cool and soothed by open spaces. When I was dealing with a stomach issue, the autumn scene was also a gentle purveyor of kind thoughts, and better tomorrows. I have always felt quite comfortable escaping present realities, with all my accumulated art, and just as when I was a kid, with eyes wide open to possibility, my imagination works the same. I will sit here pondering the painting that will help me wordsmith a new column. Right now, it is a splendid scene from the early 1800's, with snow and sleigh, and young skaters on the iced-over lake. I wonder who painted it. Alas, it is unsigned.

Quite a few years ago, at a local fundraising auction, for the local fire department in Bracebridge, Ontario, I discovered a wonderful painting of a homestead in winter, with a horse and cutter on the lane, and some merriment taking place on the frozen lake below the hillside estate. It was in company of many other lesser works, some paint-by-number panels and several vivid paintings on black velvet I could do without. It seemed to take forever to get to the painting that had caught my attention. As with most auctions, my blood pressure goes through the roof, just as the item of focus comes to the podium. I hadn't purchased much, to this point, so I had a little bit more cash-in-reserve than usual, for this mid-point of the auction. The painting was so good, in fact, most people in the audience that day, believe it was a print on cardboard, like the ones you used to be able to get for points, courtesy the local national grocery store. For this reason, I was able to get the incredible painting for about seventy dollars. When back-bidders saw that it was an actual painting on canvas, they let it be known "I was a lucky so and so," for knowing an original from a framed print. True it was damaged, with an "L" shaped tear in the canvas, and it was covered in decades of soot, as it had obviously hung near a stove in someone's home or cottage. The romance and history of that painting was worth well more than what I had paid, and the damage meant nothing to the enjoyment our family would get, having this work hanging in our homestead.

The painting to some observers, who visit Birch Hollow, looks like a Cornelius Krieghoff, a legendary Canadian painter from the 1800's. Many have other opinions and ideas about the location, and the artist responsible for this sentimental and historic landscape. Some believe it to be Canadian in origin. Others think it is a Quebec landscape. We do know, by a stamp on the back, that the canvas, paint and frame came from a New York art supply shop, circa the 1830's, the same paint-expert, Dechaux, who once provided materials to Krieghoff, for some of his art pieces. But with no signature, comes quandary. It is either a grand piece of Canadiana, or Americana. Most certainly, it is a winter-time depiction that is perfect for the Christmas ambience, at Birch Hollow, and as well, as a motivator of this year's Christmas season column for "Curious; The Tourist Guide."

I have long considered myself an artwork "rescuer," who has an unyielding passion to save art pieces from precarious circumstances. I have acquired many paintings that were in rough condition, with cuts to the canvas, water damage, and serious wear, because I found something beautiful and inspiring about their character. Not just based on age, history or provenance, which while important, isn't the end all to an art admirer. What I look for, is a painting or sculpture that, although down on its luck, has the ability to inspire the author-in-me to write. What I needed as a kid, to inch my way through an illness, is the same exercise I pursue today. To look upon them for a spark of inspiration, to create a story-line, or initiate a good or positive feeling about a pending project. As I only ever buy art work that inspires me, regardless of its condition, I know that a few moments in my home gallery, proper illumination, and a chair in front, will give me something to write about if I'm patient. And when my partner, Suzanne, questions my expenses in the art enterprise, I can always answer back, "do you know how many writing projects have been generated by these paintings?" Knowing what annoyance an uninspired writer can be, around the house, she nods and smiles, "well, as long as they work for you!" They do!

It's true, of course, that as an antique dealer, I will sell a few paintings now and again, mostly to make room for more acquisitions. It's more than just anecdotal that I usually have to force my clutching fingers apart, in order to let go of the panels, before the new owners can get a secure hold on their purchase. I love what I collect. Being a dealer is such a pain, having to make decisions on what stays for inspiration, and what goes to pay the bills.

This particular winter scene, of which I write and am inspired today, is our centre-piece this year. Due to space and conservation concerns, it has been in storage for about five years. I recently decided it should be mounted in our livingroom, near the hearth, for the coming winter season. Suzanne has already commenced stringing long strands of bright green holy and red berries around the frame, and up the wall, along with those Christmas collectibles from so many past celebrations of her family and mine. Of course there are the standards of our immediate family's Christmases past; ribboned and worn old teddy bears, that were once toted everywhere by our young lads, and so many long retired toys attributed to the generosity of doting grandmothers, and grandfathers and so many aunts and uncles, who are no longer with us….except in fond memory.

I will sit here for hours on end, egg-nog in hand, with good cheer in heart, and look upon this old painting, and wonder about its past. It will be regaled in the tradition of our family, at present, who quite adore the idea of having historical relics as part of holiday celebrations. I will hear the bells from the horsedrawn cutter, gliding down that hillside, the clinking of iron skate blades shattering the lake-ice in play, and I dare say the homestead hearth with be scented, warm and inviting, as the lamps in the window entice the voyeur, and we shall dine together on Christmas Day, as part and parcel, of a splendid tradition, a painting, a family, and the embrace of something contenting….something comforting.

It has begun to snow lightly now, at this late hour of the day. I have worked late and the flickering oil lamp on the sill, is running low of fuel. I must walk the dog and then, as ritual for a seven-cat household, make sure there is enough food in the dishes until morning. Everyone else here has retired, as Dickens would say, "to bedlam," this Christmas Eve. I am mindful of all the spirits that roam this house, and I bid them all a good night. I stop for one more glance at this storied painting, in the low light of a distant lamp, and feel its aura of enchantment and friendship….as if to say, "Merry Christmas you old writer." And Merry Christmas to you, as well!

Already well into production, is a brand new year-long series of columns, detailing some of our family's always exciting, usually precarious, and sometimes even informative antique-hunting adventures, the first issue being our February 2012 issue. From vintage vinyl, instruments, marching drums to cookery heritage, primitive pine, to vintage art and more. Please join me. Even if you're not an antique admirer, you find these tales wild and wooly. We'd be happy to inspire laughter. We laugh at ourselves a lot!

From Birch Hollow, here in beautiful Gravenhurst, Ontario, we extend a heartfelt Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to our many readers and the hard-working staff of this fine publication. Have a wonderful, celebratory, and joyful holiday with family and friends. When you are traveling through Ontario this holiday season, and drop in on some of the businesses that advertise here, please let them know you saw their promotion in Curious; The Tourist Guide. Drive safely.

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