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| Recovered graphics from the 1849 Farmer's Everyday Book |
THIRTY-SIX YEARS AS A WRITER, AND STILL NO PULITZER!
THE NOVEL I NEVER WANTED TO WRITE - THE NON-FICTION SWORD I'VE FALLEN ON
NOTE ABOUT THE GRAPHICS PUBLISHED ABOVE: The three illustrations starting off today's blog, were pulled from the disintegrating text of "The Farmer's Everyday Book," circa 1849. This was the first time, of many since, when I encountered a book that had quite literally turned to dust. I had an opportunity to save the illustrations because they were printed on heavier bond paper stock. I purchased the book at an auction, at the former Ewing farm, near Bracebridge, and for three years after, I used it extensively for research and feature stories for The Muskoka Sun. I knew it was failing, but I have quite a few of those in my archives. The book when I purchased it, had a very low market value. It had been heavily used in the home, and for farm advice, so the damage had made it almost worthless. Using it for research made it much more valuable, and condition wasn't an issue. We moved twice, and in our present home, I mistakenly left it near a window, for a couple of months, and between the heater and some close-by humidity, the text just fell into itself. I've never seen it happen quite like this before, and I've handled a lot of books. While it broke my heart to toss the book out, I was at least pleased to be able to rescue the graphics, and despite the foxing of the paper, they still have a nice, historic, antique charm when properly framed on acid free materials. I don't approve of books being torn apart for their graphics. I once watched a jerk, at an auction, tear apart a nicely bound compendium of Picturesque Canada, to harvest the Muskoka illustrations for independent framing. I was the under-bidder, so I wanted to tear him apart, for committing this violation to a perfectly good book. He wasn't the only antique dealer to do this. The framed illustrations will sell for more than the book, which has become somewhat scarce because of picture scavenging. I would never sacrifice the integrity of a book for its graphics. I wouldn't destroy attractive vintage music sheets, just for the sake of a wall decoration. If we do put one in a frame, its integrity is maintained, such that if a buyer wants to play the music, at some point, it will slip out of the frame intact. So believe me, I wouldn't hurt a book unless it was a simple case of harvesting its remainders....or lose it all back to the soil.
WRITING FOR THE COM MON GOOD, OR THE PERSONAL NEED TO VENT OR IMPLODE
"The sudden realization that I was not a unique talent was the greatest disappointment of my life. I had actually believed that I would one day be compared to Hemingway, Steinbeck, Salinger and Twain...
"I am no longer saddled with dreams or great expectations.
"I have learned to live with my limitations but, dammit, it was easier when they would let me have a drink. Then, at least, I would forget from time to time."
The above passage was written by Toronto Sun Columnist, Paul Rimstead, in his 1980 book, "Cocktails & Jockstraps," published by Prentice-Hall of Canada. I've been a wordsmith for a long, long time. I don't think there's anything I could come up with, that could sum-up my own feelings, as a retrospective, of having spent a lifetime pounding ink onto paper....or by today's standard, bold black letters on this stark white screen. It doesn't discourage me from writing, until of course, I one day find myself (by finding my fingers getting shorter), slowly turning to dust; yet each of us writer-kind, occasionally, with some keen anticipation, look up from the keyboard, and stare out the window, as if the meaning of life was as easy to detect, as spotting the squirrel, nibbling seeds at the bird feeder.....while the blue jays look on. The greater purpose, we ponder, sipping the last of the coffee grounds, where the liquid once ringed the cup. Should we have become golf pros instead? Street car conductors? Transit drivers? Nature guides, or park rangers? We heave a sigh of relief, because we wouldn't be very good at those jobs, as our focus tends to drift at each new distraction, which is okay as a writer, because we like being spontaneous, but not if we were pilots.
I can't....or shouldn't claim, to have officially embarked on my writing career, in Grade Six, although it was clear then, penning short war and comic book related stories, that I really liked the idea of putting my thoughts and ideas on paper. I have always been happier in isolation, working in my own sanctuary of silence, than being a team player in a noisey newsroom. Even when I was on teams, I was the left fielder in baseball, and the back-up goalie in hockey. Writing gave me a perfect excuse for withdrawing from the hustle and bustle of humanity. It wasn't that I couldn't handle the demands of the public, chin to chin, but it cramped my ambitions as a writer. Especially when the publisher or manager of the newspaper, felt it necessary to watch over my shoulder, as I was writing the weekly editorial. I didn't like that, and I let them know, in no uncertain terms, I wasn't going to work this way. They could read it when I was finished; certainly not making suggestions word by word. I used to stand up, pull the chair back, growl, and wave my voyeurs to take over at the keyboard. As they weren't writers, in the professional sense, they surrendered their positions, and huddled somewhere else until I was finished. But, yes, I got my start back in public school. I wasn't very good at it, but once I attained a few favorable comments from my teachers, it seemed to be just enough to keep my hopes up, there was a future in print. I just didn't bother my parents with this information, because they had different plans for me. Like playing goal in the National Hockey League. Only I knew how foolish this was, because my heart wasn't in it......unless I was playing road hockey, which I adored, because it was informal and fun. Writing has always been fun for me.....except in the days when publishers got too close for my own good. It's why I left the newspaper staff, and it's the reason I've survived as a free-lancer, while my former colleagues are now working at other professions. Suzanne has been a delight this way, allowing me the freedom to pursue writing, even though it has, at times, been a living hell cohabitating with a creative knob.
I can remember, in a span of only a few weeks, as a kid-writer, shifting my attention at the local Stedmans Store, from gawking at the display of Dinky Toys, and cent candies, including boxes of Lucky Elephant, (lining the shelves of the centre aisle), to the side-wall bins, full to overflowing, with a colorful array of stationary, and general office supplies. To my mates, looking at stationary was kind of girlish. I should have been drooling over the sports equipment instead. If I was going to write, I needed lots of paper and pens, and the books to fill with my wordy tomes. I soon became a stationary maniac, and my mother was starting to worry I had flipped my young lid, because it seemed a long stretch between playing road hockey, and hanging around the arena, to sitting in my room trying to write something....any thing. I suffered long bouts of block, even before I wrote a single page. It was like a prolonged, intimate replaying, of the movie "The Lost Weekend." I had, in my desk drawer, at least a hundred largely blank pages, with only titles and bylines scribbled on top. I was good at coming up with headings, but a lost cause trying to match-up a story. This did change over time, and after catching the attention of several english teachers, later on, I gradually gained the confidence to write unrestrained.....and consider each of them, each scribbled paragraph, "works in progress"......, to improve upon down the road. About five years ago, I threw them all out, and couldn't help chuckle about the fact, that although I had kept them from my earliers attempts at writing, I had never once tried to re-write or re-use the material.
So I began writing in earnest, a little longer each attempt; after first suffering from a lack of follow-through, getting stuck each attempt, by anything below the printing of my name. I didn't think I could get past this stalemate, between paper and author, but finally, and with some liberal amount of creative flow, it finally made sense. It evolved into what appeared, for all intents and purposes, like actual creative enterprise. Those early attempts didn't gain me much in the way of marks; and by the comments my teacher wrote in the margins, I wasn't going to make it as a novelist or journalist. And as far as my looks, I wasn't going to be a model or a newscaster. I think she had me figured-out as a mechanic-in-waiting, or a welder. Or the guy who turns on the goal-light during games at the arena. Notes that went home, on my report cards, usually made reference to, "Teddy doesn't pay attention in class," and "daydreams when he should be working." God bless my mother, that she didn't mind having a son who daydreamed, and if any teacher made reference to my shyness, she would show up in their offices, after school, demanding to know why being shy was on the "hit" list for behaviour modification. She didn't want me to be a writer, because she thought, like other writers, I'd starve to death. I have at times, been forced by circumstance, to eat potato chip sandwiches; but somehow, I've always gotten by, and made it work. Those who know me, will say in response, "Sure, Ted, that's because you married a teacher." I give them the silent treatment, but I can't tell them they're wrong.
All through my writing career, I've actually benefitted from critics, who thought I should take up something....anything else but writing. I don't know why, but being told I couldn't do something, always served to inspire me to work twice as hard to prove them wrong. I still thrive via critiques. Which is always a full harvest these days. When I look back at my early years in publishing, now my emotional buzz, is that I've survived in the profession, when a majority of my colleagues have changed careers and dropped writing altogether. A few getting the proverbial heave-ho. But just when I start feeling pretty good about this survival thing, I'll suddenly wonder to myself, if it's such a good thing to be the last, or close to last writer standing.....amongst my peers. Do they see the big wave coming or something? Is it possible I'm too consumed with surviving a brutal industry, to recognize the death knell when it's rattling and clanging within my own mortality? Then I start getting suspicious that I've actually been abandoned, to paddle the old canoe by myself, traversing against the current. God knows I've never made my first million in writing, so why stay when the rewards are so thin?
It's this lifestyle thing, I suppose. I go to bed at night, thinking about what I'd like to write about the next day. While I'm writing, during the day, I often pause, and thank God, I've been given this capability to create....something, anything, that allows me to drain the creative juices, so that my body doesn't explode from the damning-up of ambition. I have had so many other occasions when honestly, I would rather have been a welder or auto mechanic. Although I don't suffer from blocks, as a rule, there are times that just seem inappropriate for authordom. This for me, has always been offset by heading off into antique land. I've had this as a companion profession, for the same number of years, and it has always worked as a positive diversion. Writing about antiques has been a pleasant way of bringing it all together, and as a rule, it staves off block like nothing else I know.
It might seem like I'm bragging, but until I get the Pulitzer, an overview like this, is just a "little" something I'm proud of.....more so than aggressively jubilant. The writing profession takes no hostages. It is a ruthless, cut-throat, and rogue-filled profession. It is a path strewn with shady crossroads, and false prophets, who are only too willing to lend a hand, to those who appear lost.....all along the endless road to nowhere in particular. To survive thirty-six years is a kind of scary-accomplishment, especially when I look back and see the white-out I've just now emerged. I've had some very accomplished authors warn me about the perils of emotion, looking back to where we have come from. One well known author, told me I should never re-read anything I've written, and subsequently published. "Leave it alone Ted....what's done is done." So while I do play around with retrospectives, I never wish that I could live those apprenticeship years again. When I think back to the days when I had to get up at 4:30 a.m. to write up the council news, for that week's issue of the Gravenhurst Banner, frankly, it wobbles my knees. These were the days when I worked from my home office, which was great, but there was twice the work. I also was a "Mr. Mom," for both our wee lads, and had merciless deadlines, and that included having to conduct phone interviews, or in-home meetings, while Andrew and Robert shaved the cats, and defrosted the fridge just for something to do. I remember a lot of times, when the only way I could cope, was to write columns about the kids and domestic life....and honestly, they were some of the best received editorials I had ever composed. There was always lots of stuff to write about, as my young musicians kept the old man on his toes. I don't know how many nights I fell asleep reading them bedtime stories, while they took over my typewriter. Some of the copy wasn't too bad. I fell asleep one night in my chair, while reading Robert a story, from one of his favorite books. When Suzanne looked at me, slouched in my chair, she started yelling at me as if she feared, I may have been the ilk of the "recently departed." When I came to, she was still looking at me with fear in her eyes.....parents know and give this look often in child-rearing. "Oh my God, what's wrong with your face," she asked me.....who, not having the benefit of a mirror, gulped with angst, nervously feeling my limbs to see if any had suddenly fallen off. "It's your face; it's covered in marks," she said. She then began touching them, expecting to find welts of some nature. With the tip of her finger, and a little saliva, she found that the marks had a threshold of durability. It seems Robert, mad that I had fallen asleep, had taken one of his art markers, and given me a "facial". It took me a half hour to get the ink off my skin. He did the same thing, but with a real magic marker, once, and it took two days to lose the art-look.
I've enjoyed a lot of community, regional, and household adventures, in these same 37 interesting years, and I don't think there is any recognition that could surpass the good feeling I have, getting up every morning, thinking about the day's enterprise ahead. The reality is, that the first thirty-five years, may have just been an extended apprenticeship in the writing profession. As it turns out, I have a larger audience today than I've ever had, even when I was editor of four well known regional publications. Now I write for two Ontario publications, including "Curious; The Tourist Guide," and "The Great North Arrow," and with online readership, I'm at a peak..... but frankly, I don't know how I got here. Isn't that a bummer? So if I had to write a "how to" book, for up and coming writers, I wouldn't have a clue what to tell them, when asked the question...."So how long should I expect to apprentice?" Or "How will I know when I've finally arrived as a player in the industry?" "How many awards should I have received, after thirty-six years serving the profession?" I will re-read to them, the quote I began with today, from Paul Rimstead, who became suddenly, and remarkably enlightened, while sober, to his true potential. Yet, I will, in the same breath, let them know, that while Rimstead will never be known as a great writer, on an international scale, he will be remembered as one of the most popular columnists in Canada....long into the future. What he thought of himself as a writer, was much different than what his millions of readers, who he validated daily, believed of his capabilities....and afterall, that's what was most important. It's important to any writer. The opinions of the readership. Will they come back day after day, to share these life stories, living vicariously through the author's adventures and, well, misadventures? In Rimmer's case, his appeal was directly proportional to his sense of honesty, and willingness to share the good and bad of his life, as it pertained to that grueling pathway to a destination that really doesn't exist. Most of us just expect to be hiking down that road forever, until our bodies and minds, finally unwind in unison, to slump into the oblivion of our own unwritten anecdotes..... of which we have never found the need previously, of a poetic exit strategy.
I think I may be a record holder in this area. In my own thirty-six years, of blood, sweat and a lot of tears, I can honestly say, without a shadow of a doubt, that there are no awards in my possession. No outlandish looking trophies, or tacky plaques. I didn't give them away, or lose them in a poker game. I never got them in the first place. I guess I didn't deserve any. Unless some got lost in the mail. I've never been roasted at a dinner, held in my honor, or been toasted after a testimonial, held to acknowledge my accomplishments. But as I've never felt that I needed to get an award, to motivate myself to write something, I've just blocked it out of my mind.....except the part about expecting a Pulitzer, because it's just an anecdote I've become accustomed to using. I may, one bed-time, in the near or distant future, fall asleep without first having planned out the next day's column (blog). I will wake up in the morning, and not feel an urge to park myself, within arm's reach of this keyboard, and prefer doing something else with my time. I've told Suzanne that this may occur at around the time, she retires the knitting needles and wool. I said to her this morning, that I thought we should go on a bus-tour south, one of these days, instead of doing the driving ourselves. Maybe this is the warning sign, that I might be coming to an end of my tenure, now that I've surpassed in mileage, some of my career-long contemporaries....and a few enemies. Possibly the endless road of potential isn't so long any more. Yet I still surprise myself, by possessing gumption from somewhere, to soldier-on in the print media.....until the fervor becomes a trickle, and I've written myself into a bankruptcy of sorts. I have told my family, that the day I sit for a long time, at this keyboard, pondering and posturing, and can provide nothing more than a title and a byline, on a honking big white screen, I'm either deceased, or finished in creative enterprise. As I would rather go out of this profession, with a decent audience, of folks who don't think of me as a "nutter," it will thusly be time to officially retire...and rest on the few laurels I have patiently mustered. Till then, I'll satisfy myself, knowing I'm an elder in my profession, and act like one....being wise and resolved to my fate.....acting all bard-like, and bestowing wisdom on the unsuspecting bystanders who cross my path. On my tombstone, I've instructed Suzanne to employ an engraver to print the words, "A writer rests here now....thank God!" She answers, "It will have to be inscribed on that urn over there, (pointing to the container with the dried flowers, on the window-sill) because that's all a writer's widow will be able to afford as your final resting place." Nice eh? My ashes in a flower vase. "Well then, I want to be scattered on Hemingway's grave," I retort, and disappear into the silence of the still room. No comment!
Until then, I will satisfy myself with feeling I've got a bit more to add, and another paragraph or two burning within. I just won't be expecting any framed certificate, validating my accomplishments.....or even a vegetable of the week voucher, for services rendered, so that I could make really interesting salads. I'll be okay as long as I can keep your readership, because, well, there's just nothing more important.
Thanks for visiting with me, on this cold, snowy, winter day in January.
A SENSITIVITY TO ART AND HISTORY - BUT YOU HAVE TO ASK US FIRST
ANTIQUE AND ART DEALERS HAVE TO BE PASSIONATE TO STAY IN BUSINESS
MOST OF OUR ANTIQUE AND ART TRANSACTIONS ARE PRETTY BASIC. CUSTOMERS FIND SOMETHING THEY LIKE, APPROACH THE COUNTER, POTENTIALLY ASK A FEW CURSORY QUESTIONS ABOUT THE PIECE OR PIECES, ASK WHETHER WE MIGHT OFFER A DISCOUNT, AND THEN DEPENDING ON THE OUTCOME, AGREE TO PURCHASE, OR SET THE ITEM BACK WHERE THEY FOUND IT IN THE SHOP. IF THE ITEM IS DESIRED, AND THUSLY PAID FOR, THE PURCHASES ARE CAREFULLY WRAPPED, PACKAGED, AND HANDED FROM OUR SIDE OF THE COUNTER, TO THE EAGER INDIVIDUAL(S) ON THE OTHER SIDE. THERE ARE PLEASANTRIES, AND PROMISES TO COME BACK AGAIN, BUT GENERALLY, IT'S A SHORT INTERACTION WITHOUT A LOT OF CONVERSATION. TODAY WITH THE PREVALENCE OF PHONES IN PURSES AND POCKETS, IT'S LUCKY IF YOU CAN GET IN A FEW COMMENTS, WITHOUT BEING INTERRUPTED. AS WELL, I'M NOTICING HOW MANY FOLKS, EVEN UP IN MUSKOKA, ON VACATION, ARE IN A HURRY BUT THEY REALLY DON'T KNOW WHY. IT'S AS IF TRULY, THEY COULDN'T STAND THERE AND TALK LIBERALLY, FOR ANY MORE THAN THIRTY SECONDS, WITHOUT FEELING THEY HAD TO MOVE ON TO THE NEXT VENUE. WE IN MUSKOKA LIKE TO DAWDLE JUST A LITTLE LONGER THAN THE STANDARD THIRTY SECOND HIATUS….ESPECIALLY IN THE GENTLE NON-THREATENING ENVIRONS OF AN ANTIQUE SHOP. DAWDLING AND CONVERSATION IS AN INTEGRAL PART OF OUR RESPECTIVE BUSINESS MODELS. WE WANT TO KNOW OUR CUSTOMERS AND WE THINK THEY SHOULD GET TO KNOW US. YOU JUST CAN'T JAM THAT UNCEREMONIOUSLY INTO LESS THAN A MINUTE'S WORTH OF CASUAL STORY EXCHANGING. HONESTLY, YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE HOW RUSHED WE FEEL, JUST WATCHING HOW RUSHED THEY ACT. IF THEY ONLY TOOK A FEW MINUTES TO CATCH THEIR BREATH, WE MIGHT BE ABLE TO ENGAGE THEM IN SOME INTERESTING CONVERSATION. WE KNOW A LOT OF STUFF AND WE DON'T MIND SHARING.
WHAT A MAJORITY OF CUSTOMERS DON'T REALIZE, BECAUSE MOST ARE IN SUCH A HURRY TO MOVE ON TO THE NEXT SHOP VENUE, IS THAT ANTIQUE AND ART DEALERS ARE ITCHING TO CONVERSE; DESIROUS OF SHARING SOME STORIES ABOUT THEIR PROFESSION, AND WOULD LOVE TO BE ASKED QUESTIONS RELATED TO THEIR FIELD. WHAT ISN'T RECOGNIZED, IS HOW MUCH THESE FOLKS BELIEVE IN WHAT THEY PERFORM OUT THERE…..HUNTING AND GATHERING THESE COLLECTIBLE AND ARTISTIC PIECES; RECORDING SOME PRETTY AMAZING FEATS OF DARING RECOVERY….., SECURING THESE HEIRLOOM ITEMS, THAT POSSIBLY, IF YOU TOOK THE TIME, WOULD FIND INTERESTING OR EVEN AMAZING. I SUPPOSE WE GIVE THE IMPRESSION, THAT OURS IS A SECRET OPERATION, FULL OF COVERT, STEALTH-LIKE MOVEMENTS AND MANIPULATIONS, OOZING OF MYSTERY AND INTRIGUE, UNIMAGINABLE TO THE GENERAL ANTIQUE OR ART BUYER. WHILE I WILL NEVER DENY, THAT THERE ARE A LOT OF REASONS FOR BEING CAREFUL WITH SOURCE INFORMATION, DUE TO INCREASINGLY TOUGH COMPETITION FOR THE BEST PIECES, WE AREN'T ADVERSE TO DISCUSSING THE RIGORS OF OUR PROFESSION, AND OFFERING ADVICE FOR UP AND COMING DEALERS LOOKING FOR GROUND-FLOOR ADVICE.
WE CAN'T ALL BE AS GENEROUS AS CANADIAN ART PATRON, DOUGLAS DUNCAN, AS I'VE BEEN PROFILING OVER THE PAST SEVERAL DAYS. HE WAS GENEROUS TO A FAULT, AND WAS ENORMOUSLY PATIENT AND FLEXIBLE WITH ARTISTS AND CLIENTS, AND OPEN AND KIND TO ANYONE SEEKING ADVICE BASED ON HIS YEARS SPENT IN COMPANY OF OLD BOOKS, BOOK COLLECTORS, ART, ARTISTS, AND THOSE PATRONS WHO SOUGHT OUT THE NEWEST TALENTS IN NATIONAL ART. BUT WITHIN OUR PROFESSION, I HAVE KNOWN MANY DEALERS AND COLLECTORS WHO HAVE BEEN SIMILARLY GENEROUS, AND HAVE ALWAYS SHARED THEIR STORIES AS EDUCATION, WORTS AND ALL. THEY ARE HISTORIANS BY IMMERSION, IN A PROFESSION THAT DEMANDS OF ITS MEMBERS, AN INTIMATE, UNFLINCHING APPRECIATION OF THE PAST; BECAUSE IT'S AN IMBEDDED REQUIREMENT OF THEIR BUSINESS SUCCESS. JUST BECAUSE THEY DON'T WRITE REGIONAL, PROVINCIAL OR NATIONAL HISTORIES (INCLUDING BIOGRAPHIES), DOESN'T MEAN THEY AREN'T EXPERTS IN THEIR PARTICULAR FIELD OF CHOICE…….AND KNOW THE BIOGRAPHIES OF THE ARTISTS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE PAINTINGS AND SCULPTURES ETC., THEY HAVE IN THEIR PRIVATE COLLECTIONS, AND FOR SALE IN THEIR SHOPS. THESE OFTEN UNASSUMING HISTORIANS, ARE ROUTINELY OVERLOOKED AS PART OF THE HERITAGE COMMITTEES, BECAUSE THEY OFFER ITEMS FOR SALE…..THE PURIST HISTORIANS SEEING THIS AS A TRAVESTY TO STEWARDSHIP……PREFERRING THAT EVERYTHING THAT'S OF ANY MERIT WHATSOEVER, IN THE ANTIQUE OR ART DOMAIN, SHOULD BE DONATED TO AN HISTORICAL SOCIETY, MUSEUM, OR PUBLIC GALLERY.
IT IS WORTH NOTING, THAT ANTIQUE AND ART DEALERS, ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR SALVAGING A HUGE PERCENTAGE OF HERITAGE ITEMS EVERY YEAR, THAT MIGHT HAVE OTHERWISE WOUND UP BEING DISCARDED OR DESTROYED, BECAUSE NO VALUE WAS ATTACHED BY THE OWNER. THESE HIGHLY TRAINED AND REMARKABLY RESPONSIVE INDIVIDUALS, ARE WILLING TO PUT IN THE RESEARCH TIME, THROUGHOUT THE YEAR, TO BONE-UP ON WHAT THEY DON'T KNOW……THAT THEY FEEL THEY SHOULD, IN ORDER TO GRASP IMPORTANT HEIRLOOM PIECES FROM THE JAWS OF GARBAGE BINS AND LANDFILL SITES. I'VE BEEN INVOLVED IN THIS MANY TIMES SINCE THE MID 1970'S, WHEN MY APPETITE FOR THE PROFESSION TOOK OFF…..WITH ME DRAGGING BEHIND. THERE'S NOTHING SWEETER, THAN RESCUING IMPORTANT HISTORICAL MATERIALS, THAT AN ESTATE, FOR EXAMPLE, WAS GETTING READY TO DUMP INTO THE GARBAGE BOX SITUATED IN THE DRIVEWAY. I CAN'T COUNT THE NUMBER OF TIMES, FOLKS HAVE COME IN TO SEE ME, WITH A HUGELY SIGNIFICANT ART PIECE OR COLLECTION OF DOCUMENTS, WONDERING IF THEY WERE WORTH A FEW BUCKS……ONLY TO FIND OUT THEY WERE WORTH SEVERAL THOUSAND DOLLARS. TO THEIR CREDIT, A LOT OF DEALERS I KNOW PERSONALLY, ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR IDENTIFYING THESE VALUABLE PIECES, AND ATTACHING PROVENANCE BECAUSE OF THEIR OWN EXPERIENCE; AND ENABLING OWNERS TO ACHIEVE A GREATER FINANCIAL RETURN, SHOULD THEY STILL WISH TO SELL THE SUBJECT ITEMS. THERE IS A PERCEPTION, AND THERE IS SOME TRUTH TO IT, THAT DEALERS PREY ON IGNORANCE, AND WILL LOW-BALL FOR THESE PIECES, JUST TO GET A BIGGER PROFIT ON THE OTHER END. I'VE MET A FEW OF THESE FOLKS, BUT CERTAINLY THEY ARE IN THE MINORITY.
WE'RE GENERALLY PROUD TO BE IMBEDDED IN THIS HISTORIC PROFESSION, AND WE'D BE DELIGHTED TO SHARE SOME OF OUR AMAZING ADVENTURES, AND ADVICE ABOUT THE INDUSTRY. LIKE DOUGLAS DUNCAN, WE REPRESENT THE ITEMS WE HAVE COLLECTED, WITH THE UTMOST RESPECT……AND WHILE IT'S TRUE WE NEED TO PROFIT FROM OUR DEDICATION OF TIME, AND EXPENSE, WITHOUT THE PASSION FOR BEAUTIFUL AND HISTORIC PIECES, WHATEVER THEY MAY BE……WE WOULD PROBABLY CHOOSE ANOTHER OCCUPATION. IT'S JUST NOT POSSIBLE TO SEPARATE PASSION FROM THE ANTIQUE AND ART ENTERPRISE……AND NO, IT'S NEVER "JUST ABOUT THE MONEY." WE WON'T TELL YOU THIS, BECAUSE WE DON'T WANT YOU LAUGHING AT US……BUT MOST ANTIQUE DEALERS DO THINK OF THEMSELVES AS CURATORS OF THEIR COLLECTIONS. THEY'RE UNSUNG AS STEWARDS AND CONSERVATORS, OF THESE IMPORTANT HEIRLOOM OBJECTS. IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME, TAKE A FEW MOMENTS OF TIME, AND ASK YOUR FRIENDLY ANTIQUE OR ART DEALER, ABOUT THEIR OWN LOVE FOR THE BUSINESS. I THINK THE DOOR YOU OPEN, WILL OFFER A BETTER EXPLANATION, IN PERSON, THAN I CAN PROVIDE, VIA THIS BLOG.
NOW, LET US RESUME OUR LOOK AT THE AMAZING CAREER OF CANADIAN ART LEGEND, DOUGLAS DUNCAN, VERY MUCH AN UNSUNG HERO OF ART IN THIS COUNTRY……AND FRIEND TO SO MANY ARTISTS WHO OWE PART OF THEIR SUCCESS, TO THIS GENTLE AND CARING MAN.
DOUGLAS DUNCAN, FOR THE LOVE OF ART AND ARTISTS
IN EARLY JANUARY, 1964, BARBARA MOON, WROTE AN INSIGHTFUL EDITORIAL PIECE, (PUBLISHED BY MACLEAN'S MAGAZINE), WHICH SHE REFERRED TO AS A "PORTRAIT," OF ART PATRON DOUGLAS DUNCAN. "SO FAR AS I KNOW, IT WAS THE ONLY FULL LENGTH PROFILE OF HIM IN A GENERAL PUBLICATION. WHEN I BEGAN WORK ON IT I HAD MET AND INTERVIEWED DUNCAN ON ONE EARLIER OCCASION, IN CONNECTION WITH AN ARTICLE ON DAVID MILNE. AND OF COURSE, I HAD SOME KNOWLEDGE OF DUNCAN'S UNIQUE ROLE IN THE ART WORLD, SINCE IT WAS THIS THAT PROMPTED THE ASSIGNMENT IN THE FIRST PLACE." THIS APPEARED AS AN INTRODUCTION, TO HER RE-PUBLISHED ARTICLE, FROM 1964, INCLUDED IN THE MEMORIAL BOOK, ENTITLED "DOUGLAS DUNCAN - A MEMORIAL PORTRAIT," EDITED BY ALAN JARVIS, AND PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS IN 1974.
"DOUGLAS MOERDYKE DUNCAN, A SIXTY-ONE YEAR OLD TORONTO BACHELOR, IS A VERY TALL, NARROW MAN WITH A SHREWD WHIMSICAL FACE AND A SWIFT, SELF CONSCIOUS WALK THAT SUGGESTS SOMEONE PRACTISED IN AVOIDING PROJECTIONS SUCH AS TABLE CORNERS AND PACKING CRATES. HE IS THE PROPRIETOR OF THE PICTURE LOAN SOCIETY, WHICH OFFERS ORIGINAL ART FOR RENTAL BY THE MONTH (AT TWO PERCENT OF THE ASSIGNED VALUE, MINIMUM RENTAL ONE DOLLAR PER MONTH), AND ALSO SPONSORS ABOUT TEN SMALL ONE-MAN EXHIBITIONS AND SALES OF PAINTINGS A YEAR," WRITES BARBARA MOON. "THE ENTERPRISE IS SO MODEST AS TO BE NEARLY CLANDESTINE. IT IS OPEN ONLY NINE MONTHS OF THE YEAR, AND THEN ONLY IN THE AFTERNOONS AND ONE WEEKDAY EVENING. AN EXIGUOUS WEEKLY NEWSPAPER NOTICE IS ITS ONLY PUBLIC ADVERTISEMENT, DIRECT MAIL NOTICES ALSO GO TO A CONSTITUENCY OF ABOUT FIVE HUNDRED BUT DUNCAN WANTS TO PRUNE THE LIST. 'IT'S TOO MUCH NUISANCE AND COSTS TEN CENTS A NOTICE JUST TO PAMPER THEIR EGOS BY GETTING LOTS OF MAIL,' HE SAYS TARTLY.
SHE WRITES THAT, "IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING THAT THE PICTURE LOAN HAS NEVER BEEN A MONEY-MAKING OPERATION SINCE ITS FOUNDING IN 1936. IN THESE DAYS OF THE EIGHT MILLION DOLLAR CANADIAN ART BOOM, OF CARPETED GALLERIES WITH GLAMOUR LIGHTING AND SMART ADDRESSES AND OF MUCH ART MARKET TALK BY KNOWING PEOPLE, DUNCAN MIGHT WELL SEEM AN UNWORLDLY OLD PARTY AND HIS SHOP A QUAINT BACKWATER. BUT TO THOSE IN THE KNOW - TO EVERYBODY WHO IS ANYBODY IN CANADIAN ART - DOUGLAS DUNCAN IS A CULTURAL FORCE, MAYBE EVEN A MAJOR INFLUENCE. FOR, LIKE SIR ROBERT WATSON WATT, IN WARTIME BRITAIN, DUNCAN IS ONE OF THOSE ETERNALLY FASCINATING UNOFFICIAL FIGURES, A BACKROOM BOY. 'DUNCAN HAS BEEN TREMENDOUSLY IMPORTANT,' SAYS CHARLES COMFORT, DIRECTOR OF THE NATIONAL GALLERY IN OTTAWA. 'VITAL' AGREES HAROLD TOWN, ONE OF CANADA'S TOP LIVING ARTISTS. JOHNNY WAYNE, OF WAYNE AND SHUSTER, IS EVEN MORE SENTENTIOUS. 'WHEN THE DEFINITIVE HISTORY OF CANADIAN ART IS WRITTEN,' WAYNE SAID RECENTLY, 'DOUGLAS DUNCAN WILL GO DOWN AS ONE OF THE REALLY GREAT MEN IN IT.' WAYNE WAS SPEAKING NOT AS A COMIC BUT AS SOMEONE WHO WANDERED INTO THE PICTURE LOAN FIFTEEN YEARS AGO, AND LEARNED FROM DUNCAN THAT THERE WERE GOOD CANADIAN ARTISTS WHO COULDN'T GET A SHOWING, COULDN'T GET A SALE, AND SOMETIMES DIDN'T HAVE THE PRICE OF A MEAL. WAYNE VOWED ON THE SPOT THAT HE'D HANG NOTHING ON HIS WALLS BUT CANADIAN ART AND HAS SINCE BUILT A VERY RESPECTABLE COLLECTION. (CIRCA 1964).
Barbara Moon adds to this, that "the Picture Loan was started explicitly as a showcase for living Canadian artists and for almost twenty years was the only commercial gallery in Canada to specialize. 'He to me, is the pioneer,' says Dorothy Cameron. Miss Cameron has her own - chic, successful - contemporary gallery in Toronto, and there are nearly two dozen more flourishing across the country. 'Without Douglas none of us would exist,' says Miss Cameron. Or take Harold Town, who is the top-priced abstract artist in Canada and has a growing international reputation. Town says, 'Any real interest in my work begins precisely with the moment I first met Douglas Duncan.' Town was a commercial artist nine years out of art college, had sold only three serious paintings, had never been given space in a commercial gallery when he bumped into Duncan in the doorway of a framing shop in 1953. Duncan looked at the print of a horse that Town was carrying and promptly arranged a Town exhibition at the Picture Loan two months thence."
"In fact, Duncan has launched so many now-well-known Canadian artists into the crucial Toronto art market that even a partial list sounds like willful name-dropping. As well as Town, it includes Carl Schaefer, Will Ogilvie, Lemoine Fitzgerald, Andrew Bieler, Henri Masson, Kazuo Nakamura, Robert Hedrick, and Paul-Emile Borduas. In addition he was in very early indeed with Emily Carr. He is not just a good handicapper; he is very much an active better. And he unfailingly gives his help when it's going to count the most. For example, of the six prints sold from the first Town show, four were bought by Duncan for his personal collection."
His best known connection, and most influential, was with reclusive artist David Milne, writes Barbara Moon. "The case in point is David Milne, the hermit-genius of Canadian art. 'Duncan would be important in Canadian art for the Milne thing alone,' says one knowledgeable observer. Duncan spotted Milne's work at a Toronto gallery in 1934, sought him out in the Muskoka wilderness in 1935, and in 1938 became his agent. For the next fifteen years he gave Milne an annual one-man show at the Picture Loan and for the last thirteen years of Milne's life, guaranteed Milne's income by making purchases for his personal collection to augment regular sales. In addition he became so devout an evangelist for the artist, that a volatile Slavic painter in the Picture Loan group, Paraskeva Clark, burst out discontentedly, 'Agh, Duncan. With heem it's all Meelne, Meelne, Meelne, Meelne, Meelne!'
Duncan ran errands for Milne, brought comforts to his cabin in the bush, respected his fierce need for privacy by acting as a mail-drop, fronted for him in so intimate a matter as divorce and astonishingly (because Milne was even more impatient of bookkeeping than he) performed as a business agent and an artistic auditor. As a result he has photographic records of every extant Milne he has seen, and intends to present this unique catalogue of artistic development to the National Gallery, along with his own hand-picked collections of 160 Milne drypoints."
Friend Rik Kettle added, "It was probably natural that I saw the picture-rental idea as something which could and should eventually develop on a larger scale with substantial public involvement. The obvious parallel was books and public libraries; there are hundreds of books one can and wants to read with pleasure and benefit; there probably are not an awful lot one can or wants to buy and own permanently. There are, likewise, not an awful lot of paintings one can or wants to buy, but quite a lot that have a useful, if relatively short existence. Why not something approaching the public library idea? In the early post-war years, I occasionally regretted that Douglas did not really push the rental side very much and that the number of people who participated remained relatively small. On the other hand, it was quite evident, thereafter, that the total 'happening' that went on at 3 Charles Street West, which was really Douglas himself, was so good and right that it couldn't have been anything else."
Kettle writes that, "It has always interested me that the picture-rental activities that have subsequently developed here have not really had much effect on the general public. They perform effectively and usefully but have remained, as far as I know, fairly small, sophisticated, and institutionalized. I suppose, though, that the whole situation is now totally different, because of public exposure to the arts through the massive visual communication opportunities, etc. Douglas took the picture-rental idea and built around it 'his own thing.' Today, in our frustrations over the increasing disorder, discomfort, and dissent in our affluent society, we talk about our concern for the quality of life! Douglas, sitting on the floor on his haunches and twitching his eyebrows, would probably have thought this pretentious; but he instinctively busied himself only in things where 'quality of life,' was concerned, and would have found it impossible to have done anything else."
Artist Will Ogilvie wrote, "He (Douglas) understood and spoke a painter's language and they knew he was knowledgeable about art, both in the technical sense and in the aesthetic. In going to him, they brought with them their own gift; trust in his judgement. Time, of course, is the final arbiter but I feel sure that the names of a goodly number of young artists, Douglas Duncan encouraged will be found eventually, among those who have made a significant contribution to the art of Canada."
He adds, "I think it could be said of Douglas, that he knew art was to be found in many and varied forms if one had the eyes to see, but he distrusted labels and was too concerned with the inner truth existing in all works of art to be trapped by the fashionable or the meretricious. He had great respect for and a deep understanding of the nature of art and he sought it out diligently. In concluding these observations, I find myself coming back to what perhaps was of principal concern to Douglas. I think this was a desire to share with others his love of art; to be moved by its excitement and mystery and to expand, as much as possible, the enjoyment and enrichment art gives to a way of life."
Comedian Johnny Wayne concluded, of his friend, "I can see him now, squatting elegantly on the floor, aboriginal style, in the famous Duncan crouch, studying a Milne water-color or a Varley drawing and discussing its fine points. For me, and my wife Bea, for who he had a special affection, there were countless hours of laughter and conversation about pictures and the people who painted them. Looking back now, I realize that besides having a hell of a good time then, I was going through what high-priced psychologists call a 'learning experience.' Douglas was not only a dear friend but a teacher, who in a subtle way taught me the art of enjoying art. Every picture I look at glows with his memory."
Thanks for joining me today to examine a portion of this rich Canadian art biography, which I have long held as a source of inspiration……as I also love and collect Canadian art. I own a well presented and thoroughly researched, signed copy, of a biography of David Milne written by art historian David Silcox, that I consult frequently…..all the while, thinking of how Douglas Duncan helped the artist get the exposure he needed, to be properly recognized in the art community. Please join me tomorrow, for a brief look at one of my other favorite source books, kept here at Birch Hollow, entitled "Adventures of a Paper Sleuth," the biography compiled by my old archivist friend, Hugh MacMillan. He has been a pivotal mentor in my own hunt and gather activities in the antique profession for many years now. Please join me for some more interesting stories about those stalwart, adventure-seeking folks who find so much fulfillment hunting and gathering. See you again soon.
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