Eric Brown Was A National Treasure and He Cut The Trail For The Contemporary Adventures In Canadian Art

THE NEXT MOST IMPORTANT BOOK ON CANADIAN ART, OF WHICH I HAPPEN TO OWN, AND IT IS A DANDY - "BREAKING BARRIERS"

ERIC BROWN AND THE NATIONAL GALLERY, BY HIS LIFE PARTNER, F. MAUD BROWN, PUBLISHED IN 1964

     From the Paris Exhibition in 1927, there was a review in a French art magazine, that stated the following: "(Tom) Thomson never fumbles. He orchestrates, with an imposing and decorative largeness, the rugged and sumptuous natural aspects that present themselves to his vision. His painting is strong, and without subterfuge, the painting of a man immensely concerned with the nature he depicts."
Of the exhibition as a whole, the same critic wrote, "It is this character of robust simplicity, of fine healthiness, which gives an impression of unity to this exhibition, in spite of the individual differences in temparment and execution. The paintings, as a whole, express this broadly decorative feeling which we have just noted in the style of Tom Thomson. These paintings are all imbued with a primitive and elemental poetry; the natural result of close communion with the grandeur of nature."
     The reviews at home, not so encouraging. The critics wanted Eric Brown's head, for selecting paintings for exhibit, without their consultation on the matter. They called him an art "dictator," who needed to have his "wing's clipped." Eric Brown defied them all, and we should be eternally grateful, he was stalwart in his convictions, to bring Canadian art into the modern era, forcefully when it was justified.
     "I have never required an art scholar's over-the-shoulder opinion, in order to fully appreciate a work of art. It has never been necessary to have a gallery curator explain the nuances of a work I appreciate. And whether I find a painting attractive, provocative, compelling or boring, it is a personal opinion I am comfortable with, whether or not my assessment ranks only among the untutored.
     "Just as one hears the howling wolves on a moonlit Algonquin night, the shiver I get looking at Tom Thomson's painting of the Northern Lights, is as genuine as might be felt by the critic, who may not want to admit such a sensation of awe. It is what Thomson desired, in emotion, from those viewing his art panels; to know a painting inspired feelings of a storied landscape, and all the mysteries each viewer might choose to concoct, from a stimulated imagination.
     "If someone, looking at his art work, found it to be "spirited," or "hauntingly cold" in appearance, the Canadian landscape artist, would listen attentively, as if it had been the highest praise possible; beyond the critic who might have observed some technical shortfall or flaw in composition. Thomson painted what he felt, and what he desired, and was indebted by honest appraisal from those who judged a painting without tutored, or prejudicial opinion. To these innocent admirers, who may have been passing by the dock at Mowat, watching him unload some of his sketches, from that day's work in Algonquin Park, he might also have given away these same panels, to the great pleasure of the recipients; for only the cost of a most fundamental observation. Which he benefitted from, as an earthy, innocent, unsolicited source of encouragement; he very much needed to move on with his work.
     "I can never casually dismiss the poetic, ethereal subtleties, or the soulful nostalgia, of knowing these places depicted in Thomson's art. Beyond the draw of heartfelt intimacy, and the deep, powerful undertow of attraction, what is left to interpret? What is left to question of alluring art, and clever artist?  Being unable to feel the deep vibration of inner spirit, that rises from the Algonquin soil, as the unseen witness, where Thomson once stood, overlooking a windswept lake, the critic alas has missed, in the subject painting, the energy that manifests like wind and waves, within its framing. The painting of a special place in time, that invigorates our senses, so powerful of its own accord, analysis based on the scholar's insight, is redundant before being spoken. This is my feeling about the paintings Tom Thomson created for us, as a gift to our national imagination.
     "If I should mire down with the lasting impression, his art panels have a haunting spirit, I am thusly happy to remain in this self imposed state of ignorance and delusion, about the finer points of what art is supposed to be, in its most refined state of exhibition."

     I was surprised to find this Tom Thomson overview, scribbled onto several open back pages, of another hugely important book, in Canadian art history. Despite tearing my archives apart, at least twice, in the past year, I couldn't find my 1964 hardcover copy of "Breaking Barriers - Eric Brown and the National Gallery," written by his wife, Maud, and published by The Society for Art Publications. The fact my copy of this amazing little book was missing-in-action, isn't anything knew for me, because I hide things all the time, always on the plan to keep something or other safeguarded. Take for example, the ten antique toy soldiers I put away last year this time; so well in fact, that they seem to have disappeared for good. I know they will turn up eventually, just like the Eric Brown biography, which I do consider of critical relevance to the Tom Thomson story, and to the launch and success of the Group of Seven artists, Thomson helped inspire before his death. But there's something extra attached to my discovery this morning, of "Breaking Barriers."
     Whenever I have initiated work on my own version of the Tom Thomson mystery, dating back to the mid-1990's, I have been inundated with coincidences, some that were pretty bizarre and always involved the surfacing of new information from the strangest sources. It deserves a blog on its own, which I will provided as a sort of catch-up explanation, following a review of the Eric Brown book. Seeing as I have been working on the Thomson story again this week, highlighting two rare books written by Blodwen Davies and Albert Robson, I really needed the Eric Brown biography, because he was the first director of the National Gallery; who, despite objection from numerous critics, validated Thomson's art work, and the eventual Group of Seven, by including select work from their collections, in major international exhibitions. The whole story of Thomson and the Group of Seven artists, can't be told properly without referencing the undaunted spirit for change, exerted by Eric Brown, for as it turns out, the good of Canada, and the promotion of experimental art generally. So I guess, when looking again today, I employed the old Thomson charm of "helpful coincidence," and took another scan of my art books. It took exactly one full minute, to find the red dust jacket, on the book in question. I don't know how I missed it before, or if Suzanne happened to find it somewhere else, and relocated it to my art bookshelf, but who cares, as long as it has been discovered and made available for purposes of this blog? Even stranger, is the little editorial piece, penned onto the open back pages, (published above), that I must have written a decade or more ago, when I was piecing together another newspaper series, regarding Thomson's mysterious death, while canoeing in Algonquin Park, back in July 1917. I have no recollection of doing this, but seeing as the material is in my hand-writing, it confirms that I had no intention of ever selling this book. I will occasionally write in some of my old reference texts, something personal, that will stop me from ever placing it in the store's book room for sale. It devalues them for re-sale, but endears them to me because of content. The short opening, was probably used when I was writing a year-long series of columns, for "Curious; The Tourist Guide, earlier this new century. I might re-write it today, if I wanted to use it in print, but it does hit the mark, as far as my opinion about Thomson's work, and the reason I will chase the story until my final days in this mortal coil.
     Now, a look at a great little relic of Canadiana, containing a story about one of our country's true pioneer visionaries, in the field of art.

     NOTE: I purchased the book, during an estate sale quite a few years ago, held by the Bennett family of Gravenhurst, at their parents' Sarah Street home. The book on Eric Brown, had belonged to Muskoka artist and author, Ruth Bennett, who had studied art with well known Canadian painter, Charles Comfort. She penned this onto the acknowledgement page, written by Maud Brown, when the author wrote, "My sincere thanks are due to the Trustees of the National Gallery of Canada, and its director, Dr. Charles Comfort, for permission to study the gallery's files and correspondence relative to my husband, Eric Brown's work." Ruth Bennett added a note on the margin of this page, indicating, "1932-37 - My instructor at Art College in Toronto," signed "Ruth Gaunt Bennett. Ruth Bennett by the way, was author of three books, including "Yorkshire Rose," "Where the Loons Call," and her best known effort, "Diary of a Muskoka Maid," an exceptional Muskoka-based story and biography, with a connection to the Village of Windermere, on Lake Rosseau. I purchased a large collection of books during this day-sale. Ruth's husband was Dr. Wilfred Bennett, Muskoka's former Chief Medical Officer of Health.

"BREAKING BARRIERS," THE STORY OF ERIC BROWN

     "Eric Brown, a young and unknown Englishman, won his wings as first director of Canada's National Gallery, and piloting it through barriers of resistance to change, public apathy and artistic orthodoxy, brought it to a safe landing in a terrain of recognition and respect. This very human story tells of the remarkable understanding and support given by an outstanding Canadian, Sir Edmund Walker, to his youthful colleague, of the effective work of the trustees of the gallery when only five in number, of lasting friendships and recurring conflicts, of starting married life on one hundred dollars a month, and of the close bonds of affection between husband and wife which carried them safely through all adventures," wrote his wife Maud, as a brief summary of the story yet to come.
     "It so happened that Eric's coming to Canada (from England), coincided with a vitally important time in the development of the country's art. A strong national spirit was developing. Painters were becoming dissatisfied with the academic approach to art, realizing that the rugged majesty of our landscape could not be portrayed with the brush of a Corot or even a Constable. And so the search began for a new concept and a new language of art. Eric (Brown) described this movement in one of his articles written in the early twenties, pointing out that something had happened, though when and where it actually began was difficult to say. The Canadian Art Club (including Morrice, Ernest Lawson, Horatio Walker, Homer Watson, William Brymner, Maurice Cullen, Suzor-Cote and Clarence Gagnon, among its members) seeded from the Ontario Society of Artists in 1907, and that awakened a spirit of rivalry," wrote Maud Brown, in her biography of her husband, Eric Brown.
     Eric Brown had written the following about this new and exciting direction coming down the pike. "Painters went west to the prairies and north to the wilderness and saw them with an introspective as well as photographic eye. Then one fine day the O.S.A. hung a picture of Tom Thomson's called 'Northern River,' in the place of honour and the National Gallery bought it, and the battle, though no one knew it, was joined because here was a new idea....here was decoration of a splendid kind, within a frame and what was more puzzling still, it was decoration plus character, the inmost character of the country it represented, to say nothing of the character of the man who painted it."
      Maud Brown writes, "Thus the new trend began, with Canadian artists beginning to see and compose decoratively, emphasizing pattern and color scheme, and searching out the spirit of their country. This was rebellion, said the older men; wait and see, said the tolerant; but the young in heart were glad. The most spectacular result was the formation of the Group of Seven (artists) in 1920. The story of these seven young painters who banded together in a protective and active alliance is too well known to need retelling here. One thing that I recall very clearly is a visit to Toronto at a time when at least four members of the Group were returning from their first sketching trip in the northlands of Algoma. Eric had been asked casually to go and see the sketches they had made. As so often happened, I went along with him, and as we went from one studio to another and saw the stacks of small sketches each had brought back with him, our astonishment and delight grew beyond belief. This was something different, something exciting! Eric waited with the keenest interest to see the large canvases that would ensue from such promising material."

THE WEMBLEY EXHIBITION

     "Eric's absorption in the gallery, and his fostering of the country's art as a whole, alerted him to every opportunity to promote their growth. When the news filtered through to him that the British Empire Exhibition, to open at Wembley in north-west London in 1924, would include a section devoted to the fine arts, he saw what a blessing it would be for Canada, if her contribution were well chosen and thoroughly representative - and what a disaster if its management should be assigned to some self-centered and narrow-minded organization," recorded Maud Brown, of her husbands negotiations to mount a dynamic and diverse exhibit of nationally significant art, at the prominent British showing. "He wrote post-haste to friends in England who gave him the names of the two men who were responsible for art at Wembley. He wrote to these immediately before they had time to make other plans. Setting the facts before them, with due emphasis on the rift that existed in Canada, he suggested that the task of forming a committee to select the Canadian pictures might well be left to the National Gallery. The authorities were in complete agreement and to Eric's amused delight, the upshot was that the manager of the British Empire Exhibition suggested to the Canadian Government that the Board of Trustees of the National Gallery was an appropriate authority to take charge of the Canadian Section of Fine Arts. There was nothing irregular or unusual about this procedure, but it offended the amour-propre of the Academy. It felt that the gallery was usurping its privileges and expressed itself emphatically on the points at issue. In retrospect, it appears plain that the academicians could not then be said to represent the art of the whole country; and their deep-rooted dislike of the unconventional and experimental in art was proof that, had the selection of the pictures been left to them, there would have been but meagre representation of those very artists whose works made our Canadian contribution such an outstanding success.
     "As the time for the British Empire Exhibition approached, the ever-faithful George Harbour was sent ahead to London to cope with the preliminary arrangements, and Eric and I followed, arriving a month before the opening day. The spring was wet and cold and 'Wembley mud,' was the byword of the day. For me, with no responsibilities except the typing of a few letters, it was fun to see the mushroom city grow. Eric's hardest job was to gain the 50 percent more wall space so badly needed for all the pictures chosen to be hung. The exhibition authorities told him over and over again this could not be done, but as with the man in the parable begging bread, importunity won the day. Art last came the crucial test, press day. Our pictures were well hung and looked well. They had colour force, individual attack, and deep sincerity. We waited unperturbed. The art critics, thirty or more of them, came drifting into the galleries. They had already seen the British, Australian, New Zealand, and South African contributions, and were looking more than a little bored. The Empire's art had obviously left them cold. Here it would be one more paragraph to add to their already hopelessly stereotyped articles; some of the confessed as much to us afterwards. But after their first look round, you could almost hear their gasps of surprise. Notebooks and pencils came out and there was a buzz of conversation. Here was something new! They talked to each other, they talked to us. They wanted to know if Canada really looked like this. Were the shadows on the snow really as blue as Albert Robinson had painted them? Surely MacDonald had exaggerated the brilliance of the autumn colours. Who were all these painters, and why had their work never been seen before? The show was a success and we knew it. No need to wait for the evening papers; the critics had been unanimous in their praise. One of them, I think it was Mr. Wilenski, came round to Eric the same evening to hear more of art in Canada."
      The art director's wife writes that, "I doubt if any other exhibition ever gave Eric so deep a satisfaction. He had nursed it along with the greatest of care because he was so keen that Canada should take her rightful place in the art of the day. What was more, his unfailing support of the modern movement in Canada was now abundantly vindicated. The next year, the second year of Wembley, Canada repeated her initial success with an entirely new group of paintings. The Group of Seven, well able to fend for themselves, had already won recognition in the United States. An exhibition of their paintings had toured that country with great success for two years and had got excellent press notices. In Ottawa it was a different story, when, in 1927, the trustees arranged to show the the pictures from Wembley in our own galleries. The canvases looked just as well. They still glowed and sang with colour. Here, you felt, was simplicity of method and a direct approach that surely would please. The opening night fame, and contrasted sharply with the press day at Wembley. A great many guests arrived. They were stirred, but not with admiration. There was more indignation than approbation. People bristling with anger asked me, 'How can your husband allow such things to be hung. Well, that was Ottawa in the twenties. Today these same pictures, many of them having found a permanent home in the National Gallery collection, are considered almost academic. Reproductions of them greet us everywhere. Thomson's 'Jack Pine,' Varley's 'Stormy Weather,' 'Georgian Bay,' and Jackson's 'Red Maple,' adorn the walls of homes and schools all over the country."
     "The part Eric played in nurturing contemporary Canadian art and in making it known outside Canada, I realized only much later," wrote his friend W.G. Constabe. "Once the exhibition at Wembley and Paris were over, his main business in London was with old masters, and it was with these that most of our earlier meetings and discussions were concerned. But I grasped at once that, for him, the old master collection at Ottawa was only one aspect of a single problem, that of making Canada conscious of the arts as an element in civilization and of stimulating the production in Canada of works of art on an increasingly high level."
     Sir Kenneth Clark, director of the National Gallery in London, noted of Mr. Brown, on news of his passing, that "Eric Brown was known to all lovers of art in the English speaking world, as one of the most sensitive and distinguished of all gallery directors. He understood painting as an artist, but he retained the detachment of the critic. His was, in fact, a supremely civilized mind in which great enthusiasm was concealed by irony, humour and tolerance. It was rare good fortune that the National Gallery of Canada, in the early stages, should be directed by a man of such distinction and so avoid the amassing of mediocre work which is the usual fate of growing galleries."
     Frances Loring wrote, "I felt that he was a much-loved friend and I owe him much gratitude for his unfailing help and appreciation. Art in Canada has lost its greatest champion. It would have been a hard struggle without his courage and help."
     When one looks at the transition of Canadian art, and we praise the artists who have made our creative enterprises so progressive on the world scene, we must also look back in time, to the true visionaries, who were willing to take a gamble on change of direction, expression and future ambitions. Eric Brown withstood an horrendous amount of criticism from those, of the art establishment in this country, who desired stalwart devotion to the way things had been for decades. Eric Brown decided otherwise, and with the help of exceptional artists like Tom Thomson, and members of the Group of Seven, he found the foundation to launch Canadian art into an exciting new era of experimentation and discovery.
    Eric Brown saw something in the work of the Group of Seven period artists, and certainly in the panels painted by Tom Thomson, that reminded him of his own intimate interpretations of nature, especially noted after one particular camping adventure to Algonquin Park with his wife Maud. If words could be interpreted as a painting, his little story would have looked like a Thomson panel. It reads as follows:
     "We had explored our lake afresh from the head of the creek, where the wolves had sung on moonlight nights, to the string of tiny lakes back of the shelter hut. We had sketched and photographed; we had climbed the hills to the stands of original white pine, where the morning mists hung so long after the sun had burnt them up elsewhere that we imagined forest fires, and were always wrong. We had watched a porcupine swim half a mile from an island to our beach without distress, and a swimming lynx had crossed our canoe one early morning and had stared us out of countenance from the shore. Loons, ospreys, pileated woodpeckers, had been nearer nieghbours than humans; and as for the deer, they had stumbled over our tent ropes and whistled round our camp most nights, and the salt we left in a hollow log was always gone by morning which probably explained their interest in us.
     "No form of travel equals the ease and comfort of paddling a sixteen foot canoe, loaded with two people and a month's supplies, and moving at a steady four miles an hour, in any depth of water, from a foot to a mile. As we washed the supper dishes and got our hands clean for the night, the heavens put on such a show for us by way of good-byes as we had never seen before and never have since. The auroa was blazing from every point of the compass. Red, blue, green and yellow streamers flamed and flickered, waxed from the horizon to the zenith and back again. We lay down in our tracks, with our heads on a log, and watched entranced. It was unbelievably remote and infinitely grand in its changing color, shape and movement. Words could do no justice, so we said nothing but occasionally pointed when the coruscations were especially brilliant. Our cup was as full as it would hold, and, when at last the flames died down and the stars returned to their duty, there seemed nothing more that nature could do for us. We almost hoped that we should never go back, for the sake of remembrance of it; and as it has turned out, we have never made that particular trip again."