TOM THOMSON TREASURES - IN PRINT - BUT I'D REALLY LIKE ONE OF HIS ART PANELS TOO
MY TWO MOST SIGNIFICANT BOOKS ON CANADIAN LANDSCAPE ARTIST, TOM THOMSON, PUBLISHED IN THE 1930'S
Tom Thomson was as intense a human being, as the tumultuous weather her depicted, etching down over the Algonquin Lakes. He liked to get close to the storm-fronts, and friends in his company, noted of the artist, that he would suddenly become silent and withdrawn, when a system moved over the Algonquin lakes. He studied it, almost as if it possessed a spirit within, that he wanted to understand.
I awoke, rather pleasantly, to the bright, penetrating sunlight, of a bitterly cold January morning, here in the ever-alluring wilds of South Muskoka. The sharp, loud and frequent ice cracks, of this minus twenty-five morning, were the reports that actually stirred me from my long winter's nap. I could hear more snaps well off in the distance, in the adjacent woodlands of Birch Hollow. Birds were vying for a place at the feeder, and others were chirping as if it was a summer morning instead. I looked out and thought to myself, it was what I call, a "Tom Thomson morning." What I mean by this, is that Thomson, had he been alive to companion this view with me, out over The Bog, with its criss-crossing animal pathways, might have found reason to make a sketch for posterity; possibly a painting of the frozen lowland, with its leaning old birches, and venerable evergreens, over the light and shadow of the sunscaped depression of the landscape. It was above all else, a picturesque winter panorama, with so much life and potential in the air; alluring one to wander the forest trails, trodden down by the nightly succession of deer, wolves, foxes, and dog walkers, out for a stroll in the moonlight.
I stayed in bed for a while longer, and thought about all those citizens of the world, who would not wake up to such an invigorating, hopeful scene like this; maybe hearing and seeing the flashes from missile explosions, pounding down on their neighborhoods. Maybe, even at this moment, in the Ukraine, Syria or Iraq. Fear and loathing permeates the impression of daily life, for millions of people on this planet, even on a good day, when, by considerable good fortune, they escape injury from shelling and terrorist attacks. I have always escaped from unpleasant realities, by immersing in either nature, or art work, that was inspired by wilderness experience. I don't take this view outside Birch Hollow this morning, for granted. I know better. When I sit down for my morning coffee, within earshot of the bird feeder, so busy this morning, I will inevitably dwell for awhile, on the scene out-of-doors, as I can see it from my chair; and then what is depicted by the artists, who I have companioned in our living room, to complete the experience. While at the same time, I am comforted by the luxuries of a warm, indoor space, with its inherent cottage inspirations.
In just over six months, it will be two years until the 100th anniversary, of the mysterious death of iconic Canadian landscape artist Tom Thomson, who is alleged to have drowned in Algonquin Park's Canoe Lake, in July 1917.
I will definitely be hosting a small but significant display, of some Thomson memorabilia we possess, from books, to the tenor banjo he may have owned, and sketched upon, now owned by my son Andrew. Two of the rare books on Tom Thomson will also be on display, including the first major work on the artist, by well known Canadian author, Blodwen Davies, in 1930, entitled "Paddle and Palette," and the 1937 book, "Tom Thomson," written by fellow artist, Albert Robson, and published by the Ryerson Press, of Toronto, and designed by Rous & Mann of Toronto, the graphics company that employed many budding Canadian artists. Both books, by the way, and my signed copy of "The Tom Thomson Mystery," by Judge William Little, (from the early 1970's), which really got me interested in the circumstances surrounding the artist's death, were all purchased in Gravenhurst, apparently a hot bed for Thomson books.
As a sort of lead up, to the anniversary year, I plan to offer numerous feature series, from now until July 2017, and I thought it would be appropriate to commence, with a closer look at these two important books that, in print, paint a critical and insightful profile of the talented Mr. Thomson, and his rise to national recognition in Canada, in the years just before his death in 1917. It would be very rare indeed, to get a copy of either book, in good condition and for a reasonable price; but it's material that should be known about this important Canadian artist. I will start today's blog by looking at Blodwen Davies book, also printed by The Ryerson Press. I do believe this book was privately financed by the author, who was the first person, to contact police, to suggest that the information she had gathered, in preliminary interviews around the Canoe Lake community, in the late 1920's, indicated foul play was most likely the cause of Thomson's sudden death and violent death. Her meddling was not appreciated by some people in government, and even by members of the Group of Seven artists, Thomson had inspired before his death. The police did a cursory investigation, but nothing with the kind of depth, and scope, that was required to solve the inconsistencies between the Coroner's Inquest, which was highly flawed, and the hearsay evidence of area citizens; who also believed someone had it in for the budding Canadian artist.
The content of the books does not dwell, on Thomson's demise, but rather, on his exceptional contribution to the national art movement, in Canada, at the time. Seeing as they are both early accounts of the artist's life and work, I find them particularly honest and entirely trustworthy, as reference material in the present tense. So now, let's go back to Algonquin Park, and Canoe Lake, on this crisp, cold, snow-laden winter day, and relive the period in the late 1920's, when Blodwen Davies was conducting her Thomson interviews. Blodwen Davies, by the way, was assisted, in later years, with Thomson research, by Dr. Frederick Banting, also an accomplished artist. It is more than rumour actually, that Banting and Davies became intimately connected, in the years following the release of this book.
"Paddle and Palette," (The Story of Tom Thomson - by Blodwen Davies, 1930 )
"Through the story of painting in Canada there stalks a tall, lean trailsman, with his sketch box and his paddle, an artist and a dreamer who made the wilderness his cloister and there worshipped nature in her secret moods. Tom Thomson, in his brief dramatic career, painted the north as it had never been painted before, and bequeathed to his people not only a few great canvases glowing with a new vitality, a new consciousness, a new emotion. The time was ripe for fullfilment. In his day Canada was stirring with a new faith, and out of the urge that moved the sentiment of his era, the spirit of Tom Thomson manifested itself.
"The artist, who gave to the new Canadian faith its symbolism, was peculiarly a product of his own soil. In birth, up-bringing, training and achievement he owned everything to his own land. Less than four years of his life were spent outside the boundaries of his native province. Tom Thomson was born just outside the Village of Claremonet, twenty-eight miles east of Toronto, on the fourth of August, 1877, Claremont is an old settlement of families from the British Isles. It is a beautiful and a prosperous bit of country. Into this rolling land ninety odd years ago came Thomas Thomson of Aberdeen as a settler. He was strong and willing and shrewd and though he boasted that he had 'never filed threepenny worth of paper in any school,' he was a Scotsman of fine characteristics, ready wit and jovial disposition."
Blodwen Davies writes, "Thomas Thomson arrived in the days when a man worked a year in return for a yoke of oxen, and when wheat and pork were the only commodities exchanged for cash. Eventually Thomson secured a farm site and built a log cabin by the side of the road. In time he prospered, and moved back from the road, up a slope, and built a one-story stone house of the granite field stones which were only too plentiful round about. The house still stands, a solid, thick-walled little building with small paned windows, though it is no longer used as a dwelling. Thomas Thomson had a son, John Thomson, who grew up into a great broad-shouldered youth. John married a young woman named Margaret Mathewson, who was also of Scottish pioneer descent and whose father, a builder and contractor, had come up from Prince Edward Island to go into business in what was then usually called Upper Canada.
"For the young couple, Thomas built another stone house, rather similar in appearance, except that it was built upon a foundation and so stood a little higher off the ground. It was only a hundred yards or so from the parental home. It too, still stands (as of 1930), a charming little cottage of beautifully coloured stones. It was so well and so cleverly built that it is the curiosity and admiration of present-day masons. In this house, five children were born to the young Thomson's wife. Elizabeth Brodie, died, and was carried up the road to the burying ground in Claremont. In the following year, Thomas himself died, much to the regret of the countryside where the hard-muscled, loquacious little Scotsman was greatly beloved. Even today old men who knew him in their boyhood, break into chuckles as they recall 'Tommie,' Thomson, and his droll tales, or recount his feats of strength and good natured boastings. Among other things, the old man was a famous fisherman."
Blodwen Davies continues her background of the Thomson family, by noting, "Apparently only his parents had kept John Thomson rooted in Claremont. No sooner had the two old pioneers been laid together in their graves, than John became restive. He had his own blunt methods of approach to his problems, so when he wanted to look about for another farm, he put a few things, including a spade, into a buggy, hitched his horse and started to drive off northward, searching for land. When he came to a place that he liked, he got out, looked it over, turned over a few spadefuls of soil, and, unsatisfied, moved on. Finally he came to a spot at Leith, on Owen Sound, which satisfied him. It was beautifully wooded country, reaching down to a sheet of water that promised good fishing. John Thomson secured his land and went back to Clairmont. About that time his sixth child was born, a son, named for his grandfather, Thomas John Thomson. When the infant was two months old, the Thomsons and their young brood set out down the road from the stone farmhouse - a roadway now disused and overgrown - to the main highway, on their way, to the new home.
"So Tom Thomson made his first journey, in his mother's arms, toward the north country, of which he was to become priest and prophet. There, in the big red house at Leith, the infant was rocked in a cradle that still stands in the attic as a memento of its famous son. There he grew up into a sturdy little boy, then into a dream lad and at last, into a lanky, dark-eyed, truth-seeking man. Thomson's country, where he spent the impressionable years of his youth, is a beautiful country in any season. In winter, the countryside has at times the quality of an etching, for when the landscape is drained of colour under low clouds, it takes on all the delicacy of tones in black and white. The lacey elms, the delicate birches, the dark and friendly first fringing the skyline or filling in the hollows would naturally impress a sensitive imagination, such as Thomson's. Fields outlined in old fences give a natural design to hillsides and meadows and there are times when the snow falls soft as eider-down, and piles itself upon the shelf-like branches of the fir trees inches deep, unbelievably beautiful, taking on strange sculptural forms. Great fields, where the woodcutter has been at work, look like fantastic mushroom beds when the snow lies on every stump in a great tam o'shanter. Spring has a tremulous beauty in this windswept land. Against the dark and ancient greens of balsam and cedar and their kin of delicacy of early greens in accentuated. The northern spring is abundant and extravagant. It breaks its alabaster box with a recklessness that wipes out the memory of the winter's bleakness at a stroke. Great stores of energy, moribund for months, and suddenly unloosed. These were the months that Thomson always loved even in the days when his mother took him out with her to the maple woods on the farm."
Davies adds, that "Summer is intense. The waters of Owen Sound, and Georgian Bay beyond, are rich in colour, almost jewel-like, and the land full of contrasts. However, it is autumn that is the rarest season of the year in the north. The green trees yield pride of place to those that range from the yellow of new minted gold to the crimsons of old wines. Thomson passionately loved the northern autumns. The Thomson family was augmented to nine boys and girls, the three youngest having been born at leith. The father was a bit of an adventurer in his farming, testing and experimenting with seeds and bulbs, as he did till his death in September, 1930. The mother was a flower lover, fond of out-of-doors and never so busy but that she could drop the task in hand when unexpected visitors appeared. Seldom did any one leave her home without a bouquet of blossoms. Several of the children played musical instruments, and they spent many a happy evening together in the old living-room amusing themselves and each other. Some of the boys and girls liked to sketch. The homemaker who followed the Thomsons in the Leith farmhouse found the cellar door covered with pencil sketches.
"John Thomson had inherited his father's love of fishing, and from him the young Thomson lads at Leith, in turn, learned the ancient art. As a youth, Tom Thomson was not strong. His parents worried a little about him. They encouraged his love of outdoors and provided him with a dog and a gun, as well as his fishing tackle. So off he went by himself into the woods. He got close to the heart of the north even in those early days as he rambled about the beautiful Georgian Bay country. One by one the boys left home to make their ways in the world. John Thomson was obsessed with the idea that all who could, should live upon the land. But none of his sons adopted his ideas, through three of his daughters married farmers. Two sons et out for Seattle, one of the, George Thomson, going into partnership in a commercial school. During these years Tom was restless. He had no particular objective. He felt himself a failure. Even then he felt the stirring of 'the wild bird in his breast;' he was conscious of power, cramped, and repressed; he was conscious of a great need to do something, but he had no one to direct or advise him. They were not happy years. A square peg was trying desperately to make itself fit into a round hole."
"At last Tom went to business school in Chatham, as his brother George had done. However, since Tom had no business instinct or 'money sense,' years of business training would never have made a commercial man of him. Eventually he followed George Thomson to Seattle and entered his school there. He was now about twenty four. It was time to be settling down to something definite. One day he suggested that he would like to work in an engraving house. Not long afterwards he secured a job in the art department of commercial engravers and was launched upon a vocation. The old inclination for sketching now came into good account. Pretty soon Tom could be trusted with orders, but as soon as he learned to master his pencil, Tom balked at slavishly following out other people's ideas. When he was left with instructions he would quietly go ahead and work out a design to suit himself. Though sometimes his boss would storm, a customer was never known to turn down a design submitted by the amateur artist. There are a few sketches in pen and ink or pencil, a few very amateurish water colours existing from this time. Thomson stayed three years or so in Seattle, but he was not contented and longed for his own countryside again. At last he returned to Toronto and there secured work in another engraving house. At length, compelled northward by his longing for the open, Thomson began that curious dual career of his, spending a few months every winter in the city as a commercial artist only in order to get enough money together to make it possible to live in the north from early spring until early winter."
In the next twenty-four hours, the eastern seaboard of the United States, including the cities of New York, and Boston, and then the Canadian Maritime Provinces, will be hit by a giant winter storm, bringing high winds, and potentially, wild periods of heavy snow and freezing rain. I feel bad for them, honestly, but I'm feeling thankful right now, that we're not in line for a direct hit. It has already seemed like a beast of a winter even compared to last year, which was pretty horrible, even for a nature lover like me. I can hardly wait to know what the groundhog sees next week. In the meantime, take it easy out there, and bundle up. I'm just going to huddle with Muffin the new Birch Hollow dog, by the hearth, and cradle a cup of tea; and thank God we don't dwell on the east coast.
Please join me tomorrow, for a return to the Blodwen Davies biography, of Tom Thomson, known as "Paddle and Palette," as part two of this week's Thomson profile.
TOM THOMSON AND A COLLECTION WORTH BUILDING
YOU DON'T HAVE TO OWN AN ORIGINAL SKETCH TO CELEBRATE HIS ART
IT FOUND MY EYE. OR MAYBE MY EYE FOUND IT. THERE IT WAS, WITHIN ARM'S REACH. A BOOK I SUSPECTED WOULD SOMEHOW CONTAIN INFORMATION ON CANADIAN LANDSCAPE ARTIST, TOM THOMSON. MY WIFE SUZANNE, AND I, HAD BEEN ROAMING AROUND THE LOCAL SECOND HAND SHOP FOR ABOUT A HALF HOUR, AND I WAS JUST WRAPPING UP MY BROWSING, WHEN AS A GIFT FOR THE PATIENT AMONGST US, I SAW THE DATE ON THE BOOK'S SPINE. THE YEAR WAS 1913. THE TITLE OF THE VINTAGE BOOK WAS "THE YEAR BOOK OF CANADIAN ART 1913." I JUMPED ON THAT BOOK LIKE IT WAS A LOOSE FOOTBALL ON THE ONE YARD LINE. THERE IT WAS. JUST LIKE THAT! ONE CRITICALLY IMPORTANT LINE IN THE BOOK, WAS WORTH FIFTY DOLLARS TO ME….JUST TO SAY I OWNED IT! AND KEEP IN MIND THAT I'M OBSESSIVELY FRUGAL WHEN IT COMES TO BUYING BOOKS. WHICH OF COURSE, WILL ULTIMATELY SIT ON MY OFFICE SHELF COLLECTING DUST. ANY BOOK I PURCHASE NOW HAS GOT TO FIT INTO THE BIG PICTURE. IT'S GOT TO BE A DIMENSIONAL INVESTMENT. A WRITING RESOURCE, AND ONE THAT HAS A SUBSTANTIAL VALUE ATTACHED. SO HERE'S THE ONE LINE, IN ONE BOOK, CANADIAN ART RESEARCHERS WOULD WANT IN THEIR ARCHIVES. BUT I GOT TO IT FIRST.
"Tom Thomson's 'Northern Lake,' is remarkable for its fidelity to the northern shore; boulders and undergrowth in the foreground, the brown water turned to the deep blue of the sky under the fresh gale that is putting white caps on the little lake."
From the book, reviewed in yesterday's blog, by artist Albert Robinson, (on Tom Thomson) you will remember the passage he wrote about "Northern Lake." After returning to Toronto from a lengthy stay in Ontario's Algonquin Park, Thomson arrived back in Toronto with a packet of newly completed sketches, which he let Robinson and his other painter friends look at, to see if there was anything salvageable. Just a few, including one sketch they found exceptionally well composed. "We urged him to paint one of his sketches upon a large canvas, and gave him the keys and use of the studio on weekends. So a 'Northern Lake,' came into being in 1913, his first attempt on a large canvas. It attracted the admiration of his fellow artists, and to his astonishment was purchased by the Government of Ontario."
It was only one line, but it was the first serious published review, of one of Canada's soon-to-be legendary landscape artists…..the man who led the way to the creation of the Group of Seven Artists. Unfortunately, he died before his own inclusion in the movement he help inspire.
The book also contains a large amount of Canadian art history from this period, including a chapter on Quebec painter, sculptor A. Suzor-Cote, by C. Lintern Sibley, another on The National Gallery of Canada, by Eric Browne, who became one of its critically innovative directors. It was Browne who was most influential opening up the gallery to works by Thomson and the Group of Seven. I also own a copy of the book Browne's wife wrote, following her husband's death, and it contains important information about Tom Thomson. The 1913 Year Book also contains chapters on the Montreal Art Club, The Ontario College of Art, The Toronto Museum of Art, The Ontario Society of Artists, The Toronto Exhibition of Little Pictures, written by well known artist C.W. Jefferys, who was then President of the Ontario Society of Artists; a chapter on The Winnipeg Art Gallery, the Royal Academy of Art, the Canadian Art Club, written by future Group of Seven member, Lawren Harris. Other relevant chapters to the study of Canadian art, includes French Canadian Painting and Sculpture, Montreal Art Association, Spring Exhibition, a chapter on Graphic Art by another future Group of Seven Artist, Arthur Lismer, and one entitled "Canadian Art: A Resume," by E. Wyly Greer, a past president of the Ontario Society of Artists.
So what was going on in Canadian art in the year 1913, other than Tom Thomson's joy at selling his first major painting? Here's a little of what E. Wyly Greer thought was important to note:
"The position of the painter in Canada, in relation to his contemporaries is very much the same as that occupied by the artist in England. In a land where the inhabitants pride themselves on their industrial achievements, the possession of the subtler senses is not wholly joyous, and the possessor is often looked upon with suspicion. As the fatigue produced by the tremendous and constant pressure of water is to the swimmer, so is the deadly, suffocating effect of the weight surrounding utilities on the artist, in a country of commerce. In England the dreamer of the family goes into the church, or accepts a mild tutorship. Sometimes he paints or writes poetry. Then his troubles begin. Either of these occupations is highly revolutionary in a British community. The artist is conscious of himself. He is probably defiant in his utterances in verse or in paint. If he is any good he can't paint acceptable Academy pictures, and can't write popular or salable verse. Only one here and there, whose talent is the superstructure of a very strong character, who is the more determined as he is the more rebuffed, ultimately succeeds.
"On this continent the artist is even more singular than in Britain. We have no leisured class; no idle sons to potter with dilettante pursuits, and who, almost unconsciously, drift into art. In Canada, the artistic youngster, realizing that he must make a living, apprentices himself to a firm of lithographers or designers, learns his 'high' art in the evenings at an art class or school, and gradually emerges into the glare of the public exhibitions and achieves fame. This fame is local in it early stages and is more easily attained than in England, where the competitors are more numerous, and where distinct recognition at the great exhibitions of Europe, is the criterion of merit. In Canada, too, those picture collectors who are not guided by the dealers are quick to recognize budding genius."
One of the most profound statements, made by Greer, reads as follows: "We who paint know something of the under-workings of this thing - the bubbling and churning which scarcely yet ripple the surface. The connoisseur is faintly cognizant; only the dealer is unaware. I am reluctant to introduce into the peaceful circle of the sister arts that perennial bone of contention, the subject of national art. But I believe that our art will never hold a commanding position, to use a soldier's phrase, until we are stirred by big emotions born of our landscape; braced to big, courageous efforts by our climate; and held to patient persistent endeavor by that great pioneer spirit which animated the explorers and soldiers of early Canada. The thing needs courage. All original art depends for its adequate utterance and ultimate victory upon the possession of this quality. The painter, beleaguered by the hosts of Philistia, is solitary, and must be a giant - first, to hold his fortress, and then to conquer the surrounding territory. There is something of the romantic interest of knight-errantry in our undertaking."
This was a highly visionary statement made by E. Wyly Greer. Prophetic in fact. Here was Thomson's bold and beautiful "Northern Lake," stirring the critics pen, and heralding a period that would see the creation of one of Canada's most profound shifts in art. And it was to be a rough road ahead. But here it is……a challenge to artists and the art community to be courageous….to take chances, and to "conquer the surrounding territory." It is even more profound, when you consider how the new work launched by the Group of Seven, left many art critics speechless…..and those who could speak, leveled considerable criticism. Much wound up in print, including rebukes form the likes of Hector Charlesworth, who had running editorial battles with Group members like A.Y. Jackson, as to what was acceptable and accomplished art. Charlesworth didn't appreciate the Group's apparent interest, in setting the new standard of contemporary art in Canada.
So here was this early call to arms, for Canadian artists, to challenge status quo. I made a good find. My newly acquired book was given a place of honor in my Thomson archives.
When I'm working on research projects, and collecting at the same time, to build a small library of pertinent books, I look for texts like this Canadian Art Year Book, because it inevitably contains important tidbits of information hard to find anywhere else. Some of it is contained in other related overviews, and summary histories, but I like the raw resource that actually puts me safely in the year I'm studying. There will be collateral information to draw on, to paint an accurate picture of what was going on in Canada, as far as the art community, in that specific year. I would like more of these. Here's why, in a nutshell. When someone produces a book on Thomson, for example, they choose to include research material, that supports their thesis, their editorial perspective, and they also make selections about information to be excluded. I hate that! I want the information they're deciding is irrelevant, because most of the time, what they're editing out, is information I find critical to the story. It happens all the time. Publishers want tight, to the point, cost efficient text by budget conscious authors. I'm nothing of the sort. What they cut out of a story, I would like to scoop up for my own archives. They don't offer it to me, and I suppose it just gets shelved in the Thomson file, and nothing more comes of it….unless there is a second revised printing. Chances are, the stuff I want will get cut again. The only way to beat this trend, is to own the reference material myself, so my dependance on subject authors, to present it in their books, becomes less of an issue. I've got lots of material on Thomson that I've never seen published anywhere else. I'm also guarded about it, as I'm sure you understand. I'm saving up for the hundred year anniversary of his death, in July 2017, when I hope to run my next feature series on Thomson's life and death, in one of the regional publications I'm currently connected.
I never know when this material is likely to surface. At a garage sale? In a job-lot of books at an estate auction? Thrift shop, second hand store, antique mall, or antique shop? But I never stop looking. I'm rewarded for my patience. If anything I can pass along, as a career collector, and historian, check every book, every box, every mysterious nook and cranny, and never say never. My finds are profitable.
One day, I would love to present to you, via this blog, a pic of an original Tom Thomson sketch, that I've found somewhere out on the local antique hunt. But you know what, in the meantime, I'll show you what may be an original Thomson sketch, on the back of a banjo skin, from a tenor banjo we purchased at an antique mall five years ago. See graphic above. Thomson once owned and played a tenor banjo but its whereabouts are unknown. This reference to the tenor banjo, and the fact it was missing, was included in the book, "Tom Thomson: Silence and the Storm," by David Silcox and Harold Town. Experts who have looked at the pen drawing of the "Gibson Girl," a well known graphic from earlier in the century, say it is in the artist's style…..but because it isn't signed…..well, you know the rest. The banjo belongs to my son Andrew. Was it once played by a legendary painter? We'll never know. But it's fun to speculate.
As far as collecting Thomson, or Group of Seven keepsakes, from books, commemorative stamps to prints, you will likely never run out of neat pieces to add to your walls, cabinets, display cases, or book shelves. Take a trip down to the McMichael Collection, in Kleinburg one day, and enjoy an amazing gallery tour of Canadian art, and a wonderfully stocked shop. You can also take a gander at the famous "Shack" Tom Thomson used to paint in, while working in Toronto, before he was given an opportunity to paint from the large Studio Building owned, I believe, by Lawren Harris
Thanks so much for joining today's blog. Please visit me again.
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