Muskoka Antiques; Old Graphics, Old Books, Old Writers - Douglas Duncan Part 3

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.

Muskoka Antiques; Winter Heritage Makes This A Year To Remember; Douglas Duncan Part 2

Early 1900's image of Manitoba Street in Bracebridge

Spring Flooding 1925, Bracebridge Falls without the Silver Bridge

THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT - THE BEAUTY AND THE HORROR OF THIS NEW-AGE WINTER

THE PRETTY PICTURE PART,  VERSUS THE BITING COLD AND ENDLESS SNOW

     SO, FOLKS,  WHAT IS IT THAT YOU DON'T NEED HAPPENING IN YOUR HOMETOWN, IN THE LAST SNOWY WEEK OF A HORRIBLE JANUARY? WELL, FOR ONE THING, THE LOSS OF A TOWN YARD FACILITY (BUILDING) AND SOME OF OUR SNOW REMOVAL EQUIPMENT.....AND YES, A SIDEWALK MACHINE.....AND THANK GOODNESS IT WAS THE BROKEN ONE (OF TWO), THAT GOT TOASTED? THE TOWN FACILITY IS AT THE EAST END OF JONES ROAD, AND SUFFERED ABOUT A HALF MILLION BUCKS WORTH OF DAMAGE, ACCORDING TO INITIAL MEDIA REPORTS. NOT A GOOD WAY TO START OFF THE WORK WEEK. NO CAUSE HAS BEEN GIVEN FOR THE FIRE, THAT OCCURRED SOMETIME EARLIER ON MONDAY. I GUESS WE'RE GOING TO NEED A FEW "LOANER" PIECES TO FINISH OUT THE WINTER SEASON. ALL THAT MATTERS IS THAT THERE WAS NO LOSS OF LIFE. WE CAN REPLACE MACHINERY AND A BUILDING.

MIGHT AS WELL RESIDE AT THE NORTH POLE

     THIS MORNING, AFTER PUTTING OUT THE RECYCLING AND GARBAGE, FOR THE MONDAY MORNING PICK-UP, SON ROBERT MET ME COMING UP THE HILLSIDE, WITH FROZEN BEARD, MOSTACHE AND EAR-LOBES, AND HE SAID WITH NARY A GRIN, "DAD, YOU LOOK LIKE THE LONE SURVIVOR OF THE FRANKLIN EXPEDITION." OR, "ONE OF THE FROZEN CREWMEN DUG OUT OF THE PERMA-FROST IN THE ARCTIC." WELL BY GOLLY, THAT'S EXACTLY HOW I FELT TOO. I STARTED TO CRY WHEN I LOOKED BACK AT THE ROOF, AND SAW IT, ONCE AGAIN, AT THE POINT OF REQUIRING YET ANOTHER CLEANING-OFF, WHICH WILL MAKE FOUR TIMES SINCE NEW YEARS EVE. WHILE OTHERS WERE SUCKING-BACK THE CHAMPAGNE, SUZANNE AND I WERE TRYING TO SHOVEL OFF THE ROOF IN THE HEAVY SNOW. I THOUGHT THAT I'D LIVED THROUGH SOME TOUGH WINTERS, HERE IN GOD'S COUNTRY, SINCE THE MID 1960'S, BUT NOTHING LIKE THIS WINTER SO FAR. WE'VE GOT TO BE SETTING SOME RECORDS HERE, IN JANUARY, ALTHOUGH THIS IS ONE CASE, WHEN BREAKING A RECORD REALLY SUCKS. GOT HOME ON SATURDAY EVENING, WITH EIGHT BAGS OF GROCERIES, AND FOUND THAT THE SNOW PLOW HAD DONE A CLOSE SHAVE ON THE BANKS, AND TUMBLED A DOZEN SNOW-BOULDERS INTO THE OPENING. WE ANTICIPATED HAVING TO SHOVEL, BUT NOT MONSTER BALLS OF SNOW. GOT UP THREE TIMES IN THE NIGHT, BECAUSE THE CATS WERE RESTLESS AND KNOCKING THINGS OVER, AND EACH TIME, I STOOD IN FRONT OF THE WINDOW, STARING AT THE ENDLESS DRIFTING OF SNOW OVER BIRCH HOLLOW. IT HAS BECOME A LIVING NIGHTMARE. I LOVE THE WAY IT LOOKS, BUT AS FAR AS DWELLING WITHIN THE SNOW-CAP, NOT SO MUCH.

     The coldest winter I remember, as a frequent traveller, was the year I accepted a reporting job in the Village of MacTier, working for the Muskoka Lakes-Georgian Bay Beacon....circa 1979. Both ends of it, in fact. The start of 1979 and then the end of it, the following December. It tried to kill me many times that year. I had to rent a used Datsun, that started when it felt like it, and not a second earlier. I had to drive from Bracebridge to MacTier, five to even seven days a week, if I got the call to work the weekend. I had a lot of late arrivals to work that winter, because of the severe cold, and the fact, I didn't have an outlet to plug the car in at home; or even a spot out of the wind to park the miserable little beast. All my cars have had their wee quirks and I dare say, human-like characteristics. The Datsun, for one, was a bastard. It hated me, and I despised it! I had to park on the side street along the back end of Bracebridge's Memorial Park, and that was less than optimum. The heater started to work by Port Carling, and got nice and warm, by time I hit the entrance to MacTier. That's also when the windshield finally was free of inside frost. My feet were finally warm by about two in the afternoon. I called that car filthy names all that winter season, and it punished me in oh so many ways. I was on a first name basis with three of the area towing firms, and I made about thirty-seven cents above expenses every week, but God bless credit cards. I was nervous about moving closer to MacTier, because I had it in my mind that I was going to be editor of our sister publication, The Herald-Gazette, in Bracebridge.....a hell of a lot closer to where I was living. I did everything I could to get that job, and if skullduggery was an asset, I was a wealthy man. When I got the chance, finally, to work closer to home, my acceptance of the offer, coming from the publisher, was stated to the affirmative, before he finished the sentence. I gave the Datsun back, kicked it in the arse-end once more for good measure, and it just gave me an icy stare, as if suggesting, "until we meet again." I bought a Chevette. It was worse. Those two cars communicated with each other, let me tell you, and at times, when I was driving along, I could swear it was whispering something to me, that sounded like, "I want to visit the mechanic, ...hole." And did we ever. I did save on gas mileage, but it was swallowed up by repair bills.
     While editor of The Herald-Gazette, we seemed to run a lot of weather related stories, and actually had our own correspondent, in Milford Bay....Mrs. Webster, I believe, who used to keep us informed about average temperatures, and precipitation amounts throughout the year. I don't know why it was, back them, in the early 1980's, but we got a lot of photographs and stories about bad weather of the previous century. My associate editor, Robert Boyer, who had operated the paper as a family business, for many decades prior to my arrival on the scene, used to run a column of recollections from the old newspapers, we used to keep downstairs, at 27 Dominion Street. So we'd run pictures of the main street, for example, with snowbanks about eight feet high.....with the caption, "Unusually heavy snowfall fifty years ago." There were some scary pictures of winters throughout the town history.....and where no picture existed, there were editorial pieces going right back to the early 1860's, about the truly inhospitable times of the rolling year.....and January got a lot of ink, even in the earliest days of the community press. I learned a lot about weather related news, through history, thanks to Mrs. Webster's stats, and Bob's weekly column, plus the fact we often had oldtimers drop by to share stories with us, about weather worse than we were having at the time. This would happen every time we ran a photo, or story about the latest snowfall event, as being particularly harsh or record setting. By the time the door opened to the office, the day after the paper came out, we'd be inundated with these retrospectives; and after my eleven years served with the community press, I had also inadvertently taken a course in "weather 101"..... picked up by immersion, from all the kindly remeniscenses. Along with this, I also received a lot of weather related lore, and how to know when the very next storm was going to bury Muskoka in drifts.
     I was also given an opportunity, to look over the log books, from the Anglo-Canadian Tannery, in Bracebridge, from the early years of the century; and every day made reference to the weather conditions, which was enormously insightful, and backed up the newspaper accounts that had been re-published by Mr. Boyer. I also had access to school journals as well, and weather reports were often included on the same page, that attendance was recorded; and often notations, where it was explained that pupil numbers were low, due to a snowstorm. So folks, this winter isn't strange or particularly nasty, if you were to look at weather over the past century, or more. Just because we haven't had one like this for a couple of decades, doesn't mean we've entered the next ice age. There are experts who blame it all on global warming, and I'm inclined to agree with them to a point; but as far as precedents go, how come we had even more aggressive winters seventy-five, and a hundred years ago? Did it have something to do with pollution as well, or the decrease of the Ozone layer?
     What all this weather-related experience offers me, as the casual bystander-historian, is the ability, (beyond the annual "coming of the groundhog," and the shadow-thing), to predict one hell of a spring flood upcoming. If I was still editor, I'd be running stories about floods in the past, and what makes the perfect flood condition with too much melt, too quickly, on a water-logged or frozen landscape. Meaning, too much water entering the rivers and lakes, all needing to exit the Muskoka Lakes over the Bala Falls. So we don't need much more snow to create the potential for more spring flooding. Last spring we had a lot more rainfall, which added to the late melt in April, and because the landscape couldn't absorb the additional moisture, it headed downhill, all the way from Algonquin Park; and that caused terrible flooding to many areas of our region. There's too much snow now, and we need a February thaw to lessen some of the volume. I worry now about an early spring, with sustaining warm weather, as I have seen before; the quick weather change from wicked to tropical. I can remember one year, not so long ago, raking our lawn during the March Break. This seems impossible for 2014, but stranger things have happened, and already this year, it has been three months worth of severe weather inside a month....late December to the present. By the averages of a lot of winters in the past, in this region, there's a good chance we're due for a lengthy period of warmer weather.....the kind shore dwellers will not like. A slow melt would be much better. If history serves? Take to the high ground! Make preparations for high water, the best you can, in the coming months, because it is looking very much like a repeat of last year's flooding. I understand, from some of my sources, that the lake water is already high.....or certainly more than is optimum before the spring melt. It's just my opinion....now, as an oldtimer myself; but there's a relevance to history here, and it does repeat. I've got a lot of corroborating evidence. Last year I watched as a dock, with two Muskoka chairs on it, went over the Bracebridge falls. First thing, is that if you have experience in Muskoka at all, you would know that the Muskoka River rises every spring to correspond with the run-off. It doesn't flood over its banks every spring season, but it will be as close as spitting; and if there were stats on just how many docks have gone the same route, over the falls, well sir, safeguards would be built-in....and the Muskoka chairs would come out when the high water subsides.
      On days like this, I like to think back to the winter Saturdays of my youth, when I used to watch the old Red Fisher show, taped from his favorite "Scuttlebutt Lodge," to learn more about angling and outdoors living.....while I was inside looking out. So far this year, I've been spending more time at "The Lodge," than out in the wilds.

A LOOK BACK AT THE WORK OF A CANADIAN ART PATRON - DOUGLAS DUNCAN

EACH GENERATION HAS HAD A CHAMPION OF THE ARTS

     ANTIQUE AND OLD BOOK DEALERS ARE HOBBY, AND SOMETIMES, FULL HISTORIANS, UNDER THAT CASUAL, NONCHALANT SHOP DEMEANOUR. THE FIRST STORY THEY WOULD HAVE READ THIS MORNING, IN THE DAILY PRESS, WAS THE REVELATION THAT AN EXCAVATION BELOW A PARKING LOT, IN ENGLAND, CONTAINED THE LAST REMAINS OF A COURAGEOUS WARRIOR, FROM THE LEGENDARY I5TH CENTURY WAR OF THE ROSES. IT HAS BEEN PROVEN, BY RESEARCHERS FROM THE UNIVERSITY OF LEICESTER, THAT THE SKELETAL REMAINS, FOUND IN THIS RATHER COMMON, URBAN LOCATION, WERE THOSE OF KING RICHARD III; WHICH, ACCORDING TO A REPORT IN TODAY'S TORONTO STAR, (FEB. 4, 2013, PAGE 8), WAS "THE LAST ENGLISH MONARCH TO DIE IN COMBAT." THE NEWS ARTICLE IDENTIFIES AS WELL, THAT DNA TESTING OF THE BONES, WAS ASSISTED BY CANADIAN RELATIVES OF RICHARD'S SISTER, "ANNE OF YORK," WHO ACCORDING TO THE NEWS TODAY, WAS A POSITIVE MATCH. WHAT A GREAT HERITAGE DISCOVERY. AND BELIEVE ME, IT FUELS US HOBBY ARCHAEOLOGISTS, WHO WOULD HAVE GIVEN ANYTHING TO BE ON THE LIP OF THAT EXCAVATION, WATCHING HISTORY UNEARTHED. WHILE IT PROBABLY APPEARS, WE ANTIQUE TYPES ARE BEST SUITED FOR INDOOR STUDIES, MOST OF US STARTED IN THE FIELD, HUSTLING FOR OUR DINNER. SO EVERY NOW AND AGAIN, THE URGE ARRIVES TO GET BACK TO HOW IT ALL BEGAN……AND THAT'S ALWAYS A CASE OF, WELL, A SINCERE, HONEST LOVE FOR HISTORY. IT'S ALWAYS AN EXCITING DAY WHEN HISTORY COMES OUT ON TOP FOR A CHANGE.

REVELATION AND CONTEMPLATION ABOUT BEING A PATRON OF THE ARTS

  

     I AM A TRIED AND FAILED ARTIST. MY WIFE DENIES THIS, WHEN AT TIMES I SKETCH SOMETHING INTERESTING, ON A BLANK PIECE OF PAPER, WHILE I'M TALKING ON THE PHONE. SUZANNE HAS SEEN SOME OF MY WATERCOLOR LANDSCAPES, AND KEEPS ASKING ME TO PAINT MORE. I'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO READ MY WIFE, IN THIS REGARD, BECAUSE IF ALL OF A SUDDEN I QUIT EVERYTHING ELSE, TO BECOME AN ARTIST, SHE'D LOSE CONSCIOUSNESS……AND THEN, UPON AWAKENING WITH A START, COMMENCE TO BEAT ME OVER THE HEAD WITH ONE OF MY ABSTRACTS, THAT I GUARANTEE, SHE WON'T UNDERSTAND. MY LANDSCAPES, BY THE WAY, LOOK LIKE ABSTRACTS. I GUESS SHE IS REALLY JUST ENCOURAGING ME TO DOODLE FOR THE FAMILY ALBUMS.

    SOME OF MY CONTEMPORARIES THINK I AM A FAILED WRITER. THERE ARE MANY WHO WISH THAT I WOULD TAKE UP ART INSTEAD, AND LEAVE WRITING ALONE. SUZANNE TELLS ME TO CARRY ON, AND LIKE THE BLINKERS THEY PUT ON RACE HORSES, THAT I SHOULD FOCUS ON THE TASK AT HAND. THAT I WATCH INSTEAD, FOR THE FIRST SIGNS OF THE FINISH LINE; AND PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE PEOPLE GIVING ME THE FINGER FROM THE GRANDSTAND. IF ANYTHING I RECEIVED FROM MY UNITED EMPIRE LOYALIST ANCESTORS, IT WAS A DEEP SEEDED STUBBORN CHARACTER THAT DOESN'T THWART EASILY. AS I HAVE ADMITTED MANY TIMES IN MY LIFE, IF I CAN'T PAINT, THEN I SHALL WRITE AS A SECOND CHOICE. THE COMPROMISE HAS BEEN MY DESIRE TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH ART AND ARTISTS, AND TO WRITE OF THEIR EXPLOITS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS. I AM ENVIOUS WHICH, IN THIS CASE, I HOPE IS AN ATTRIBUTE, UNLESS OF COURSE, I WAS TO BECOME SICKLY SWEET WITH MY REVIEWS, AND PROMOTE SOMETHING THAT IS OF A MUCH LESSER QUALITY…..JUST BECAUSE OF AN INFATUATION WITH ARTIST-TYPES.

     AT UNIVERSITY, IN TORONTO, I USED TO SIT AND WATCH MY ARTIST MATES, WORK AT THEIR PAINT BOARDS, IN A VARIETY OF ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS, AND ON EACH OCCASION, AT BED TIME, THEY HAD TO ASK ME TO GO HOME…..AND CEASE AND DESIST BOTHERING THEM. I WOULD BE BACK THE NEXT DAY AND THE DAY AFTER THAT, AND IF THE PAINT BOARD HAPPENED TO BE A STUDY, OR A PRELIMINARY WORK, I'D ASK IF I COULD HAVE IT TO DECORATE MY ROOM. WHEN I GRADUATED, THE HARDEST PART OF THE MOVE BACK HOME TO BRACEBRIDGE, WAS ACCOMMODATING THE FIFTY OR SO PIECES OF ART I HAD BEEN GIVEN BY MY ARTIST FRIENDS. I'M THAT KIND OF ART HOARDER EVEN TODAY, BECAUSE OF MY UNCEASING RESPECT FOR THOSE WHO ARE UNAFRAID OF USING A PAINT PANEL, AS I WOULD THIS COMPUTER SCREEN, TO AIR OPINIONS OF THE WORLD THEY SEE…..

     I AM ALWAYS ENCOURAGED WHEN I READ OR QUOTE FROM THE MEMORIAL BIOGRAPHY, OF LEGENDARY CANADIAN ART PATRON, DOUGLAS DUNCAN. LET'S RETURN TO THAT WONDERFUL LITTLE BOOK, AS WE LOOKED AT IN YESTERDAY'S BLOG. NOW HERE WAS AN INTELLIGENT, FAIR, AND ENCOURAGING PATRON OF THE ARTS IN CANADA. FEW WOULD DENY, WE NEED MANY MORE LIKE DOUGLAS DUNCAN, TO BOLSTER AND INSPIRE THE ARTS COMMUNITY.

     "The opening page of Evelyn Waugh's 'The Loved One,' introduces an Englishman, exiled in California, who is trying to make sense of an article in 'Horizon,' on Scottie Wilson. Scottie Wilson was, of course, one of that very large group of painters whose careers owed much of their success to a friendly push from Douglas Duncan, at a crucial stage. The 'Horizon' article speaks of Douglas Duncan as a 'refined and charming man.' The author of the article obviously did not know him, and the phrase is oddly out of keeping with the general tone of the article. It looks as though the phrase had been supplied by Scottie Wilson himself, or perhaps that he had insisted on some such phrase being inserted," wrote revered Canadian author, Northrop Frye, as published in the text of the short memorial biography, entitled "Douglas Duncan - A Memorial Tribute," edited by Alan Jarvis, 1974, University of Toronto Press.

     Frye adds, "If this is true, as it may well not be, it would be a good example of the way in which those who were fond of, or grateful to Douglas, might struggle for phrases to describe him, only to have the right one elude them. Of course he was a refined and charming man, but so have a lot of other people been, who never got anywhere near being Douglas Duncan. The phrase suggests something of a dilettante, which he was far from being. My own association with him professionally, was through Victoria College, where my wife was for years chairman of the Art Committee. The year's activity usually began by getting hold of Douglas. When suggestions for exhibitions did not come from him, they almost always referred to painters he knew about and had done something to help. Whenever he spoke, his encyclopedic knowledge came out in a context of complete simplicity and candor. He seemed to be a still centre in the swirling egotisms and aggressions and intrigues which characterizes the art world in all cities, and his critical judgements had the kind of impartiality that only a genuine sympathy can produce.

     "We all tend to like what is like ourselves; if we try to be objective, we may eventually come to like, what is like our best self. Canadian history and politics have always been polarized between two tendencies; one aggressive, exploratory, and romantic; the other reflective, observant, and pastoral. The same polarization occurs in Canadian literature and painting. In painting, the aggressive and romantic tendency is represented by (Tom) Thomson, the Group of Seven, and Emily Carr; in the second group I think particularly of David Milne and LeMoine Ftizgerald. Tolerant and catholic as Douglas' tastes were, he had a strong temperamental affinity with the second group, and he had an extraordinary genius for discovering painters of crisp, delicate, and precise drawing and coloring, whose work was close to a kind of pictorial calligraphy," writes Northrop Fry. "I never go into Alumni Hall, in Victoria College, where he had arranged so many exhibitions, without thinking of him, in the centre of a great mass of paintings, with his little pieces of green felt for twisting the screws, hanging the pictures, arranging them, disregarding the very considerable pain that his disc trouble often gave him. It is a picture of extraordinary selflessness; hard, conscientious, and almost anonymous work done so that the artist would have another exhibition to chalk up on his record, and Victoria students would have pictures to look at. Paradoxically, the memory of him is far more vivid than the memory of even the finest of the pictures."

     "In 1936 the Picture Loan Society was founded, with Douglas at first one of a committee and then, after awhile, solely responsible," notes his friend Norman Endicott. "This soon redirected practically all special book buying into picture buying (he was a trained book binder, and avid book collector), and gradually his own profession (book binding art) was put aside for the time consuming activities of a gallery and exhibitions. He bound no books after 1944. His own aims as a collector were expressed in a brief statement, based on an interview, in 'Canadian Art,' May-June, 1961. One sentence runs, 'I have no mission. I have merely assembled a large collection of oils, water colors, drawings, and prints that I have liked and that I continue to enjoy.'  Save for a few pictures sold, without profit, to the National Gallery and the Art Gallery of Ontario. I think he never resold pictures he had himself bought, so that, as his collection grew, so did the storage problems. Until his father's death head had lived in the large family home, where, as the family and its activities dwindled, he had taken over more and more rooms (the billiard room being especially useful). When the house was sold in 1964, he moved into two adjoining apartments, but soon overflowed into a third, all three naturally equipped with hardly necessary kitchens, save that one could be used as a dark room for photography. He made an attempt to house the framed pictures neatly in racks, the unframed ones on shelves or in wooden boxes. He intended to buy more bookcases for his books. But at the time of his death two of the apartments still presented an engulfing scene of shelves, stacks, trunks, boxes, and cartons - primarily of books, pictures, and gramophone records, but also of correspondence, old programs. Christmas cards going back to childhood, and various objects accumulated over a long time."

     Endicott notes that, "For many years, in all weathers and in at least three of the four seasons, Douglas spent quite a few weekends, and in the summer longer periods when he could, in Muskoka. There were also expeditions to the handsomer shores of Georgian Bay. With the pride of an amateur, he took a full and competent share in building his own cabin, carefully planned, and even painted a gallery gray inside. But as usual making no distinction between himself and others as victims of procrastination, the pipes to bring water to his sink were still not connected twenty years later, despite the necessity of carrying pails of water after more than once suffering from a slipped disc."

     He writes of Duncan, "Not in any scientific sense a naturalist, he was nevertheless very observant and knowledgeable about wild flowers and ferns, some of which he brought back to chosen locations in his own woods - and in his searches for these he came to know the maple and beech valleys, and the cedar swamps of at least a few miles of Muskoka, in topographical detail, as well as with a most accurate eye for every effect of shape and texture, especially, perhaps, the more delicate; lichen on old logs, maidenhair spleenwort in a crevice of rock, the shades of color in a hillside of hepaticas in early spring. The photographs he made of veined rocks and whaleback islets in Georgian Bay, stumps and roots in the water in Algonquin Park, patterns of lines and shadows in winter woods etc., or, at close range, of his colony of round-leaved orchids in full but delicate bloom, are very good standards. Naturally (artist) David Milne's feeling, for the same effects and landscape was a link between them, but Douglas also liked Milne's comments on his Hepaticas; 'Do you like flowers? So do I. But I never paint them. I didn't see the Hepaticas. I saw, instead, an arrangement of the lines, spaces, hues, values, and relations that I habitually use. That is, I saw one of my own pictures.' Unlike the Group of Seven, Milne did not reach epic rhythms or alien harshness and grandeur, but painted like an intimate and old inhabitant of the scene, and this, without making any invidious comparisons, appealed I think, to Douglas. But Milne also painted from whatever might be in front of him, from paper bags as willingly as from Hepaticas, and Douglas did not buy pictures for their sentimental associations."

     Endicott concludes, "Most of what I have been recalling is in some ways related to Douglas as a collector and bibliophile. A collector with admirable taste and judgement, an ardent bibliophile, may be a bore, or a man of little personal feeling, or attractiveness of character. Those who knew Douglas did not think of him first as the owner of pictures or books or other objects. His best books are now available in public libraries, his pictures a part of galleries across Canada. Douglas' friends remember the imaginative awareness of people as individuals, the sense of humor and the sense of the absurd which made him good company as well as a good friend."

     There is a lot more to explore, in the life and times of Douglas Duncan, Canadian Patron of the Arts. Please join me again tomorrow, for a continuation of this brief biography, of a man I deeply admired……and who greatly influenced my love of books and art. Thanks so much for visiting today. I always appreciate your company for these stories about collecting, conserving and respecting antiques, books, art and heritage relics. Farewell for now. See you again soon.

Muskoka Antiques, Giving Douglas Duncan Credit He Deserves in Canadian Art

Early Muskoka photo by the Bickmore Studio 

Bracebridge looking toward the town falls.

Historic Postcard Of Bracebridge

THE BIBLIOPHILE AND THE LOVER OF ART - A LIFE OF BOOKS, ART, WRITERS AND ARTISTS

DOUGLAS DUNCAN'S BIOGRAPHY - "A KEEPER"

     THE DUSTJACKET INTRODUCTION, TO THE CANADIAN ART BIOGRAPHY READS AS FOLLOWS: THIS IS AN UNUSUAL MEMORIAL TO AN UNSUAL MAN. DOUGLAS DUNCAN WAS A TORONTONIAN WHO, BY HIS PATRONAGE OF THE ARTS, HAS HAD AN ALMOST INCALCULABLE INFLUENCE ON THEIR DEVELOPMENT IN CANADA. A BIBLIOPHILE ALL HIS LIFE, HE BEGAN BY ESPOUSING BOOKBINDING AS HIS CHOSEN PROFESSION, AND AFTER STUDYING IN PARIS, HE RETURNED TO TORONTO TO SET UP AS A BOOK BINDER IN 1928. BUT THIS WAS ONLY ONE PART OF HIS LIFE, AND WHILE IN PARIS HIS INTEREST IN MUSIC AND PAINTING HAD GROWN AND MATURED. IN 1936 THE PICTURE LOAN SOCIETY WAS FOUNDED AND DUNCAN, AT FIRST ONE OF THE COMMITTEE, BECAME SOLY RESPONSIBLE FOR IT. IT IS IN THIS CAPACITY THAT HIS INFLUENCE WAS GREATEST; LITERALLY HUNDREDS OF CANADIAN ARTISTS OWE TO HIM, IN SOME MEASURE, A DEBT OF GRATITUDE FOR SOUND ADVICE, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND HELP GENEROUSLY GIVEN."

     THE 1974, UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PUBLISHED A BRIEF BIOGRAPHY, ENTITLED "DOUGLAS DUNCAN, A MEMORIAL PORTRAIT," EDITED BY ALAN JARVIS, WHICH WAS CONTRIBUTED TO, BY HIS FRIENDS, INCLUDING WELL KNOWN AUTHOR, NORTHROP FRYE, FORMER PRIME MINISTER OF CANADA, LESTER B. PEARSON, AND EVEN CANADIAN ENTERTAINER JOHNNY WAYNE, A PERSONAL FRIEND. PEARSON WROTE THE OPENING OVERVIEW OF MR. DUNCAN'S CONTRIBUTION TO CANADA. THE REMARKS WERE DELIVERED AT THE OFFICIAL OPENING OF THE DOUGLAS DUNCAN EXHIBITION AT THE NATIONAL GALLERY OF CANADA, IN MARCH 1971.

     "THERE ARE MANY HERE WITH A MUCH GREATER CLAIM THAN I HAVE TO SPEAK ON SUCH AN OCCASION, BECAUSE OF THEIR CLOSER ASSOCIATION WITH DOUGLAS DUNCAN, WHOM WE HONOR TONIGHT; THEIR GREATER KNOWLEDGE OF HIS LIFE AND WORK; OR BECAUSE OF THEIR OWN CONTRIBUTION TO THE ARTS FOR WHICH DOUGLAS DUNCAN DID SO MUCH HIMSELF. NOT THE LEAST OF HIS CONTRIBUTION IS THIS MAGNIFICENT GIFT OF PICTURES FROM THE DUNCAN ESTATE TO THE NATIONAL GALLERY (OTTAWA); A GIFT WHICH HAS ALSO BEEN MADE POSSIBLE BY THE GENEROSITY, THE INTEREST, AND UNTIRING WORK OF HIS SISTER, MRS. JACK BARWICK. I HAVE ALWAYS APPRECIATED THE UNIQUE QUALITIES AND THE CREATIVE WORK OF DOUGLAS DUNCAN. I HAD THE PRIVILEGE OF MEETING HIM DURING THOSE DAYS SO LONG AGO, WHEN, AS A STUDENT AT VICTORIA COLLEGE (UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO), HE WAS A MEMBER OF A SMALL COTERIE OF STIMULATING AND INTELLIGENT UNDERGRADUATES, INTERESTED IN COLLEGE ACTIVITIES THAT WENT BEYOND FOOTBALL AND PROMS (A GROUP THAT INCLUDED ONE DARK-HAIRED AN SINGULARLY ATTRACTIVE CO-ED WHOM AT THE TIME I WAS TRYING TO PERSUADE TO JOIN THE FACULTY WIVES.) INDEED, SHE SHOULD BE SPEAKING INSTEAD OF ME, AS ONE WHO HAS ALWAYS VALUED SO GREATLY HER FRIENDSHIP WITH DOUGLAS BEGUN IN THOSE YEARS.

     "DOUGLAS DUNCAN WAS A RARE PERSON. HE GAVE MEANING TO THOSE SHOP-WORN WORDS 'UNIQUE' AND 'DISTINCTION.' IT IS A DEPRESSING RECOLLECTION ON OUR TIMES AND ON TODAY'S MORES THAT THIS CONSTRUCTIVE WORK AND HIS DEDICATED SERVICE TO THE CULTURAL, NON-MATERIAL, DEVELOPMENT OF OUR NATION'S LIFE IS SO MUCH LESS KNOWN, OR LESS GENERALLY APPRECIATED, THAN THAT OF MANY LESSER PERSONS DOING SMALLER THINGS, WHICH WERE MORE NEWSWORTHY BECAUSE THEY WERE SPECTACULAR OR CONTROVERSIAL. BUT, AS SO OFTEN HAPPENS, THE IMPORTANCE OF HIS LIFE, AND HIS SERVICE TO THE ARTS TO WHICH HE DEDICATED THAT LIFE, IS BEING MORE WIDELY RECOGNIZED NOW THAT HE HAS GONE."

     I HAD BEEN LOOKING AT MY REFERENCE COPY, ONE DAY AT THE SHOP, HERE IN GRAVENHURST, SIMPLY BECAUSE I HAD TAKEN IT FROM HOME IN THE MORNING, TO MAKE SOME NOTES FOR THIS BLOG OVERVIEW. IT WAS SITTING ON THE DESK, FOR LACK OF A BETTER PLACE, THAT MOMENT, AND A WOMAN CAME BY THE COUNTER AND GRABBED IT UP; STUDYING IT FOR PURCHASE SUITABILITY I SUPPOSE. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR THIS BOOK……IT'S IN REALLY BAD CONDITION, AND IT WAS A LIBRARY DISCARD YOU KNOW…..I'LL GIVE YOU A COUPLE OF BUCKS FOR IT," SHE BLURTED BEFORE I GOT MY HEAD FULLY ABOVE THE DESK….AS I WAS PUTTING A COUPLE OF GLASS BOWLS BELOW THE SHOWCASE. "IT'S FOR SALE ISN'T IT; IT WAS ON THE COUNTER," SHE REMINDED ME, AS IF THAT WAS ALL IT TOOK TO BE AN ACT OF FUNDAMENTAL RETAIL.

    "NO MADAM, THE BOOK IS NOT FOR SALE," I SAID, AS RESPECTFULLY AS I COULD….IT'S MY PERSONAL COPY, AND I'M USING IT FOR A RESEARCH PROJECT." SHE LOOKED AT ME WITH CONSIDERABLE DISDAIN, SO I ASKED HER IF SHE HAD KNOWN "DOUGLAS DUNCAN," AND SHE ANSWERED, "I KNEW OF HIM…..BUT I WANTED THE BOOK FOR MY HUSBAND WHO COLLECTS CANADIAN ART," SHE REPLIED. "WOULD YOU SELL IT WHEN YOU FINISH READING IT?" "NO, I WILL NEVER PART WITH THIS BOOK, BECAUSE I CONSIDER MR. DUNCAN THE KIND OF ART PATRON I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE…..BUT COULDN'T AFFORD…..SO I LIVE VICARIOUSLY THROUGH THE WORDS OF THIS WONDERFUL LITTLE BIOGRAPHY." SHE LOOKED AT ME WITH EVEN GREATER DISDAIN, HUFFED AND PUFFED LIKE AN OLD STEAM LOCOMOTIVE, AND STOMPED FROM THE STORE, AS IF BY BODY LANGUAGE ALONE, THE MESSAGE WAS CLEAR……I WOULD NEVER SEE HER IN OUR SHOP AGAIN. NOW CONSIDERING SHE WOULD HAVE ONLY SEEN THAT BOOK FOR ABOUT TWO OR THREE SECONDS, ON THE FLY BY OF THE COUNTER, IT WAS JUST ONE OF THOSE SITUATIONS, THAT COULD HAVE BEEN ABOUT ANY BOOK THAT HAPPENED TO BE ON THE COUNTER AT THE SAME TIME. IT HAS HAPPENED BEFORE, THAT SOMETHING ON THE DESK, WITH NO OTHER CUSTOMERS AROUND, MEANS A "NEW ARRIVAL," AND POSSIBLY SOMETHING IMPORTANT THAT HAS YET TO BE PRICED." I DON'T THINK SHE HAD HEARD OF DOUGLAS DUNCAN. BUT IT STIRRED ME UP A BIT, THAT IN HIS HONOR, I WOULD DEFEND THIS BOOK, THAT LOOKS AS IF IT HAS PASSED THROUGH A COMBINE-HARVESTER AT SOME POINT. I CAN TELL YOU ONE THING. IT HAS HAD THOUSANDS OF READERS PASS OVER ITS PAGES SINCE IT WAS PUBLISHED, ATTESTING TO ITS COMPELLING STORY. AS SOMEONE INTERESTED IN BOTH ART AND BOOKS, THIS HAS BEEN ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE REFERENCE TEXTS, THAT VALIDATES SORT-OF, WHAT I'VE SPENT MY OWN LIFE WORKING AT…….OUT OF ENJOYMENT MORESO THAN ANY QUEST FOR HUGE FINANCIAL GAIN. DUNCAN'S BIOGRAPHY HAS BEEN IN MY COLLECTION THE LONGEST, AND IT'S JUST ONE OF THOSE STORIES THAT REMINDS ME, WHEN I BECOME CONSUMED BY STATUS QUO, BOREDOM AND FRUSTRATION, THAT IT'S PART OF THE PROCESS OF COMPLETING A LIFE-LONG PROJECT. NOTHING EXTRAORDINARY. PLAIN OLD COMMONPLACE, IS WHAT IT ALL ADDS UP TO, BUT BY GOLLY, DOUGLAS AND I HAVE BEEN THROUGH A LOT OF JAMS IN THE PAST……..AS I TRY TO FIGURE OUT WHAT I LOVE MOST…..ART OR BOOKS, BECAUSE AT TIMES THERE DOESN'T SEEM TO BE ROOM FOR BOTH. RETREATING TO THE BOOK, THE MESSAGE IS……CARRY ON OLD CHAP…..LOVE AND CHERISH IT ALL, BECAUSE LIFE IS FLEETING. MAKE FRIENDS AND KEEP FRIENDS. I WONDERED ALOUD, WITH A LITTLE ECHO IN THE SHOP, WHETHER, IN FACT, I SHOULD HAVE RUN AFTER MY CUSTOMER TO OFFER ANOTHER APOLOGY FOR HOARDING THIS NEAT LITTLE ART HISTORY. HEY, YOU CAN'T PLEASE EVERYBODY, AND SOMETIMES YOU JUST HAVE TO SETTLE FOR PLEASING YOURSELF. SO I SAT DOWN WITH A COFFEE AND A MUFFIN, AND READ MORE ABOUT THE LIFE AND TIMES OF MR. DUNCAN. I'VE READ THIS BOOK AT LEAST FIVE TIMES ALREADY. EACH TIME I FIND SOMETHING ELSE I NEED TO KNOW BUT HAD FORGOTTEN.

PEARSON'S TOAST TO A LONG SUFFERING PATRON OF THE ARTS IN CANADA

     "HIS LIFE SPAN COVERED THE UNLIKELY COMBINATION OF KALAMAZOO, CORNWALL, PARIS, AND, OF COURSE, TORONTO, WHICH BECAME THE CENTRE OF HIS INTERESTS AND ACTIVITIES, AND WHERE HE IS BEST KNOWN," WRITES PEARSON, ORIGINALLY GIVEN AS AN OPENING PRESENTATION, AT THE NATIONAL GALLERY.

     "BOOKBINDING - WITH WORK OF BEAUTY AND STYLE - WAS HIS FIRST ARTISTIC LOVE AND EXPRESSION. IT LED NATURALLY TO THE COLLECTION OF RARE AND GOOD BOOKS FROM WHICH MORE THAN ONE LIBRARY - BUT ESPECIALLY THAT, AT THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO - HAS BENEFITTED.

     "He will, however, be remembered best for his 'Picture Loan Society' - so unique a concept and so uniquely his own, and through which he did so much to spread the gospel of appreciation of Canadian painting, and encourage and help those who painted. No young artist who ever approached him was ignored or rejected. The operation and the influence of the Society was - as Alan Jarvis has written - 'Douglas Duncan's intangible legacy,' while his collection of paintings, now so widely distributed, was its tangible expression. All Canadians who love painting are his debtors - and especially those who themselves were enabled and encouraged by him to paint and persevere," wrote Lester Pearson. "The way the Society carried on, as well as how it operated, reflects well the kind of person Douglas Duncan was; this tall rumpled, unconventional, and to many, I suppose, disconcerting man. In a time of bowing down to corporate and organizational efficiency, which can be so depressing in many ways, he was supremely and wonderfully unorganized and unorthodox. His business methods, which are now becoming a Canadian legend, rejected 'C O D,' for 'P Y R,' - Payment for your Request. However, if you pressed too hard for a bill, you were in danger of being cut off the list of clients. Even today there must be hundreds of people wondering how much they owe Douglas Duncan - and I am reducing the debt now simply to money. In this frightening age of computers and psychiatric couches, one can gain comfort and hope from Douglas Duncan's insistence: 'Thank God, I have no system!' What this country needs - I believe Douglas Duncan would agree with me - is 'more unopened letters and uncashed cheques;' more 'third floor backs on 3 Charles Street West,' even if it means fewer skyscrapers for super banks."

     "He was modest and unassuming in everything he did - to the point of self-effacement. His satisfaction came from what he could do for art and artists, not what he could do for himself, by collecting paintings, or anything else. It is not always so, even in the cultural world," notes Pearson of his art patron friend. "Norman Endicott, in writing of Douglas Duncan, once said, 'The way you hear about the 'Mellon Collection,' you'd think Mr. Mellon himself had painted it. There's none of that nonsense about the 'Duncan Collection.' Douglas once said that he merely considered himself 'a casual collector.' Indeed he seemed to regard with suspicion any formal concept of 'collection,' and 'collector.' Alan Jarvis quotes him as saying, 'A collector is the sort of person who owns works by six members of the Group of Seven and lives in torment until he can fill the gap with a purchase of the seventh.' That kind of collector, today, would not free himself from torment even after achieving the seventh; what will a white paper on taxation eventually do to any of his pictures? Lorenzo the Magnificent would not find it too easy to be a public benefactor and a blessed patron of the arts in the federal state of Canada in the last half of the twentieth century," which is a pretty profound statement to be made by a former Prime Minister of Canada. "Douglas Duncan's casual collection of paintings, including those by which the National Gallery will no so greatly benefit - as practically every gallery in the country has benefitted, is a roll call of Canadian artistic talent.

     "The paintings of (David) Milne are, of course, a major part of the collection, but they are only a part. Douglas was a Catholic, if discriminating, in his appreciation of art, as he was generous in his encouragement and assistance of artists. Yet of Milne, he had a special attachment. I share his feeling for the work of this strange but authentic genius who put beauty above all material things. The many who have so greatly enriched our artistic life by his perception, and his generosity, has thereby enriched our whole national life. In doing so, he has, I hope, helped us to realize that there is far more to national development than a seven per cent annual increase in G.N.P.; and far more to personal development than reaching the highest income tax bracket or the lowest golf score. I am privileged tonight to pay this humble tribute to a quiet, unselfish Canadian who 'wrought better than he knew'."

TRIBUTE BY ALAN JARVIS TO HIS FRIEND DOUGLAS DUNCAN

     "On the occasion of the opening of an exhibition, at the Willistead Gallery, in Windsor, in October 1967, of a selection of works which he owned, Douglas Duncan, to the astonishment of a good many people, walked to the lectern and spoke on his own behalf. The astonishment arose because Duncan had always been self-effacing to the point of invisibility and had cocooned himself in a persona of shyness which had become legendary. Slowly surveying this handsomely presented exhibition, Douglass announced, 'This is not a collection…..it is an accretion.' As always he was using language with precision and he spoke quietly and calmly but with authority. His noun was perfectly accurate. He was not a collector as the word is normally understood. He never beat about the bushes and hedgerows seeking bargains or finds. Instead, he hived up at 3 Charles Street West, Toronto, and the artists (and collectors of the conventional mould) came to him, trudging the three flights of stairs with their portfolios or canvases under their arms. They were greeted by a quietly affable man who, more often than not, squatted on his hunkers - a position he found comfortable and which allowed his visitors to see over his head to the important things, the pictures - with a cigarette poised between elegant, attenuated fingers. They were greeted by a dispassionate D.M.D. (I shall use this trigram henceforth because it was the way he liked to sign his sporadic letters or dedicate the countless books he felt the young needed for their edification, and which he distributed like a one-man Gideon society) If or when they presented their work his judgement would be direct, considered and frank - sometimes even brutal - but almost always of impeccable taste. I use the word almost because I was privileged to share with him the choosing of works to be included in the Willistead show, and from time to time, after long contemplation, we agreed that certain works did not merit hanging alongside the obviously first rate. On a few occasions - usually out of sheer kindness - DMD had adopted young artists of promise, promise which they never fulfilled. Without either recrimination or regret, their work was shifted to the 'study collection.'

    If you like Canadian art, and the fine art of bookbinding, and the old books to go with it, please join me again tomorrow, for some additional biographical information on this stalwart patron of the arts in Canada……Douglas Duncan, who we should all know about…..but sadly, there just aren't enough of his biographies to go around. So I want to share a portion of this interesting life for my readers, who may never own, even a beat-up copy, as I do, as a cherished reference copy and ongoing source of inspiration…..to be of sensible proportion about this "collecting thing."

     Once again, it has been a pleasure, serving your reading interests. While I have often flattered myself as a humble patron of the arts, my participation has always been well beneath the standard set by the good Mr. Duncan. My contributions so far, have mostly been in the editorial capacity, of producing, out of personal interest and not financial reward, local artist biographies, here in Muskoka, for use by the National Art Gallery, and Art Gallery of Ontario archives, which have included profiles of landscape painters, Robert Emerson Everett, Bracebridge, pioneer artist Ada Florence Kinton, Huntsville, Richard Karon, Lake of Bays, and in the near future, Canadian artist and printmaker, Frank Johnston, formerly of Gravenhurst and Picton, Ontario. With the exception of the Everett biography, both Karon and Ada Kinton can be archived on this blog-site. The Johnston biography will be published on this blog-site as well.  Please join me again tomorrow, for more information about Douglas Duncan, and his contribution to the rising popularity and acclaim of Canadian art and its artists. See you again soon.