Part Two, Tom Thomson Biography From Paddle and Palette 1930 By Blodwen Davies

PART TWO - TOM THOMSON "HAD THE WOOD LORE OF A VOYAGEUR," THE DEVOTION OF A NATURE LOVER, THE SENSITIVE PERCEPTIONS OF AN ARTIST

THE 1930 BIOGRAPHY, "PADDLE AND PALETTE," BY BLODWEN DAVIES


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     One might easily imagine, having read the artist's biography, seeing Tom Thomson's silhouette, bold against the glittering moonlit lake, sitting alone, silently sketching the atmospheric wavering, the legend of the Northern Lights coming to life, fanning in soft rainbow colors, high over the Algonquin night-scape. It was the same when wind-storms etched down over the lakeland, and thunder and lightning electrified the scene, in the late spring and early summer, when the weather was hot and humid. From the first tell tale sign a storm was brewing, the initial rumble of thunder, Thomson would watch as the weather event unfolded, changing the calm, serene lakeside, into a steaming cauldron, with its dangerous undertow, and windswept pines, struggling to stay rooted along the rocky shoreline. He found art most profound, when depicting these tumultuous turns of climate and season. His complaint about the summer, was that it was "too green," but the storms gave him the contrast he was looking for, on those lonely vigils communing with nature. He saw beauty within the catastrophes of nature, as much as he did, the energy of life, manifesting, in a most contradictory way, in the amalgamated autumn colors, which he may have even seen, as a most inspiring surge of powerful life-forces, balanced precariously on the cusp of death; before the leaves would fall, and be blown free of the hardwood boughs. He experienced nature intimately, by being cradled and nurtured in its bosom. Blodwen Davies understood this, one of few biographers who appreciated how the artist within, was as much, the visual poet and naturalist, exhibiting his unsubstantiated, but personally fulfilling philosophy, the embedded allure of his paintings.
     It was said, by one of Tom Thomson's friends, that the artist was within earshot, on one occasion, when an admirer of his work, noticed, and then commented on an art panel, depicting the Northern Lights. It is to be supposed Thomson had just finished a number of sketches, while in the park, of the Northern Lights, and may have had them spread out at Mowat Lodge to dry, (or elsewhere), beckoning comments from passersby and guests. The comment Thomson heard, reflected on how "cold and lonely" the scene made them feel, a sort of visual "haunting," and the artist perked-up and seemed, by appearances, to revel in the credit, which didn't have anything to do with technical execution of the painting, but everything to do with the mood of the Northern Lights, captured on the paint board. It's what he wanted patrons to say, or feel about his art; especially, if they pointed out, for example, how accurate his colorations were, according to the actual color of the water, at various times of the day, the trees, the sky, and even the petals of the wildflowers he captured in profile, from his sojourns in the woods. He didn't at this time, worry quite as much about the technical critiques, as long as voyeurs thought his portrayals of the Algonquin landscape, for example, made them feel he understood the intricacies of this wild place.
     Blodwen Davies, it seems to me, never received the credits she deserved, for her biographical portrait of Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson. She has been more intimately associated, as a reference point, with those who have written about the mysterious circumstances, that led up to Thomson's death; ruled by a coroner's report, as being the result of accidental drowning. Judge William Little was the first to use her research, taken from interviews of residents, in the Canoe Lake community of Ontario's Algonquin Park, in the late 1920's and early 1930's. When she found that many of the residents, at that point, had convictions, Thomson had been the victim of foul play, and then dumped into the lake by someone who wanted him to disappear quickly, Davies went to the provincial police with her suspicions the coroner's report had been in error. The police allegedly did a brief survey of the situation, and then dropped it entirely. What Blodwen Davies did create, however, was a lingering doubt about what had actually happened to the budding iconic landscape painter. It was a suspicion that was largely ignored until the 1950's, when William Little, an admirer of Thomson's work, having once been affiliated with a Canoe Lake summer camp, decided with some friends and associates, including artist Jack Eastaugh, to dig up the supposedly vacated Thomson grave, in the Mowat cemetery. It couldn't be considered an exhumation, under the legal definition, because the coffin had been dug-up less than a day after it was buried in the Algonquin soil, back in July 1917. This was arranged by George Thomson, on behalf of the family, with a Huntsville undertaker, by the name of Churchill; and the body was shipped by rail southwest, a few hours later, for re-burial in the community of Leith, Ontario. No coffin in the ground; then it would not be considered an exhumation. So feeling there was no liability, they dug deep, and in a variety of places, thought to be close to what had been described as Thomson's original burial plot. The only problem, of course, is that they hit wood and a lot of it, six feet under. There was a coffin in Thomson's former plot, in Mowat, and a skeleton found inside, presumed to be the remains of Thomson. The spark for all this, and Little's later book, "The Tom Thomson Mystery," published in the early 1970's, was the 1920's intrusive and revealing interviews by Blodwen Davies, who knew there were many inconsistencies in the original coroner's report; and even questionable testimony from those residents in attendance, that July night, in 1917.
     This short series of articles on Tom Thomson, is not intended to target, or stir-up controversy, about the mysterious circumstances of his death. Most researchers today, agree that Thomson met with foul play, was dumped unconscious into Canoe Lake, by the murderer, and would meet his end, most likely by drowning, afforded the unfortunate circumstance of being paralyzed under water. Most I have communicated with, also believe Thomson is still buried in the Mowat Cemetery, as William Little and his mates, on that macabre exhumation discovered, and that his plot in Leith today, contains little more than remnants of a metal casket, used by the undertaker, to ship what was probably no more than some Algonquin soil, from the park to the family plot. Even to this day, however, the individual who went public with her doubt, as far back as the late 1920's, has received very little credit for her own due diligence, and the fact it was so compelling, she took the matter to the police. As it would turn out later, even Judge Little had only marginally better fortune, when he handed police a full skeleton. Forensic testing indicated the skeleton had belonged to a man of First Nations' ancestry, and definitely wasn't the mortal remains of Thomson. It is known there was political objection to making the case a sordid public affair, which happened regardless, when the CBC aired a well crafted documentary, also in the early 1970's, based on Little's assumption, Thomson was not only murdered, but was still pushing-up daisies in the Mowat Cemetery. The work of Blodwen Davies, as the record clearly shows, has always been considered an excellent source in regards to Tom Thomson, named in the bibliographies of numerous books, but, in my opinion, never taken as seriously as she should have been by past biographers, and historians.
     The reason Davies couldn't go much further, other than to suggest foul play could have been a factor in Thomson's death, was her friendly relationship with certain members of the still-new, Group of Seven artists, who did not want to drag their artist friends name through the proverbial Algonquin mud. She is known to have had a romantic connection with Dr. Frederick Banting, also an aspiring artist, with friends in the Group of Seven, making it somewhat awkward to write openly about her suspicions, Thomson had been murdered. Banting shared some of her concerns, and was even helping her research the story, long after her two books had been published, in 1930 and 1935; and in Toronto bookseller, Dora Hood's biography, she references visits to her shop by Davies and Banting, looking for research material including historic documents, regarding Thomson's life. It can be said with some accuracy, that she never gave up the theory, Thomson had been disposed of, by someone in that Canoe Lake community, for reasons unknown. It has given many writer / historians the platform to continue the investigation, now nearly one hundred years after Thomson's tragic death, at what some claim, was the budding year of his art career. Davies is frequently used as a source of information, but very seldom have I read a glowing review of her original biography of the artist, which I think is outstanding, and well written in every way. Of course, she was well known as an accomplished Canadian author, with many regional books to her credit. I find her descriptions of Thomson quite remarkable, almost as if she had known him well as a friend. It's why I am so pleased to own a rare copy of "Paddle and Palette," published and paid for, by the author / historian, in 1930, as was her second book, in 1935. It was republished in 1967 as a special printing, in celebration of Canada's Centennial Year. Here now is a continuation of the story, as commenced in yesterday's blog, which you can archive if you missed the first installment.
     "As soon as the north country was habitable, Thomson started out with his canoe and his packsack, a forest ranger woodsman, or guide. Unnumbered lakes and rivers he paddled through, uncounted islands he camped upon in those years. He soon had a reputation as the greatest fisherman in the north. To the envy and exasperation of other men, he would quietly paddle out where they were luckless and return with a string of fish. 'Tom was never very proud of his painting,' says a friend of the artist, 'but he was very cocky about his fishing'," wrote Blodwen Davies, from her notes collected from interviews in the Canoe Lake neighborhood.
     "The country around Georgian Bay, Muskoka, and Algonquin Park, the old Indian land, had a curious quality. Those who once yield to its fascination can never forget it. It is the great playground of Ontario. But in those years Thomson learned to know it as no one had ever known it before. He had the wood lore of a voyageur, the passionate devotion of a nature lover, the sensitive perceptions of the potential artist. Thomson must have felt some of the pagan response to this land, which had made the Indians, for centuries past, people every lake and island with their legendary gods. It is not every man who can live alone in the north country. Strange thoughts crowd about a solitary camper in the pregnant silences. But in that solitude Tom Thomson was happy. He was strong and confident at large with his paddle and fishing rod. He became so expert that he frequently paddled with one hand, and fished with the other. At night he would pitch his tent on some rocky ledge or at the edge of a woods, build his small camp fire, bake or broil his fish, make his biscuits or flapjacks and brew his tea. He was known not only as a celebrated woodsman, and fisherman, but as a cook of excellent repute.
     "In the long silences as he lay on the pine needles, or balsam boughs, the north told him her mysteries, the skies bent over him and showered him with their stars. He saw starlight and moonlight spilled into the dark waters, and turned to silver, he saw dawns that were great orchestrations of light and colour. Month by month he watched the magic turning of the year, possessed with the wonder of the primeval, from snow to snow, until he was driven out by merciless winter. Then, back at his desk in an engraving house, he existed till spring came again, dreaming of twisted pines, and ancient waterways and skies, blazing in cosmic splendour."
     Blodwen Davies records that, "In 1911 he was working for the firm of Grip. J.E.H. MacDonald, a fellow artist, is a very fine draughtsman and designer, influenced Thomson's tendencies in design. Frequently Thomson did the work on designs originated by the older man. Several of the men were dissatisfied with being merely commercial artists, and spent a good deal of their leisure sketching from nature. They invited Tom to join them. About that time there were in Canada, a number of young artists who were groping about for an interpretation of the Canadian landscape. They were conscious that there was a difference between the landscape of Canada and that of France, England or Italy, but they were at a loss to capture or express the difference. They were dissatisfied with what had already been done, yet they were, so far, only experimenting with their own theories. Here and there a canvas appeared, which showed the trend of their aspirations, some few which actually captured the sense of Canadian landscape. It was fortunate for Tom Thomson, that he fell in with these enthusiasts. He found problems, that all are striving after the seemingly unattainable. He felt that they were all kindred spirits in their search. Thomson bought himself a sketch box and paints and brushes, and set out with his friends to try them out on a sketching trip on the outskirts of Toronto.
     "What do you do with these blame things?' he asked, as he opened the box and prepared to start work. Such was Tom Thomson's introduction to the medium of oils. For the first two years his painting was tight and lacked breadth and colour. In the third year he mastered the use of pigments and thereafter, until the end of his brief career, he painted like a genius. To say that Tom Thomson was an untrained artist, with the natural gift for painting, as has so often been said, is hardly true. It is true that Thomson never attended a school of art, but he had the advantage of intimate contact with men, who were thoroughly trained in painting. Today, (1930), several of the men who were closest to Thomson, in those important years of his development, have dominant positions in the arts in Canada. They were already potential directors of creative thought. In addition to the influence of MacDonald as a designer. Thomson had the benefit of the keenly analytical and adventurous thinking of Arthur Lismer, a fellow artist in the engraving house, fresh from training in Belgian schools. He already had something of the spirit of a crusader, fighting for the right of the individual to create, regarding art then, as now, not as a profession, but as a way of life. To no one, could Tom Thomson have turned with his secret aspiration better than to Arthur Lismer, with his practical sympathy and philosophy of art."
     The biographer, Blodwen Davies adds, "Then, while Thomson was still struggling with his medium, be became a studio mate of A.Y. Jackson, recently returned from training abroad. Jackson was a Montrealer, enticed up to Toronto by Lawren Harris, another young Canadian artist, of independent means, as well as independent mind, who had also returned from European studios and was devoting himself to painting Toronto street scenes. He was in search of other young Canadian painters, who were on the same spiritual trails as himself, and when he found enough of them, he financed the building of a studio, in which some of them could work together. He had discovered in a canvas of A.Y. Jackson, at an art society exhibition, a quality which indicated the painter's trend of thought, and eventually the young Montrealer was induced to join the Toronto group. During January, 1914, Thomson and Jackson moved into Number 1 studio, in the new building, on Severn Street, in the ravine in Toronto, just off north Yonge Street. The two men became close friends. The men who knew Thomson best, speak of him with a deep-rooted affection. Shy, silent, reserved as Thomson was, he had the ability to instill the deepest loyalty, and the deepest affection in his friends. Jackson possessed a fund of common sense, a keen sense of humour, a great tenacity and a lively vision. He was the ideal companion for the groping, dreamy, temparmental Thomson. Both of them were fundamentally 'men's men.' Their approach to life was simple and direct, their material wants were few, they enjoyed roughing it in the open, and could live simply and on their own efforts, in the big bare studio. Moreover, each was keenly conscious of the spirit of his own land. Thomson's need of expression was chiefly emotional. Jackson's was a blend of emotional and the intellectual.
     "Jackson, the trained artist, the fine colourist, and the practical visionary, had much indeed to give the reserved, impractical genius striving so patiently for a means of expression. Yet Thomson too, had much to give Jackson. His passionate devotion to the north, to the very rocks and trees and waters of the wilderness, must have been something of a revelation to the city-bred Montrealer," writes Blodwen Davies, observing that "Jackson's contacts with the land had been in Quebec, or in France, and Italy, - a Europe drenched with tradition, a vast sketching ground, or a Quebec throbbing with the life of a simple, home-loving devotional race. Month after month he listened to Thomson's tales of the primeval wilderness, where man could get within sound of the heart-beats of Mother Earth, where the land was vibrant with a life that had not yet been subdued, to the needs of a mechanical age. All that winter, Thomson was in intimate daily contact with Jackson, a training which, if not based on Jackson's store of knowledge, gained at the price of so much patience, sacrifice and labour. All that he had, Jackson shared unstintedly with Thomson. It was one of those magic hoards, which, divided, mysteriously multiplied itself. In that winter Thomson learned release for his colour sense. He learned how to simplify and summarize. His work gained strength, breadth and brilliance as a result.
      "Each autumn Thomson's friends had awaited his return from the north impatiently, anxious to see his harvest of sketches. In the late autumn of 1914, when he returned to Toronto, it was to a sadly disturbed circle. All the promising efforts of the past two or three years, lay under the blight of war. On Thomson's birthday, August 4th, 1914, young Canada took up the sword. However, the friends got together as usual. Tom set up panel after panel that set their imagination on fire. His friends rejoiced with Tom. As months went by in the trial by fire of war, Canada found her nationhood, the little group realized that Canada had also found her soul; that the times were ripe for a national art. His friends were unstinted in their praise of Tom's work. That winter they watched his progress with genuine, unselfish delight. No longer did those splendid moods elude him. He painted at last with prismatic brushes. However, Thomson was never satisfied with his own work. Sometimes he was prey to moods of depression when a canvas would not turn out as he had expected it. Yet he knew elation too, at times, when a picture grew under his brush, and brought out something of what he felt of the spiritual beauty of the primeval north country."
   I can still so clearly recall, the first time our family visited the wonderful sanctuary, of the Tea Lake dam, in Algonquin Park, where Tom Thomson often angled in the shallow rapids, and black pools; then sketching from the hollow, where white water splashes over the flat and jagged rocks, spread across the creek-bed as stepping stones. I felt the essence of his spirit that day, and it was just as I had imagined, when I began research into the Tom Thomson mystery, in the mid 1990's, and having had very little experience in Algonquin. My interest was inspired in part, by Judge Little's book. I remember the evening when the Tom Thomson documentary, on CBC was aired, shortly after the release of Judge Little's book, and being absolutely fascinated by the contradictory information, about his death, and the whereabouts of his body; as one man doesn't require two gravesites. Even as a high school student, I became interested in finding out more about Thomson, his art work and his sudden death in July 1917. It was in the early 1970's that I decided to make Thomson a life-long project, and it quite literally has turned out this way. I have written hundreds of feature stories, columns, and overviews, in a number of regional publications in Ontario, and blogs during the past four years, and just when I think I've got nothing left to put to print, some new source of information becomes available, and I immediately want to highlight it for my readers. I am already working on a special year long series in commemoration of the 100th anniversary of his death, to begin in July 2016, to end in the summer of 2017 after twelve issues. I will announce the publication that will carry it, in the near future. I also plan to host a small but unique display of Tom Thomson pieces, inspired and promoting the artist, to show, in a small way, how the artist became iconic in public perception, through commercial exposure since his paintings first caught the attention of Canadian art admirers. This will also be launched at roughly the same time, in July 2016 and carry on for a year.
   Please join me in tomorrow's blog, for part three of the Tom Thomson biography, as written by art and Canadian historian, Blodwen Davies, from her under-appreciated 1930 book, "Paddle and Palette." Later in the week, we will also examine Albert H. Robson's 1937 biography, simply entitled "Tom Thomson," an equally well written overview of the artist's work and accomplishments.

NOTE: The article below originally ran in the Great North Arrow regarding Roy MacGregor's important book on the ever enduring Tom Thomson mystery. On this the first day of July, in respect to the 96th anniversary of the artist's mysterious death I have opted to rerun this column.

96 YEARS AGO TODAY TOM THOMSON DIED WHILE TRAVERSING CANOE LAKE IN ALGONQUIN PARK

ROY MACGREGOR’S CRITICAL APPROACH -

TOM THOMSON AND WINNIE TRAINOR GIVEN FULL SCRUTINY

By Ted Currie

A number of years ago now, Canadian art historian, David Silcox, gave me good advice about the study of Tom Thomson.

The author of numerous, well respected books on Canadian artists, and the famous Group of Seven, reminded me to never become so preoccupied with the artist’s mysterious death, that his contribution to the heritage of this country, via art, should becomes a lesser consideration.

It has been happening since Judge William Little’s book, "The Tom Thomson Mystery," hit bookshelves, back in the early 1970's. Assisted by Little’s credible research, assisting with a widely viewed CBC documentary, from the same vintage, a sinister, cold-case scenario was adding murder to the legend, of the life and times of Tom Thomson.

Arguably, over the decades, his alleged murder has gained a momentum of its own. How many admirers now, when looking at his art work, have a loose smidgeon or two of mystery, swirling about in their minds? How did he die? Who would want to kill him? How can one man be buried in two cemetery plots?

. While suspicion had been raised in the early 1930's, by Thomson biographer Blodwen Davies, the CBC and Little had now made a large scale foray into the safe domain of accepted thought. The Coroner’s ruling that Thomson had been the victim of accidental drowning, in Algonquin Park’s Canoe Lake, in July 1917, apparently was full of holes. From the 1970's to the present, the subject of Thomson’s "drowning or murder" has spawned everything from a cottage game, to a plethora of tomes written and re-written, each one to read more exciting and revealing than the other. Thomson’s demise has inadvertently become an income generator for a lot of creative types. Just for the record, I have never earned one cent from writing about the Thomson mystery.

"Tom Thomson; Silence of the Storm," authored by Silcox, and colleague, artist, Harold Town, was one of my most coveted art resources, when I first began writing Thomson-themed columns for the local press, back in the mid 1990's. I own a signed first edition of this large format gem of Canadiana, and I’ve kept the author’s words in mind, whenever tackling a feature series, such as this one for The Arrow, where Thomson factors prominently into the story-line. Fascinated by Thomson’s art panels, David Silcox, without purposely intending to block "mystery" from consideration, certainly influenced this writer to adopt a more insightful, respectful appreciation for his creative endeavors in life. Regardless of how entertaining the story has become, intruding upon the circumstances of his death, for all these years, it is for me today, a secondary consideration to the study of his paintings. When I look at his art now, I do so differently than I did in the early years of research, when I put murder most foul ahead of all sensible proportion. I was determined to solve the case, name the murderer, and find the precise location of his mortal remains.

I have long been a fan of Judge Little’s book, and I have a signed first edition of "The Tom Thomson Mystery," of which I am delighted to own. But my prized acquisition, also a signed first edition, is Roy MacGregor’s newest book, "Northern Light - The Enduring Mystery of Tom Thomson and the woman who loved him." I actually was the first to inform David Silcox, then in England, about the release of this latest Thomson study. Always interested in updates about Thomson, he was curious about MacGregor’s approach, especially when I let him know he had employed the services of a forensic artist to do a facial reconstruction, from the skull uncovered by Judge Little, in the 1950's, during an impromtu exhumation of the supposedly empty Canoe Lake gravesite.

Thomson was supposedly exhumed and moved from the Canoe Lake Cemetery, only days after his original burial, and re-buried in a family plot in Leith, Ontario. Rumors around the lake led Little, and mates, to believe Thomson had never been moved from Canoe Lake. There was a lot of evidence supporting this assumption. With a quandry like that, why not dig up a grave? Indeed bones were found, when the band of contemporaries, on this macabre outing, put the spades through the rotten wood of the found coffin, said to have been the same one that had contained Thomson’s remains. Without question, this was destined to be an enduring mystery, as it has had, from the beginning, so very many curious events, strange characters, odd comings and goings, and coincidences on top of one another.

What is so interesting about MacGregor’s book, without question, is the fact he has now become the "keeper" of the truths, hearsay, rumors, expectations, embellishments and falsehoods about the Thomson mystery. He has become, in one alluring, sensibly prepared compendium, a worthy archivist of many theories and related details of Thomson’s final days; his death, burial, re-burial, and all the strange cast of characters who played a role, large or small, in what today is a full fledged, no holds barred mystery. And it’s his excellent portrayal of Thomson’s love-interest, Winnie Trainor, of Huntsville and Canoe Lake, that colors in the black and white of a former bare bones, incomplete history. As much as a forensic artist can put a face to a skull, Thomson researchers, long into the future, will be able to use his book as an information fountain, where nothing is summarily left out, but rather stacked to overflowing, for the benefit of discerning readers, researchers, to formulate new theories and enhance sidebar stories. As I mentioned in my last column, Roy MacGregor has become the go-to author, for anyone truly interested in a thorough examination of the past 94 odd years, of what most Thomson enthusiasts would call, wild speculation.

In Roy MacGregor’s earlier historic novel "Shorelines," the author offered everso subtly, a tease of actuality, a taste of the way it was, when portraying, with considerable inside knowledge, the relationship between artist and love-interest. He clearly established a precedent for a second book on the subject. It wouldn’t be a work of fiction either.

By his own admission "Shorelines" got him into trouble with some of his own kin, because of his family relationship to Winnie Trainor. Some of the information was too revealing. On the other hand, "Northern Light," is trouble worth taking, for what it reveals about Winnie’s conflicted life following her beau’s tragic death. I was amazed by MacGregor’s insights about this most important woman, and her role throughout the entire Thomson biography. Without this knowledge previously, the story was at best, a deep echo of unfinished research. Don’t think for a moment, Winnie Trainor wasn’t a key player in the Thomson mystery. She was. The book will explain why.

I won’t give away the story-line of a book I thoroughly respect. It is gracious to Thomson’s art work, and it reminds me of the advice by David Silcox, to separate the realities of his art from the strange nuances of conspiracy and alleged murder. He has done this, while at the same time, not holding back information about the artist’s less than stellar moments, as painter Jackson Pollock’s biographers, had no choice but to reveal his eccentricities, over indulgences and emotional outbursts.

After reading many speculative tomes on Thomson, it was MacGregor’s book that illuminated the artist in a human-on-human context, that we can relate to with some added poignancy. What has been written about Thomson’s character, has offered little more than a faint sketch, with nary a trace of mortal fibre. MacGregor’s work, as a sort of re-animation of the artist, allows for us to see for ourselves, the potential of an artist as a young man; a man with a mate, in the throes of either romance or the crisis of a relationship, and an unwanted pregnancy. There is the sensation of an actual heartbeat, and it makes this book special to my interests, in understanding the whole story of the Thomson mystery.

"Northern Light," released in the autumn of 2010, was published by Random House, Canada, and is available in most new book stores. If it’s not on the shelf, you can order one. I had talked to Roy late last year, about a book signing date in Huntsville. He said he’d let me know. And I’ll let you know if a date is scheduled this summer season.

Thanks for joining me for this column. More Tom Thomson stories to come

Tom Thomson, Paddle and Palette 1930 Biography By Blodwen Davies; Tom Thomson's Tenor Banjo

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.

Good Finds If You Take The Time; Autographs Just To Flip For A Profit, Sucks

VICTORIAN FAMILY PHOTOGRAPH BY A GRAVENHURST STUDIO, FOUND IN ORILLIA. DO YOU KNOW THIS FAMILY?

ARE THERE ANY ANTIQUE TREASURES LEFT TO FIND? IT'S THE REASON I WILL DIE AS AN ANTIQUE HUNTER

1,001 REASONS WE WON'T ABANDON OUR MISSION TO FIND ELUSIVE TREASURE

ACTUALLY, THE ABOVE-STATED "1,001 REASONS" I REMAIN AS AN ANTIQUE DEALER / COLLECTOR, UNTIL DEATH, CREATES THAT EXPECTED PARTING OF THE WAYS, COMES DOWN TO ONLY ONE SIGNIFICANT REASON…..THE OTHER 1,000 ALL RELATE TO THE SAME THING. THE TREASURE. THE BIG FIND. THE SO-CALLED HOLY GRAIL WE'VE ALL BEEN SEARCHING FOR…..IN OUR RESPECTIVE AREAS OF COLLECTING EXPERTISE. ARE WE GREEDY? FUNNY THING, THAT! IF YOU WERE ASKED THIS, IMMEDIATELY AFTER READING THE INTRODUCTION ABOVE, YOU'D PROBABLY ANSWER AFFIRMATIVELY……."ANTIQUE DEALERS ARE A GREEDY LOT!" IF HOWEVER, I HADN'T OPENED WITH THIS BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA, YOU MIGHT HAVE SAID THAT ANTIQUE DEALERS AREN'T ANY MORE GREEDY THAN MOST IN THE GENERAL POPULATION. IF I WAS TO SEND OUT A QUESTIONNAIRE TO ALL THE ANTIQUE DEALERS IN THE WORLD, I CAN'T IMAGINE HONEST ANSWERS COMING BACK THAT SUGGEST, "OF COURSE WE ARE GREEDY; WE WANT MORE AND MORE WEALTH." MAKING BIG FINDS IS A BIG DEAL, BUT SURPRISINGLY ENOUGH, IT'S OFTEN TIMES SPAWNS A SERIOUS AND DEPRESSING LET-DOWN FOLLOWING SUCH MOMENTOUS OCCASIONS…..AND GETTING A BIG CHEQUE AS A RESULT, LIKELY ISN'T GOING TO SATISFY THE URGE TO CARRY-ON. THIS ISN'T UNIQUE TO THE ANTIQUE TRADE BY ANY MEANS. BUT WE'RE THE ONES WHO APPEAR SO HELL-BENT ON MAKING BIG MONEY AS A DAY TO DAY ENTERPRISE. IT WOULD, OF COURSE, BE HIGHLY HYPOCRITICAL TO SUGGEST WE DON'T LIKE TO PROFIT FROM OUR WORK, BUT IT IS WORTH NOTING, THAT EVEN MULTI-MILLIONAIRE DEALERS AND COLLECTORS, STILL SEEK OUT THE ADVENTURE OF "THE HUNT." LOOK AT THOSE WHO SEEK OUT SUNKEN TREASURE SHIPS AND UNDERWATER BOOTY……PIRATE LOOY, BURIED TREASURE, AND YUP, EVEN THE HOLY GRAIL OF THE TEMPLAR KNIGHTS……THEIR MYSTERY-LADEN, YET TO BE UNCOVERED, HIDDEN STASH.

I have never yet, with all the scrounging and thousands of miles invested in over thirty years, found an original A.Y. Jackson sketch. Not even a hanky he may have stuffed in his pocket, on sketching trips. I've never found his cap, an old sweater he used to wear while painting, or a glass he used to drink from while at home. But by golly, I've found three of his autographs on books, all signed opposite to what he wrote in capital letters, on his art panels. On books, and for autographs he gave admirers, he penned his name as, "a.y. jackson." No kidding. It would be an unbelievable moment, to one day, find an original Jackson tucked behind another piece of art in a frame, or in a job-lot of auction items, purchased for a tiny bid. But it has happened similarly to antique / art dealers and collectors, and every time news of this spreads throughout our profession, it regenerates our interest generally, and profoundly, to carry on the "Quest." As I have said before, beware of the dealer or expert in a particular collecting field, who advises that there are no good finds left out there. These folks are just trying to clear the field, and keep you out of their way. There are no shortage of good finds.

Those who make a good living in the antique field, are most likely, particularly savvy at networking with other dealers. While I've written about generalist dealers, such as myself……having no pre-set rule about what I will buy and sell (there are a few exceptions), many specialist dealers as well, have a list of ready buyers for what they may come across, by happenstance, out on the hustings. They may collect Canadian or American landscape art, but if they were to find an abstract, by someone like Canadian artist, Harold Town, or a nice example of American legend, Jackson Pollock's, paint-dripped art boards, it would be natural and obvious to either acquire on spec., or make a couple of phone calls to those in the art community, who would most want those works. A lady in the United States did buy a suspected Pollock at a yard sale for under fifty bucks. It's problem stemmed from the fact it wasn't signed, but gave every appearance of an original. We are never too specialized, to walk past, and ignore a quality antique that possibly can turn a profit at some point. I might not care for Henry Moore's sculptures, like the City of Toronto's "Archer," but I'd climb over a tall building, while naked, to own one. I can learn to like stuff. I'd love to have his autograph. So depending on the circumstance we are faced with, we can change, and network our good finds to someone else……who will potentially, be so happy with the discovery, we will be handsomely rewarded…….possibly spawning a trade for something we do want. I had a Coca Cola collector who did this frequently. He would trade me all kinds of neat stuff, from boxing gloves to cricket bats, for any old Coke memorabilia I would find on our hunts. The same can happen at the high end as well, just as it does on our level of hunting and gathering, what may be seen as nothing more than average knick-knacks, from week to week. Well sometimes, us low echelon dealers can come up with surprises as well……and we'll be only too glad to contact a stratosphere dealer who sells Chippendale, or fine art, or an auction house, if it means we can make enough profit to buy a new muffler for the company van.

Quite a few years ago now, I was in an antique shop operated by a European chap, who was running his business in an industrial park. There were two distinct sections, that required crossing from one block of the building, over a green space, into the annex about fifty yards opposite. He had some neat pieces and had only been opened a few months when we visited. When I antique-hunt, I will gladly talk to folks, and the vendor obviously, but when this happens, I stop shopping entirely. There are trade secrets I will never reveal, and I certainly won't allow myself to be studied by an associate dealer. If I continue to shop and talk, I can't focus properly, and I am much more prone to making a bad purchase. There are things I study, and angles I examine, on a subject piece, that could tip-off a vendor, that he has somehow under-researched and under-valued the specific object of my immediate affections. This gentleman would not take his eyes off me. I don't fault him for this, because he didn't know us, and truthfully, watching your clientele is a measure of preventative maintenance. This guy wasn't giving me any room, to examine anything without offering his companion commentary…..giving many reasons why I should buy what was in my hand. Suzanne was sliding under the radar, looking at fabric antiques. He was obviously a chauvinist, because he determined early on, I was the guy with the fat wallet. How wrong it was to pre-judge in this fashion, as I am usually always without more than a few coins for the parking meter. Suzanne is my manager, and I never make a major purchase without full discussion with her. I trust her judgement.

I also don't get along with "close-talkers," and this chap wanted to climb into my ear. Every now and again I'd turn suddenly, in order to change direction, and I'd almost hit his cheek with my large beak. Finally the guy found Suzanne, with a large pile of vintage fabrics…..possibly a quilt if memory serves, and left me for a few moments to browse unimpeded. So I found an interesting landscape that I suspected was the handiwork of George Thomson, brother of legendary Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson. It wasn't signed but it was in Thomson's style…..which was very much different than his brother's art panels. I had quite a few greeting cards that had George Thomson prints on the front, and I had already owned three of his originals, purchased in Gravenhurst, so I knew there was a ninety percent chance the one I was holding was the result of a Thomson brush. In Muskoka, by the way, Thomson used to paint with his artist friend Bob Everett (the pharmacist-artist), and if you were to look at the work of both men, side by side, you might agree they shared styles as well as picnic lunches, while out sketching.

The dealer spotted me looking at the small framed landscape, and almost leapt over a dining-room table and chair, to get to me before I put it back on the shelf. He nattered on and on, and was splashing my cheek with water droplets from his rather noxious breath. So trying to step back to get a little "me" space, he obviously felt he needed to emphasize how important it was to make a sale on an obviously slow Saturday. "You like that painting don't you?" he asked, grabbing my shoulder like my grandfather used to do, when he wanted me to stop picking at his rose bushes. Before I could answer anything at all, he blurted, "If your wife buys those quilts, I'll give you that landscape for twenty bucks." I could have kissed that guy on the lips and stroked his forehead. I knew that Suzanne had that tell-tale inner glow that was subtly, but noticeably radiating out her pores, as a "yes" aura…..so it didn't take me long to shake the man's hand, and state with gentlemanly affirmation, "Sir, I will accept your generous offer," while inaudibly asking that he never, ever, glom onto me again. So the bottom line of the hunt and gather episode, was that we got two "as is" but easy to repair quilts (Suzanne does this), and quite a nice Thomsonesque landscape, presumably of either Algonquin or North Muskoka. I sold it to a collector an hour after it was offered at a sale we were attending in the Village of Windermere, on Muskoka's Lake Rosseau.

So what's so interesting about this? The Thomson panel wasn't signed, so the value was about half what it would have been, with the usual provenance? The exception? The out-of-the-ordinary situation? Well, that would be the early 1800's folk art painting of a sailboat that was wedged behind the Thomson landscape, that someone had used as a backing….for whatever reason. I won't suggest to you that this happens all the time, but it does occur more frequently than you might suspect. The Thomson was sold for $150, and the folk art sailboat, went for just over $200. Not bad for a twenty dollar investment. In fairness, I did not know there was a second painting tacked into that very modern looking frame. But this is what was being sold, and this is the luck of the Irish antique dealer. In the past decade, I have found at least a dozen doubles, when detaching the original frames, and probably another dozen vintage photographs that were also used as backing material. It's not uncommon to find that an artist, when framing his or her own work, will often use another of their paintings, they disapprove of, as padding for the art work they want to showcase. I will sell them together, in this case. I've had two this year, that were painted on both sides, one of these, the artist, in my opinion, had put the best watercolor in the back….as compared to what had been selected as the best art work.

On another occasion, I went to a garage sale just before it wrapped up, and a gentleman I knew, basically refused to sell me individual books I had pulled out of a collection of ten jammed boxes. He wanted me to take all the books off his hands. The price was right, but most of the books were damaged and would have to be recycled. The books I wanted were "money" titles, and signed first editions, so I had to avoid getting angry, as I really wanted to hang onto my finds. I tried to reason with him, but he just kept turning his back on me. I asked Suzanne to deal with him, and he did the same thing……"Take them all, or take none, it's the same to me." Oh I hate that line of reasoning. So his pig-headed compromise was to give us a fantastic deal on the lot. Ten dollars takes them all. I would have given him twenty for the five in my hands. But he wanted them gone in entirety. So we paid him the ten dollars, and the boys loaded them into the van. When I got home, with Suzanne still frowning like a Victorian matron, I stood at the back of the van, with Andrew and Robert, looking through some of the books to see how many we could salvage. Andrew opened one book, and he started yelling, "Dad, dad you won't believe it," and there in his outstretched hand were five tall-boy hockey cards (large format paper stock) from the 1960's original six teams, of the National Hockey League, in very good condition. Those cards not only made up for the ten bucks we paid for the lot of books, but bought us a nice Sunday dinner out, and thirty dollars on top of that profit. And yes, we find many interesting and salable materials stored inside books, including money and real four leaf clovers.

Finds like this, through a career as long as ours, keeps us intrigued, and motivated to carry-on the antique hunt. If you're a collector / dealer yourself, you have many similar stories undoubtedly, which makes the enterprise a little more entertaining…..than most people realize, when discussing us, and our profession in our absence.

Thank you so much for joining today's blog. Please come again.

THE PURSUIT OF AUTOGRAPHS - FOR FUN BUT MOSTLY PROFIT

WHILE SOME GET AUTOGRAPHS TO FLIP FOR PROFIT - I JUST WOULDN'T DO THAT - BECAUSE IT'S EXPLOITIVE AND UNFAIR TO THE CELEBRITY

     I HAVE NEVER IN MY LIFE, - NOT ONCE - SOUGHT OUT AN AUTOGRAPH, FROM A CELEBRITY, AS PART OF MY ANTIQUE AND COLLECTIBLE INTERESTS AND BUSINESS INVESTMENT. I HAVE HAD AUTHORS AUTOGRAPH BOOKS FOR ME, BUT JUST BECAUSE THEY WERE SITTING AT THE TABLE, PEN IN HAND, AND WELL…..WHY NOT. BUT I DIDN'T ASK BECAUSE IT WAS GOING TO MAKE THE BOOK MORE VALUABLE. IN A LOT OF CASES, IT DOESN'T, UNLESS THE CELEBRITY DOING THE SIGNING, IS A MAJOR PLAYER IN ENTERTAINMENT OR SPORTS. SOME BOOK PURISTS WOULD PREFER THE AUTHOR SIGN ON A SEPARATE PIECE OF PAPER, SO AS NOT TO DAMAGE A FIRST EDITION COPY. THE SAME GOES FOR THINGS LIKE SPORTS CARDS, HIGHLY VALUED FOR THEIR PRISTINE CONDITION. AN AUTOGRAPH CAN IN MANY CASES, ACTUALLY DE-VALUE A COLLECTOR CARD…..PRIMARILY IF THE PLAYER FALLS OUT OF FAVOR, OR RETIRES PREMATURELY. THEN THE CARD IS CONSIDERED DE-FACED, AND WORTH LESS THAN IF IT HAD BEEN UNSIGNED. FOR THE CELEBRITY PLAYERS, THIS ISN'T SUCH A BIG DEAL, BUT THERE ARE STILL COLLECTORS WHO DON'T LIKE ANY INTRUSION ON THE CARD'S PRINT INTEGRITY. THEY'RE HAPPY TO HAVE AN AUTOGRAPH TO ACCOMPANY THE CARD, ON A PIECE OF PAPER….. 

     I JUST FINISHED READING A FEATURE NEWS STORY TODAY, ABOUT A CHAP WHO GETS AUTOGRAPHS FOR FUN BUT MOSTLY FOR EVENTUAL PROFIT. I WON'T CONDEMN THE COLLECTOR FOR DOING THIS, BUT I FEEL IT IS EXPLOITIVE AND PUTTING MONEY AHEAD OF JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING ELSE. OH SURE, HE HAS A PRIVATE STASH, AND DOESN'T SELL EVERY AUTOGRAPHED GUITAR ETC. HE GETS. TO EACH THEIR OWN, BUT LET ME EXPLAIN MY ETHICS ON THE ISSUE…..AND WHY I WON'T WASTE A CELEBRITY GUEST'S TIME, JUST TO HELP ME MAKE MONEY.

     IN MY YEARS IN THE ANTIQUE AND COLLECTIBLE BUSINESS, I'VE RUN INTO MANY FOLKS LIKE THIS, WHO PESTER CELEBRITIES FOR AUTOGRAPHS…..SIGNED ONTO JUST ABOUT ANYTHING I HAND OR ON THEIR BODY….SUCH AS BAND SHIRTS ETC. A LOT OF THESE TARGETED FOLKS, CRINGE WHEN THEY LOOK OUT AND SEE THESE AUTOGRAPH HOUNDS, CARRYING EVERYTHING BUT THE KITCHEN SINK, (MAYBE BOB VILA GETS THIS) TO GET AUTOGRAPHED. AND MANY OF THESE COLLECTOR TYPES, HAVE THE AUTOGRAPHED ITEMS POSTED ON AUCTION SITES BEFORE THE END OF THE DAY. GET THE AUTOGRAPH, RUN LIKE TO HELL TO THE CAR, OR BUS, SCOOT HOME, SIT DOWN AT THE COMPUTER, AND START AN ONLINE AUCTION WITH YOUR NEWLY AUTOGRAPHED "WHATEVER!" I DON'T LIKE THE CONCEPT ONE BIT, AND I BELIEVE THE "ADVERSE" FUN PART OF IT, IS SHAMEFULLY EXPLOITING THE KINDNESS OF A CELEBRITY, WHO REALLY WOULD LIKE TO THINK THAT THE AUTOGRAPHED GUITAR OR BASEBALL BAT, IS GOING TO BE A FAMILY, PERSONAL KEEPSAKE. AN HEIRLOOM, PASSED DOWN FROM GENERATION TO GENERATION. YOU KNOW, LIKE THE ONES YOU HANG ON A SPECIAL RACK IN THE RECREATION ROOM, AND SHOW EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO ENTERS THE HOUSE. IN OTHER WORDS, YOU'RE PROUD TO OWN IT….EXHIBIT IT…..AND PASS IT ON TO LOVED ONES, AND SIGNIFICANT OTHERS SOME DAY. TODAY, THIS IS MUCH LESS THE CASE, THAN AUTOGRAPH HOARDERS TRYING TO GET RICH, BY BEING PUSHY TO GET WHAT THEY WANT……IN ORDER TO INCREASE THEIR BUSINESS RETURN. GADS, THIS ISN'T ABOUT THE ENJOYMENT OF COLLECTING. THIS IS A BUSINESS ONLY THING, DON'T KID YOURSELF. AN OBSESSIVE BUSINESS THING, AND I'M WILLING TO BET, BY CONSENSUS, CELEBRITIES HATE THIS TYPE OF GLAD-HANDING AUTOGRAPH HUNTER……WITH DOLLAR SIGNS DANCING IN THEIR EYES.

     THINK ABOUT IT FOR A MOMENT. IF YOU WERE THE CELEBRITY, AND YOU SAW THESE EAGER-BEAVER FANS, STANDING IN LINE WITH ALL KINDS OF GOODIES FOR YOU TO HANDLE, INSCRIBE AND SIGN, KNOWING FULL WELL, THAT THE TIME YOU SPEND HANDLING THESE CHORES, BY THE HUNDREDS, WILL MAKE THESE SAME FOLKS SOME PRETTY FAIR COIN, WHEN THEY FLIP THE PIECES SOMEWHERE DOWN THE LINE. AND THAT PARTICULAR LINE IS A SHORT ONE. IT'S NOT WHAT I CONSIDER A CLASS ACT, IN THE COLLECTIBLE INDUSTRY…..AND I'VE DEBATED THIS WITH MANY OF MY CUSTOMERS…..AND THEY THINK MY ATTITUDE SUCKS. WHAT DO YOU THINK?

I SELL A LOT OF AUTOGRAPHED ARTICLES, MOSTLY BOOKS, BUT THESE HAVE BEEN FOUND OUT ON THE HUSTINGS

     From the time I began buying and selling rare and out of print books, back in the late 1970's, I always had a selection of inscribed and autographed copies. The ones that were most significant, were either associate copies, personalized to someone who was close to the book project, or those inscribed as friends……the note on the title page being more intimate than what would normally be written by an author at a typical signing event. All my autographed copies are found, by hard work, out on the antique "hunt and gather." I don't go to book signings, and buy ten copies, having them all signed, so I can start selling them immediately after leaving the store. I couldn't look the author in the eye, asking for a signature as a value-added aspect to the book they authored.

     I have possessed some pretty substantial autographs in my career, including Canadian artists, A.Y. Jackson, A.J. Casson, and Franz Johnston. I've had the signatures of Canadian authors, like Wilson MacDonald, E.J. (Ned) Pratt, Robertson Davies, W.O. Mitchell, Stuart McLean, Paul Rimstead, Wayland Drew, Raymond Souster, David Silcox (Tom Thomson, Group of Seven authority), David Suzuki, and hundreds of others in my collection at one time or another. I have sold a portion off, but a majority of the texts were acquired for that purpose. I'm an old book dealer. I just didn't hound an author or artist to get their autograph, to eventually exploit….fifteen minutes later. Some of my autographs, for gosh sakes, are a hundred years old. I think I've waited an appropriate amount of time to resell….don't you think?

     In my collection, there have been books autographed by politicians like Jimmy Carter, and celebrities like Ed Koch, former mayor of New York. I've had a book autographed by Hollywood Actor, James Mason, and many biographies autographed by war veterans; pilots who flew Lancaster Bombers. I actually owned a flight log from a Lancaster, with the signatures of all the pilots who had flown the craft from its base in England. Now that was a treasure. I can't describe how pleased I was, to find a book authored by Jack Layton, former leader of the New Democratic Party of Canada. Jack died shortly after the last federal election, and was mourned by millions of Canadians who felt he spoke for them, and their concerns, on Parliament Hill.

     There are very few weeks, of hunting antiques and stuff, when I don't come up with at least one autographed and inscribed book. It's always exciting to find an autographed copy, or an associate copy, where the author has included a lengthy personal note…….for example, to someone who helped proof-read the manuscript, or who acted as a close adviser, prior to publication. I have found handwritten letters from the author to the owner of the book, folded inside, and these of course make the books much more significant. This doesn't always refer to valuation. It just makes them more collectible and interesting.

     In some cases, being autographed means little to no increase, in the appraised value of books. Just because a book is autographed, doesn't mean there will be valued added to the original retail price of the book. I have many signed copies, that are priced well below the original retail price. There are others that are worth more, simply because the book was published twenty years ago, when prices were a lot lower. So while the autograph doesn't add even tens of dollars to the price, it will put up the value beyond the out-of-print normal retail scale. In other words, if a book is valued, second hand, as being worth eight dollars on the open market, an autograph and inscription by the author, could put the book up by about five dollars. This of course depends on the author, and the subject. For example, a Robert Bateman large format art book, has a used value of about fifteen to twenty dollars in good condition, in most second hand book shops. If it is signed by Bateman, it will go up about ten dollars, if it also corresponds with a good condition copy. Condition is still of critical importance, and a missing dust-jacket can mean a seventy-five percent reduction in the book's value……even if it is autographed.

     We have found lots of entertainment autographs; our most significant one being a history of "The Band," signed by its former members. For his personal collection only, my son Andrew has hundreds of posters autographed by some well known musicians, guitarists, blues performers…..all from venues he has worked over the past decade. They're on display at his shop, but definitely not for sale. Most of them are personalized to him, and will be passed down to his family one day. Andrew is a sound technician, so he has easy access to performers. He'll tell you, the only time he asks for an autograph, is when there is no one left in line, to meet the performer, and even then, he feels as if he is imposing to ask. These performers instead, will notice autographs on some of his sound gear and drum skins, and ask if they could add their names to the collection. Andrew would never part with these very personal pieces……and autographs. And some of the performers he has worked with, have since passed away. But he doesn't let valuation get in the way, of his enjoyment of these specially inscribed equipment pieces, and posters he hangs in the shop. He knows what they're worth, but he has the same attitude as the rest of our family. We're not going to bother a performer to sign things so we can make money on their names. If we are out on the antique hustings, and find autographed posters, and other items that have been signed (and paintings are included in this), then we feel we've really done our job, without exploiting anyone, or wasting a celebrity's time. We do not buy autographed items from online auctions, for two reasons. Forged signatures are common. Second of all, we want to come by our autographs honestly…..by using our sleuthing capabilities in the field. We don't want to outbid someone else, during a lifeless online auction, in order to acquire the subject piece. We will always feel better, finding them ourselves, and knowing that our experience in the trade, has paid off.

     When Bobby Orr was injured, back in the early 1970's, he came as a special guest, to a benefit game in Bracebridge, for local senior-league player, who had suffered a serious head injury, in a game several weeks earlier. He was in a special area of the arena, with controlled access, but it didn't stop us kids from lining up, over and over again, to get his autograph. I finished that night with seven autographs. I never once thought about selling them. I just loved Bobby Orr. By time I hit age twenty, my mother Merle had either given them away or thrown them out, as she moved our possessions and heirlooms, from one residence to another, in our hometown. I had dozens of autographs from Roger Crozier, a Bracebridge lad I used to work for, who had played for the Detroit Red Wings, the Buffalo Sabres and the Washington Capitals. I lost all the ones I got when I went to his Red Wing Hockey School back in the late 60's, but I got four more back, when I was the public relations director for the Muskoka chapter of the Crozier Foundation, in the mid 1990's. Never a thought of selling them for a profit. I remember coming into our antique shop one afternoon, back in about 1978, and finding my mother patting Frank Mahovolich on the back. He was one of her favorite hockey players, from the Montreal years mostly, and here he was in our shop. So I was able to get his autograph to go with a hockey card I'd kept from my youth. Once again, this has been given to son Andrew. I've split my autographs with both sons. Robert has quite a few political autographs, such as former Ontario Premiers Bill Davis and Frank Miller.

     I love hunting for autographs. But I will never impose upon a celebrity for my profit. If I want one for my own collection, to be passed down in my family, then I might one day invest the time to stand in line. I don't expect this will happen though. I'm pretty good finding them on my own, without ever having to queue-up with a stupid look of expectation on my face.

     Lots more antique hunting stories on the agenda. Some of the tales will read like fiction…..but alas, they're all true…..crazy or not. Thanks for dropping by. Please call-in again.