The Sounds and Sensations Around Us Daily That We Pay Less Attention to Than Once, When it was Important to Survival

Birch Hollow Photo by Suzanne Currie

   It was said that Tom Thomson, legendary Canadian landscape artist, would profoundly change his demeanor, even in the company of others, when the atmosphere itself began to change, to herald the imminent arrival of a summer storm.

   Some witnesses to his dramatic withdrawal from whatever social or work circumstance prevailed at that moment, to commune intimately with the evolving weather. He seemed strangely comforted by a thunder storm, as it seemed to inspire his art work. This is visible in many of his panels, where there is an obvious storm environs sweeping down over the Algonquin hillsides, onto the lake boiling with undertow pushing the dark currents, twisting and rising up to engage the wind, into the lake's cascading, wildly erratic whitecaps, clashing in the rock and pine cauldron. The Thomsonesque treescape with its wind blown heritage, clinging to the craggy and moss covered rocks, high above the demon lake, being turned black and silver, and that ominous gray, as influenced by the ominous cloud cover booming in thunder, and engulfing it all with the intense flashes of lightning. It was, to his observers, an environmental gift to the artist he aspired to be, and it was as if he believed it to be the manifestation of the long held lore of the lakeland. It was similarly reported by those who knew the artist well, that he was similarly entranced by the sight of the Northern Lights, and a comment was once heard by the artist, when displaying some of his depictions of the mysterious show in the sky, that the scene looked cold and lonely, and with that, Thomson felt he had captured something more than the scene as witnessed. He felt that it was important to create a mood with his work; such that the viewer would find some sensory stimulation beyond the actual content and artistic merit of the panel.

     When I began a decade long research project on Tom Thomson, this was the one characteristic of the famed artist, who by the way inspired the eventual creation of the Canadian Group of Seven Artists, that truly appealed to my own respect for artists, their work, and their plethora of inspirations. As a small time art collector myself, it's the kind of aura of a particular creation, that appeals to me most of all; such that as an art work, I can enjoy the artist's point of view, their interpretation of a subject, whether a landscape, seascape, or a profile of some relic of architecture. I want their creative enterprise, in the latent sense, to inspire me, the voyeur, in the comfort of my domicile, who wants to know what it was like painting that particular scene, whether it is a panorama of a lakeland, as Thomson might have captured on his paint boards, or a single wildflower amongst ferns in a curious and intriguing illumination. I want a work of art to, I suppose, fulfill my own unfulfilled adventures, as an intrepid creator looking for sources of inspiration. And it is my shortfall as a painter myself, that amplifies my interests in the work of others, who, in my mind's eye, have an intimacy with the subject, or the object, such that I can also be the beneficiary of protracted sensory stimulation. As a long suffering writer, I have always surrounded myself by intriguing works of art, sculpture, and of course Mozart, and I will not apologize for using the work of others to motivate myself to work more prolifically and intently.

     My old book collecting friend Dave Brown, of Hamilton, and a near legend in his own time for his work in outdoor education, invited me one afternoon, to join some of the art classes from the city, that had booked time at Camp Kwasind on Muskoka's Skeleton Lake. The city kids were part of an intense art and nature study program jammed into a school week at the summer camp. Dave's component, of course, was outdoor education, as it related to art and its cultivation. I went along as a reporter for the local press, and I have to tell you, it was one of my most memorable experiences, that didn't involve the quest for hard news and a front page byline. After we had a lunch in the large dining hall, the teenage students were organized into groups for their afternoon classes; which involved painting, sculpting, natural art creations, and even music study. Dave's group got ready to wander along the lakeshore paths of this sparkling lake, said to have been created by the impact of a meteor thousands of years ago. I wandered behind listening to my old mate talk about the natural surroundings of the lakeside topography, and the flora and fauna we brushed through and by, as we navigated the relatively flat terrain at water's edge.

     After half the planned hike, Dave asked his group to sit down on some fallen logs that had been positioned by the camp to act as natural benches. He asked of his students to listen to the sounds around them. The wash and lapping of the waves agains the rock and sand along the shore; the noises they could detect of the entire environs in which they were situated as witnesses, to what this lovely solitude actually sounded like when isolated into a place of study for those few moments of concentration. It was made clear to me, before we went on the short hike, that most of the participants, the students, were from the inner city of Hamilton, where the sounds of jets flying overhead, jack hammers ripping up roadways, sirens bellowing through the open spaces between sky-imposing architecture, and the din of the human contingency that makes up the texture of a city built for human; but not necessarily for the kind of sensory stimulation these budding artists needed to enhance their creative potentials. Dave told me that, on parallel outings, with other city kids, it could take most of a week of this kind of exposure to the natural environs before the campers could readily see and clearly hear, and feel, the myriad of life forms thriving in this part forest, part lakeside setting. At first, it would have been unlikely that they would have been able to hear the very slight brushing of leaves nearby, from where a chipmunk or field mouse was scampering back and forth; or the sound of a fish jumping out of the water in quest of a low flying insect for dinner; or appreciating what a bee or hornet sounds like as it is hovering overhead, or just beyond the sight line. Might a bear or moose have ambled out of the surrounding woods, they most likely would have registered this with a dangerous situation. But on the smaller scale, they were missing much of what nature possesses, that is critically important to conserve. Dave's opinion on this was simple. How would these teenagers, soon to make a mark in their choice of professions, and recreations, help conserve these precious resources, if, as at that point in his tutorial, they couldn't connect with all that was surrounding them in this semi-wilderness, that had made for such an inspiring classroom.

     I do believe very much, that sensory perception, especially with our most amazing natural resources in Muskoka, is a profound danger to the district's environmental well being. Apathy is a killer in disguise. What Thomson captured of nature on his birch art panels, from his forays into the Algonquin woodlands, was as much a mission to demonstrate by impression, and an effervescent passion, just how spiritually powerful nature can be, when afforded the keen attention of the silent witness. The voyeur who feels compelled to see, and experience the deep and profound spiritual vibration, at the very place, where these legendary scenes were first painted by the artist devoted to the viewer's most intimate immersion, whether to feel the cold wind of an autumn windstorm, or feel the tremor of rolling thunder bouncing off the Algonquin hills.

     Feeling art beyond the visual; sensing the perfumed air of a wildflower spray on a windswept hillside, and hearing the creatures of the forest in their art of living; and feeling the gentleness caress of the final rays of afternoon sun, as the artist applies a final brush stroke to the paint board, feeling the essence of the vista has been captured; although, never really captured.