Post-Banff: wandering studios

We received some questions after the Banff posts, like “What happened to all those landscape paintings you did then? Your website only shows a few”. Another, “When was your first exhibition, and where?”, “Did the doctor continue to back you after you returned to Toronto?” and “Did you have a studio?” That’s what I mean when we say these blogposts create themselves.

To answer the first question, I gave all my paintings to Dr. Wilfred S. Goodman, who had made the Banff 1959 experience possible in the first place. These paintings are now spread out amongst his extended family including five adult children and grandchildren. We are in the process of receiving digital images of these paintings and will post them onto my website once they've all arrived.

My first exhibition auspiciously took place at Galeria Alberto Misrachi Mexico City's oldest and finest galleries, in 1963. All works were large watercolours done in San Miguel de Allende. This was followed by my initial solo show of watercolours, at the First Unitarian Church in Toronto.

Before that, in 1958 and 1959, I’d participated in annual group shows each spring at Hart House with the Colour and Form Society (of which I was President for a year). The Colour and Form Society was an innovative group formed by immigrant artists.

In 1965 my first major exhibition took place at Roberts Gallery in Toronto, featuring watercolours, and acrylics on paper and canvas.

Then in 1966, “Living Tapestry”, an acrylic on canvas (see photo) won First Prize at the major OSA (Ontario Society of Artists) exhibition held at the Toronto Art Gallery, now the AGO. One of the three jury members for this major OSA exhibition was none other than A.J. Casson, the last-surviving “Group of Seven” member. Since Casson was a renowned landscape and figurative artist, I felt all the more honoured to receive this Prize, and took pride in such recognition by him, for an abstract painting. (Keep in mind, this was just seven years after Banff 1959 and those changes in my style).

Speaking of 1959, to answer the question whether Dr. Goodman continued to sponsor me when I got back to Toronto, he paid for my tuition for the first semester at Ontario College of Art. But once the styles of my work changed in rapid succession (you could say ‘spiralling upward’ ), it was harder for him “to follow” me. And by now, understandably, his growing family (five children), and recently-acquired farm north of Toronto, needed his full attention.

The other question was, ‘Did I have a studio?’ No, I had to improvise. This was because of my nomadic way of living and shoestring budget. I moved from one place to another, renting rooms in boarding houses.

Also, in those days there were decrepit houses declared “unfit to live in”, but if the water source was still connected, I’d squat, and do my watercolours and acrylics (which also need that precious commodity: water). I lived in at least a dozen different dwellings within a few years - - - like a gypsy, without a permanent studio.

Hope this answers some of the questions which have come in from cyberspace. 

A question from Ireland

Someone wrote from Ireland to ask “where do you think Art is going, and is it still relevant today?” They also asked if I’d post a few more Aphorisms (see below).

Well, in terms where Art is going or if it’s still relevant today, true Art that is visionary, or which embodies the “Zeitgeist”, always points the way. Yet its message comes from the here and now.

Statesmen and pundits who keep a close eye on the ‘barometer’ or pulse of their citizenry would do well to observe today’s art forms --- whether it be plays, poems, paintings or contemporary performances.

Politicians like to keep the public at bay (“Don’t Worry, Be Happy”), while artists throughout time have always signalled there is still much work to be done, they warn us – if we can read and understand their messages - that “The Roses Have Thorns.”

Throughout the years, I’ve written several essays on Art. They’ve never been published on paper because we have never sent them to a publisher. The Aphorisms were submitted to a few publishers, but were returned by the ‘Thank you, but no thank you’ method - - -despite the fact the late, renowned poet Irving Layton gave them a ‘Bravo!’, which we enclosed with the submissions to the publishers, but this fell on deaf ears and blind eyes.

 To conclude this topic re: my “writing harvest”, I also write Apologues: Stories for the Young and Young at Heart” (otherwise known as children’s stories.) 

Meanwhile, to oblige our friendly person in Ireland and for you, here are a few more of my Aphorisms. Signing off for now, Henri

The deeper the whale

dives

The more visible

its ‘tail’.

When the children

are full of awe and wonder,

we send them to school.

Ater graduation

they are dull and empty.

We see many ads

What to do or take

When we have a headache,

but never how to prevent one

I wonder why.

When we look at lakes and forests,

waterfalls or snow-capped mountains - -

With financial gain in mind,

We have seen nothing at all.

We can be so Holy,

we can be so Passive,

We will go out and kill

to prove our ideals.

Waves were aflame

with foam in glowing colour

just before the Sun departed.

Banff, 1959 - Conclusion: "Open Sesame!"

There was a Swiss piano teacher that Summer in the Music Department at the Banff summer school, 1959. He loved hiking up to the higher elevations, above the timberline.

Often I joined his group, into that realm where Pika, Mountain Goat, and Bighorn Sheep roam. (This time I went along for the hiking, not field painting.) The change in my work also raised eyebrows of my landlady, Mrs. Parkin and her friends.

Later when I got back to Toronto, Dr. Goodman (who became the recipient of all my Banff landscape work) found the latest changes difficult to understand. The faculty must have noticed something within that I was not aware of. How about me? Well, I discovered a freedom with unlimited horizon. To be no longer enslaved to the conventional “real” in Art opened many doors, the most important being “Imagination”.

I always had a vivid imagination, but it was the faculty there who awoken it again. (However before attending the School, I’d already begun to break away from monotony of greys, greens and browns of mountain scenery. I included warmer colours. 

“Echoes of Native Art”, done later at the School and won all those awards I mentioned earlier, ventured already into ‘surrealism’.  No more crawling like a caterpillar. Instead, soaring as a “flutterby”. Once imagination is tapped, inspiration follows. Charlie Chan says, “Human mind like parachute. Works best when open”.

When Ali Baba approached the cave, commanding “Open Sesame!” , the grotto opened, revealing a bounty of treasure. In another story, the Genie in the bottle granted three wishes, after which he was liberated from the bottle, exclaiming, “I am free! I am free!” In my case, Aladdin’s lamp was rubbed, and imagination leapt out.

To experience, to explore, to discover: this is what creates real adventure. Who would have thought the pleasure and joy of all those happy adventurous moments doing field painting, ‘en plein air’ in the Canadian Rockies, would be the last time I’d paint landscapes?

Another type of joy would replace it, such as that of Schiller’s “Ode to Joy”, set to music by the immortal Ludwig van Beethoven. My outlook had changed, and now I was looking in, having “crossed the Great Divide”, in Banff National Park – of all places -- from “Landscape to Mindscape”.

Banf 1959, part 6

One week before the final days of the Summer session and end-of-season exhibition, my work became more and more imaginative. The whole experience was like magic. On stage, a magician makes some things disappear into the ‘unknown’, while I was making things ‘appear’ from the unknown. There in the Canadian Rockies of all places, I crossed the “Great Divide”, or what I call evolving from “Landscape to Mindscape” (c).

What is “real” in art? We think that landscapes, still life and figurative works are real. We recognize the imagery; we see, translate and therefore ‘identify’ with the work. It is all a soothing exercise. In reality, of course, whatever an artist depicts on paper or canvass – say a mountain landscape or waterfall, pine trees and mountain flowers -- we cannot actually smell the fresh pines, swim in the lake, climb the mountain or take a refreshing dip in cascading waterfalls.

Often such imagery makes us “identify” with them. There are several reasons for this, mostly sentimental. Of course, representational works are recognizable, and can easily be ‘critiqued’. (“The best sailors are on the shore.”) However, one cannot argue about taste and preferences. All of us know what we like, don’t we?

In a sense the so-called “real” is in fact “surreal” or abstract. We don’t deny the existence of these phenomena in Nature, on the contrary; they are the blueprints, building-blocks and foundation that inspire and guide us. But in my case, such phenomena was used as a launching pad.  Returning to those weeks at the Banff school, I’d discovered a hidden bonus. Tossed into garbage bins were tubes of oil, watercolour, gouache -- still with lots of paint, caps half on, but perfectly useable. Plus brushes of all kinds, including sable; these had been discarded by others. Material I welcomed and made good use of! 

Towards the end of that Summer session, many students and a few faculty were really surprised how swiftly my work had changed. Having set my compass to this uncharted direction of that vast ocean called Imagination, I embarked with joy on this new voyage of exploration, never to look back. With one exception: the person who sponsored my trip to Banff.

Dr. Wilfred S. Goodman of Toronto asked if I could visit his parents at their farm in Baldur, Manitoba before returning to Toronto. An eventful overnight bus ride from Winnipeg aboard the “Grey Goose Line” made this possible. While there. I did an oil painting showing their pond. 

This was the very last landscape painting I ever did. It is now with the Goodman family, together with all my other works from that eventful and pivotal summer, Banff 1959. More on that later. Signing off, Henri

Banff 1959, Part 5: "Crossing the Great Divide"

By now it was almost mid-July. One more month and summer school would end. Murray MacDonald, the faculty member who discovered me at Moraine Lake (see previous post), said I should meet the director.

And so it was that I met Donald Cameron. He gave special consent for me to register. Thus yours truly, who had no funds, became the first-ever (?) “guest” student at the Banff summer school. His decision was also influenced partly because I already had accommodation and meals in town.

Being mostly self-taught, this was an opportunity for me to receive “lessons in Art” from established faculty such as Charles Stegeman, William Townsend of the Slade School in London UK, and Murray MacDonald.

The classes had been in session for a month already when I joined. Great was my disappointment when they went on their next field trip and I wasn’t able to come along. Instead, I had to stay in Classroom #308, Donald Cameron Building. (Coincidentally, many years later, Natasha had her office right across the hall from this very classroom, when she worked there from 1980-85 as executive assistant to Presidents David Leighton and later Paul Fleck.)

Instructions were given to me: “To avoid distraction from the natural scenery, Henri, we advise you to turn your back to the window”. Why this unusual advice? Because I had been asking all kinds of questions, such as: “Those greens, greys and browns here in the Rockies, after awhile they become monotonous. For a start, why can’t we change the colours to make the landscapes more alive?”

Already I had started painting in this way. This led to the faculty’s suggestion for me to put these questions to the test, and seek answers. Hence my back to the window!

Since I’d been in the Rockies on my own the past 2 months and created numerous landscapes (see earlier posts), it was worth a try. After all, the faculty were experienced artists themselves, well-established and respected. And so this great adventure into the unknown started. I began with a blank sheet of paper - - - no guidance of objects or phenomena.
Instead of rendering what’s “out there”, the process is reversed. Now I’d work on drawing out what was within. Soon I was comfortable being alone on those occasions when the others went field painting, and began painting some ‘imaginary things’. (But I still was not too pleased about being left out on the field trips!) However, this challenge gave me a new incentive.

“It’s easier to start an argument than to start a painting from a blank canvas.” (Henri van Bentum)
After doing a series of abstract images on paper, I began to have fun. Soon I had more confidence and started to work on masonite or canvas board. Next came a series inspired by my meeting with the First Nations chiefs (see earlier post), depicting their neglected and declining culture. Being in Canada less than 2 years from the Lowlands, I was taken aback by decline of their culture. 

At the end of the summer school season, an exhibition was held of our work. Great was my surprise when one of the First Nation’s series won not only First Prize in oils, but a scholarship for the 1960 summer session, plus the Purchase Award for the School’s permanent collection. Still to come: one or two more posts about this crossing of the “Great Divide”, Banff, 1959. 

Banff, 1959 Part 4 - unexpected company

To do field painting in a natural environment sharpens the “noticing” and observing senses.Each change of shadow, light, movement, wind, clouds, temperature, plus the myriad variations of the colour Green alone, how and where you put your feet - - - all this and more serve to ‘sharpen the pencil’.

Painting outdoors in the Rocky Mountains is different from visiting as a tourist or hiker. For an artist, it’s not the same, no matter where. The act of painting (or anything done with absorption) can lead to a timeless state of mind. Speaking of things “not being the same”, landscape painting has never been the same since the Impressionists took their art out of the conventional, academic studio environment, and placed it outdoors to capture on paper or canvas. Here in Canada we had the Group of Seven, who came later and were “our Impressionists”.

You have to respect the courage, the challenges that were faced by these painters working in the field. In France --- the Mistral and the fierce summer heat; in Canada, mosquitoes and black flies. Yet, they kept going.[Today the public loves the Impressionists and great artists such as Vincent van Gogh, and here in Canada, the Group of Seven. But that’s easy; after the initial scoffing and mockery, a century has gone by bestowing and recording praise upon praise on these pioneer artists, now household names. ]

Since arriving in Banff early May, I’d done several oil and oil pastels in remote locations throughout the Park. Some days while hitchhiking early in the morning I’d get a ride into Canmore where I did “The Three Sisters” in oil pastel.

Several times I gave paintings to strangers who offered me a lift back into Banff. In those days, I was grateful for the being there, I believed I could always do more some other time. Little did I know what was in the lap of the future, or I would have kept every one. Now I’ve completely lost track of where these paintings are, no record for our archives.

The grandson of Mrs. Parkin, my landlady, lived in Calgary. He visited sometimes, and one day his grandmother said, “Why don’t you take Henri to Calgary, for the Stampede?” And so he did, and I stayed for the full Stampede week. 

What an experience! I have never forgotten this extraordinary spectacle. (Remember at this point I’d been in Canada less than two years, coming from the Lowlands, where as boys we grew up under the spell of Cowboy and Indian movies.)

Back in the Rockies, one morning I’d already spent several hours painting at Moraine Lake when a big van pulled up with several students and two faculty members which later I learned were from the Banff summer school.Earlier, my landlady mentioned “that School” up on Tunnel Mountain, but I’d not been there to visit. (From what I’d heard, I couldn’t afford the fees.) Here's a picture of me painting at Moraine Lake:

The students, all women, set up their easels. One of the faculty came over to me and introduced himself: Manly MacDonald. He looked at the work on my easel, then asked a few questions, including who was I, where did I come from, where was I staying, and how long had I been painting? He also enquired if I’d ever visited the “School”. Mr. MacDonald then said, “I think you should come and visit the School sometime.”

I finished my painting and waited until the group was ready to return, hoping to get a lift. This worked out well.A few days later, I walked up Tunnel Mountain to pay the School a visit.

That July day, 1959, at Moraine Lake, destiny guided me towards an unexpected and unknown road into the future. A path I am still walking. More on this, later. Happy Trails! Henri

Banff 1959, Part 3 - Nourishing substance in an Oil Pastel stick

After seeing the woman sketching here at the seashore, not one but several doors opened into my ‘memory mansion’. Here we are already on part 3, yet, the most important part of the Banff story (other than the memorable experience of simply being there) hasn’t begun. Of course this isn’t a play-by-play colour commentary on the full summer of 1959 in the Rocky Mountains.

Actually my motivation for recording all this is the fact that though I did numerous landscape 
paintings ‘en plein air’ at Banff National Park, it was there that I ‘crossed the Great Divide’. The wheel was set in motion for a major evolution in my work.

But let’s not be too hasty, first things first. On my early morning painting treks into the mountains, I’d see chipmunks and also lots of Gophers everywhere. Gophers would swiftly pop up and down into their holes. They whistled shrill warnings to their family while I set up shop in their neighbourhood.

Since I was always alone in the wilderness, one of the fishermen who gave me a lift to the road leading up to Peyto Lake warned me to be careful not only of the Grizzly and Black Bears, but also the Wolverine. This was good to know. Coming from Holland less than 2 years earlier, I’d never heard of Wolverines.

Anyway one morning I was seated, totally absorbed in trying to capture the intriguing shape and milky turquoise-colour of Peyto Lake. I was looking down on the Lake below, when suddenly I heard a rustling and crackling sound. “Oh-oh! A bear or wolverine!” I thought to myself. Slowly I turned my head around. A few feet away, there was a chipmunk nibbling, very dapper, on one of my sticks of oil pastel! He was holding it gently in his front paws, having already carefully removed the wrapper. A breakfast snack.

I’d come back to Banff soon after high Noon, if I could get a lift. The temperature rose high and fast in these early days of summer. Back in those days, 1959, “Indian Days” were held every summer, just outside the town of Banff. First Nations chiefs of the Blackfoot, Stoney, Blood, and other nations sat outside their large ‘wigwams’. They’d answer questions posed by curious visitors.

One of the Chiefs said something I’ve never forgotten. He said to our little group, “White man is funny, because when we say ‘There are only twenty ocelots left’, some of you would say, ‘Oh, let’s go shoot them, before they’re all gone.’”

Tomorrow, I’ll share with you amongst other events, how I was ‘discovered’, at Moraine Lake!