Oh, and Happy St. Urho’s Day!
Molly
I looked at the photo of the sea smoke rising in white plumes on the harbour. It obscured the view of the city and the McDonald bridge and the ships. That’s what living in Halifax was like. Everything was obscured — not quite visible. I was lonely, but I didn’t want to tell Toivo and Kikko. I knew they would be disappointed about my staying in Nova Scotia for the summer. They wouldn’t say so, but I knew they would be. Toivo had been doing some work on my house and I know he was excited for me to see it. He told me if I wanted to put in a bigger garden he could get a friend with a tractor to work up another quarter acre. He thought squash might do well. I needed the experience in the gallery though and I was excited about living in Lunenburg. The room above the gallery had a studio space so I would be able to paint all summer. I was working on a painting of Dad out in the boat with Nakina. The paintings kept them close.
December 19, 1973
Hi Anna,
This is a photo of the Split Crow which is a bar beside the art college where a lot of the students hang out. It’s not the Wayland Hotel, but I think you’d like it.
So your mom tells me you’re getting serious about some guy from Winnipeg. Is he someone from the university? Is he doing a law degree? What’s he like? I want all the details.
Things here are OK. One of the things I was looking forward to was figure drawing, but that is considered too old school for the conceptual art folks so a bunch of students have organized an underground figure drawing class off campus.
Oh and I’m learning weaving. I know what you’re thinking — me, weaving. I thought I’d be crap but turns out I love it. It takes a lot of patience, especially setting up the loom, but I love the texture of the wools and the colours. If I ever move back to the cabin in Kamanistiquia I think I’ll get a loom.
You know I told you I was taking constructed forms this term — well I am going to have a piece in the NSCAD student show this spring. It’s called Stone Man. I created it with eight pieces of Plexiglas which have been heated and moulded to form the outline of the Sleeping Giant.
Glad to hear you’re going to be going home at Christmas, but I’m afraid I’m not going to make it. Too much work and I’m really behind in a couple of essays, so I’ll stay on here.
Molly
In the spring I worked at the NSCAD gallery to assemble the installation for Stone Man. We had trouble with the lighting, which was supposed to ebb and flow like the northern lights and in the end had to get a new projector. I struggled with the artist’s statement. In my first attempt I tried to put the sculpture into some context:
The Stone Man is a representation of the Sleeping Giant, a formation of mesas and sills that rise out of Lake Superior. Formed from ancient Precambrian rock, the Sleeping Giant is over 1.3 billion years old.
That sounded wrong. I wasn’t doing a geology paper. I had to go beyond structure:
The Sleeping Giant, known as Nanna Bijou by the Ojibwe people, led his people to great riches of silver, but when his people were betrayed and a white man was led to the silver, Nanna Bijou was angered and rose up in a violent rage and in his wrath brought forth a great storm. When the storm had calmed and his people came out to see what was left of their world, they found Nanna Bijou turned to stone, lying across the harbour, arms crossed — feet forever guarding the silver treasure.
That wasn’t right either. The Stone Man wasn’t just geology or mythology. To me he was personal:
Geology gives him structure, mythology gives him story. He is a wonder of the world, and a wonder of my world. Always present, ever watching, ancient wisdom.
It was short and sweet and all that needed to be said.
June 24, 1974
Dear Toivo and Kiiko,
I took this photo from the middle of the MacDonald Bridge and you can see across the harbour out to the ocean. The lighthouse you can see is on George’s Island.
I can’t believe I’m graduating in three weeks. I wish you could be here for the convocation, but I know it’s hard for you to get away. Thanks so much for the box of goodies. I shared the Kivela bakery coffee bread with my roommates and they could see why I keep talking about it.
I had a talk with my academic advisor and I’ve decided to continue on and do my masters. He was very encouraging and it will only be another two years.
I’m putting an exhibition together as part of my application to the masters program and Dr. Thompson, my advisor, has suggested that I apply to some galleries once it’s complete because it would be good to get my work seen. I’m going to apply to the gallery I worked at in Lunenburg and a couple in Toronto, and I plan to apply to the new art gallery in Fort McKay. If I get accepted then I’ll have a chance to get home to see you.
I’ll get my friends to take some photos of the graduation and I’ll send them to you.
Oh and thanks Toivo for taking care of the house for me. It must have been a lot of work to clean out that old well. I was reading your description of scooping out the dead rats to my roommate Terry and it almost made her puke! I’m glad you took the water samples in to get tested. Let me know when you get the results back.
Miss you guys
Molly
I was nervous about the graduate student show, but in the end it all went well. There were twelve of us who submitted pieces to the show and we cheered each other on and had a great party at the Split Crow after the opening. The Stone Man was well received, though most people didn’t really understand it. If you’re from Fort McKay the Sleeping Giant is in your blood and doesn’t need an explanation.
July 29, 1974
Hi Anna,
I took this photo from the top of the Dartmouth ferry at night and the lights you see are the Halifax skyscape. The moon was full that night and you can see the reflection on the water.
Well, your mom and dad told me all about your visit, and they’ve given Kevin the thumbs up. I’m really happy for you.
I’ve been working on pieces for my masters exhibition and it has been rough. I need to finish it in a month, so I’m pulling a lot of all-nighters. Did I tell you about the show? I’m using the paintings I did back when I was working in that crazy little studio on the top of the Sask Pool.
I have three paintings of Nakina in the show. Do you remember that time she was in the powwow up on the mountain? She was wearing the jingle dress she got from Rocky Lake, and Dad took a picture of her. Well, I’ve been working on that painting for about a week or more. We’re standing side by side and I have my arm over her shoulder and Nakina’s got this silly grin on her face and she’s got her two fingers sticking up like feathers at the back of my head. What a goofball.
I wish I knew where she was, Anna. I just want to know she’s OK. If you hear anything about her, I know, you’re in the Peg, but if you hear anything let me know, OK?
Molly
chapter twenty-two
By the end of August I had all the pieces ready for the exhibit. The artist’s statement was written. As I waited for Dr. Thompson to arrive I read it over one more time.
Witness
In 1968, with a Brownie Camera and black and white film, I went out into the streets of my hometown, Fort McKay, Ontario. I was a shy kid who melted invisibly into the background, and that day I realized invisibility gave me a unique perspective. I walked unseen through the day, my camera a dispassionate observer. I stopped time, and in that suspended plane I saw beauty in the small details that connected the people and place.
The paintings are done in black and white and I have used colour to lead the eye into the heart of the image. In these simple images can be found a layered and complex portrait of the human politics of a small northern town.
Here is a town suspended in a moment before change — before the closing of the grain elevators and the shutting down of the mill. This is the moment be
fore the shops and movie theatres become boarded up because so many were out of work.
Look beneath these details to see the narrative below. Witness the wealthy ladies in their fur coats and the white men in black suits who run the town. Look at the grain handlers and millworks who crossed the ocean to find a better life. Look at men sleeping rough on park benches and native children held captive behind the chain link fence of the residential school.
The hands of the clock on the tower have stopped and in that suspended animation we can see all the layers that connect. We see the fierce frontier spirit and below it a dark layer of racism and class division. Look deeper at the strata below and see a pristine land before Europeans, before the fur trade. Look at the pines twisted in the wind and the silver hidden safe below the Stone Man.
Witness it all, good and bad, set in stark isolation on a rugged geography, the people as strong and resilient as the granite shield below.
“You’ve been busy.”
I hadn’t noticed Dr. Thompson come into my studio. “I’ve added four new pieces.” I said.
He took the artist’s statement from my hand and walked around the room slowly. I could feel the muscles in my gut clench. He was tough on students and didn’t hold back with his opinions. I admired that — in theory. Not as easy to take when I was on the firing line. I watched his face to see if I could read his reaction. Nothing.
After walking around the room he dropped down in a chair across from me and read the papers I’d put in his hands. Every so often he would look up and look around the room at the images. Felt like I was sitting there for hours.
Finally Dr. Thompson raised his head and said, “So what?”
I looked confused.
“What’s it about?” He said gesturing to the paintings.
“Well, I thought I explained in my artist’s statement why…”
He lowered his glasses on his nose, raised the paper and read, “To witness the people and place. ”
“Yes.” I said.
“You ‘suspended time.’ Big deal. What you don’t say is why. Why that time and that place?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Almost all the work you’ve done over the past three years is linked to that time and place. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You need to know. If you can’t answer that question then all this means nothing.”
I got up and walked around the room. The basket man, Mary Christmas, the clock tower, Dad in the boat with the Stone Man behind him.
I looked at the photos mounted beside each painting, yellowing with age, edges torn. The photos were just the outside shell of what I was trying to say. But what was I trying to say?
I looked at the painting of the oak tree in front of Knox United Church and the painting of Nakina in the jingle dress. Nakina sitting in the booth at the Lorna Doone. Me with my camera reflected in the window taking the shot of Nakina in the restaurant.
The paintings were a way to hold on to Nakina when she had been gone so long. They got under the skin of the photos to the emotional places where words could not go. So much left unsaid.
I turned to Dr. Thompson, certain now.
“I’m sorry.” I said.
“What for?”
“You asked me why I keep going back to that place and time. I keep going back because I need to say what I didn’t say then. I’m sorry.”
“Then say it.” He got up and walked out of the room.
I picked up the painting of Nakina and put it on the easel and with a fine tipped brush began to paint each word on the glass of the window of the Lorna Doone.
“I watched them hurt you and did nothing. I’m sorry.”
***
The Lunenburg gallery politely declined. Well, I understood — they were a small gallery and were already booked for over a year. The gallery in Toronto was encouraging, but they also declined. When the letter arrived from the Fort McKay Gallery I wasn’t hopeful.
Dear Ms. Bell,
We have reviewed your proposal and are pleased to inform you that we would like to host your show “Witness” at the Fort McKay Art Gallery.
Given the subject matter of your show and the fact that you are from Fort McKay we feel it is an excellent fit with our mandate to support new and emerging northern artists.
We have an opening in the new year, and as we are preparing our promotional material now I would need you to confirm with us as soon as possible. Once we receive your confirmation we can discuss details.
Sincerely,
Merika Goodchild
I sat holding the letter for a long time. I read it over and over again. I had a show. In Fort McKay. It was what I wanted, what I had worked for, and yet … holding the letter in my hand made it real, which meant that the work that had been private for so long would be public, and the idea of feeling so exposed terrified me. People might hate it. People in Fort McKay might be offended by what I had to say, and what if the show wasn’t good enough?
I packed a sleeping bag and some food in a backpack and took the letter with me. I rented a car and drove down the coast to a provincial park and hiked in for half a day, finally setting up camp by a small lake. I needed to get away and I needed to be in the bush. That night I cooked a pot of beans over the fire and sat by the edge of the lake looking at the reflection of the moon in the water. It felt good to be out of the city. In the silence of the woods I thought about the offer from the gallery. I could say no to the exhibit. I could. Wait till I felt ready — more confident about my work. But when would that be? No, I had been working for years towards this moment. I had an exhibit. In Fort McKay. I wasn’t going to run away.
When I got back to Halifax I wrote a letter accepting the offer and phoned Toivo and Kikko. Kikko was over the moon, and Toivo said he was really proud of me, which choked me up so I had to tell him I had a cold and that was why my voice sounded weird.
***
That spring, the night before the opening, I walked down Main Street for the first time in many years. The stores were closed. Some men were hanging around on the street waiting for Mission House to open, all their worldly belongings tucked under their arms. Beside the shelter the windows of the Lorna Doone restaurant were boarded up with plywood. In the apartment above the restaurant a pigeon perched on the cracked glass of a window. It was serenading the homeless men with its coos. The hardware store was gone, replaced by a government office, and the hotel on the corner was now an apartment building. My footsteps echoed as I walked, and there was a sense of melancholy in the street.
I got back into Toivo’s truck and drove down to the waterfront. As I walked out onto the wharf, the sun was setting behind the reclining figure of the Stone Man. I sat down on the edge of the wharf, swinging my legs over the side the way I used to when I was a kid, waiting for Dad to bring the boat around. I looked out at my old friend, the Stone Man. Always present, ever watching, ancient wisdom. He had been waiting patiently for me to come home.
The night of the opening Kikko and Toivo walked into the gallery beside me. The lobby was crowded. People were standing around drinking wine and a young man was circulating with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Beyond the lobby I could see people walking around the exhibit hall. Someone offered me some food but I was too nervous to eat.
I saw people standing in front of my paintings. I saw faces I recognized from school, from the library, friends of my parents. Here to see my work. I felt naked.
I hadn’t felt this way at the graduate student show. It was different in Halifax — no one knew me and I wasn’t exhibiting alone. Coming back to Fort McKay brought all my old insecurities to the surface. Standing there that night I was still the weird, skinny, silent kid who never fit in.
“Molly, good, you’re here.” Merika Goodchild grabbed me by the arm and steered me forward through the crowd into th
e main exhibition hall and introduced me to a photographer from the local newspaper. He took a photo of me in front of the painting of Nakina at the Doone, which was hung in the centre of the hall. He asked a few questions about the paintings but it was hard to concentrate with all the people milling around.
The room was getting crowded and I couldn’t find Kikko or Toivo. I needed to get some air so I made my way out of the main exhibition hall into a side gallery and sat down on a bench.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
I looked up to see Merika smiling at me. She handed me a glass of water.
“So?” I asked.
“Relax Molly. People love it. It’s a great show.”
“The lighting on the Stone Man looks good.” I said.
“It does. I wanted to tell you that I think the painting of the residential school being torn down is really powerful.”
“Thanks.”
“My grandmother was at that residential school. She never said much but I know it was hard for her there. She was happy the day it was torn down. A lot of people were. Did you know Morriseau was there?”
“Norval Morriseau?”
She nodded to the paintings around the room. “Founder of the Woodland School. One of Canada’s greatest artists. He was at the residential school.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“He was there for a short time, then he went back up north to live with his grandfather, who was a shaman, and began painting. These two panels,” she pointed directly across from where we were sitting, “form a diptych titled ‘The Storyteller,’ painted in honour of his grandfather Moses Nanakonagos.”
I looked at the two tall narrow panels. In the panel on the left, in deep blues and strong reds, was the powerful presence of the shaman storyteller. The panel to the right was more muted with yellows and browns and the small figure of a boy looking upward, receiving wisdom. Between them birds swirled in black-lined circles of deeper and deeper blue, eyes yellow, piercing the soul.
Wake The Stone Man Page 15