The Lansdowne Letters: An Artist at Work

Sometimes it is painful for me to read my father's words,
especially when he writes about dreams he didn't fulfill.
His year in Lansdowne House allowed him to paint,
and paint he did, like I never saw him before or after.

He and my mother both loved to paint,
but they rarely had time to indulge in their artistry.
The responsibility of raising five children, continuing their own educations,
and the demands of their careers crowded out most of their personal time.
I am always humbled by the sacrifices they made to realize their dream
of sending all five of us to Acadia where they had met in a Paul Jones dance.




On Thursday, June 22, 1961
My father wrote to his mother:

I hope that the six pictures that I am sending you don't cause you too much trouble.
I sent them to you mainly because I wanted you to see
what I have been doing in the painting line.

I want you to do something for me, Mother.
I want you to enter these six pictures, and the one of the church
that I gave to you, in the art competition at Old Home Week.
You can find out how you go about entering the pictures in the exhibition.




Perhaps I am conceited, but I want to enter them all.
I just want to find out how they stack up against the work of other amateur painters.
Perhaps I won't win any prizes, although I think
The Nine Spruce Trees should win a first in any exhibition of amateur paintings.

I don't expect you to hang them in your living room,
for I know that you won't have the room.
Besides I wouldn't want you to have to take down
all your own pictures to make room for mine.
It would be different, if I was sending them to you to keep, but I am not.
I will want them all back in the fall, as soon as I am settled in Sioux Lookout.

I am going to continue painting, and when I have a selection of good paintings,
I am going to see if I can interest any commercial outlet
in handling some for sale on a commission basis.

What I said about another picture for your birthday still goes.
I will paint you one at Sioux Lookout.
If there is one in this group that particularly appeals to you,
and it isn't already promised to Sara or Roy, let me know,
and I would consider giving it to you, although I'd rather paint
you another because these are all sort of a matched set from Lansdowne House.

Besides, as I said before, I am anxious to build up an accumulation of paintings,
in case I ever do get a chance to sell some.
I would stand a better chance if I had a large selection.

Please let me know immediately what condition they arrived in,
and also let me know what you and the rest of the family think about them.
I guess I will have almost a little one man show of paintings from Lansdowne House, eh?




I haven't had any school in my school for the last two days,
because the electricians have been in wiring the school.
They finished today at noon, and I was going to have school at one thirty,
but on my way over, I upset the cotton pickin' canoe.

This is the second time I have done this since I came up here,
but at least the water was much warmer today.
I have acquired a reputation as a damned poor canoe driver.
The Indians all line up to see what difficulties I am going to get into next.

I don't know what happened today, for the water was dead calm.
I guess I just put too much weight on the paddle, one swish, and I was swimming.



Well, I must sign off now and get a letter off
to my deserted family on the Indian reservation.
Oh well, I will be with them in another eight days.
In fact, one week from tonight I'll be out in Nakina
catching the train for Sioux Lookout.

I wish that I could be on the Island sometime this summer,
but I guess that this will be impossible.
This move to Sioux Lookout will be quite expensive,
and I won't have too much to spare for gadding around.

I will have to buy quite a bit of new clothes for myself,
as my old ones have just about had it
Now that I have a job of this nature, I will be expected to dress quite well.

Poor Sally, I'll have to get lots of clothes for her also.
She has nothing but rags, and it will be important to have my wife well dressed also.
I am not, however, going to go hog wild or anything like that.
I am just going to buy what is absolutely necessary.



Be sure and write me as soon as you receive the pictures.
I guess you may as well send your letters
in care of General Delivery, Sioux Lookout,
till I get a definite address in Sioux Lookout.

Don't send anymore to Lansdowne House.
No, the answer to this letter please send to General Delivery, Nakina,
and then all future letters to General Delivery, Sioux Lookout.

Bye Now,
Love,
Don.
  
My father continued to paint for a few more years, 
but then the responsibilities of his teaching and administrative career
consumed too much of his energy and time.

Sometimes I feel heartsick at the thought that when my father retired
he was so sick from emphysema and a missing lung
that he couldn't take up painting again.
Other times I take comfort in my memories of the pleasure he had when he did paint.

Whenever he painted, my father had an audience.
Roy and I watched keenly, looking over his hunched shoulders
as he whistled tunelessly
and sketched on his canvas with a soft charcoal pencil
or applied paint from his palette with broad strokes or fine, sure touches.

As Dad squeezed squiggles of paint onto his palette,
he would tell us their exotic names:
burnt umber, ultramarine blue, zinc white, and cadmium yellow.

Out of six or seven blobs of color Dad could mix an array of colors,
and he always warned us against using too much white when mixing colors.
He would add a little linseed oil to bind the paint
or a dribble of turpentine to thin it, and he was off and running.

Dad talked to us about line and perspective
and showed us the secrets of light and shadow,
answering our pesky questions
until his patience ran out and he shooed us away.


Whatever my busy mother was doing, she would interrupt frequently
to evaluate my father's progress and to encourage him.

My younger sisters Donnie and Barbie stood back a little,
Donnie peeking shyly at Dad's canvas,
and Barbie watching Dad's brush strokes with a discerning eye.

As for toddling Bertie, we kept her well away from Dad and his painting.
The blobs of glorious color and the little tin pots
of linseed oil and turpentine enticed her tiny fingers,
a disaster waiting to happen if she succeeded in reaching Dad's palette.

I have many incredible memories of time spent with my father,
but surely watching him paint are some of the best.



Till next time ~
Fundy Blue



Point Prim, Near Digby
Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia, Canada
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved




Notes:

1.  Paul Jones Dance:
     This a mixer dance that has several variations.  In Nova Scotia the women would form
     an inner circle facing out, and the men would form an outer circle facing in.  When the music
     started, the men would circle in one direction, and the women in the opposite.  When the music
     stopped, each man and woman facing each other would dance together, until the music stopped
     and the circles formed anew.

2.  Letter of June 22nd:
     I've included a few details from a similar letter my father wrote to his mother on June 17th.

3.  Old Home Week:
     Old Home Week has been celebrated in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, since 1888.
     It includes livestock shows, handicraft and produce displays, a midway carnival, and harness
     racing.

4.  The Nine Spruce Trees:
     I wish I knew where this painting ended up.  Dad was very fond of it.  

5.  Dad's Other Dunking:   TLL: The Inevitable Happens.

6.  The Indian Reservation:
     Dad was referring to Two Point, Lac Seul where we were staying in a log cabin belonging to
     the Garrick family.
 
7.  The Island:
      Prince Edward Island

For Map Lovers Like Me: