ANOTHER SPRING - ANOTHER HOPE

Not meaning to sound mawkish I took a deep emotional breath of my favourite season. It did not disappoint. The first leaves have a kind of emerald hue not unlike the colour of the grass in New Zealand. Spring revives me. My senses awaken. I muse about how many more springs I will live to see.

There is an awakening that is difficult to explain. Shirley must have felt it. “Let’s go to the AGO today.” She tends not to lead but this time she did. I’m glad.

I worry about our Art Gallery, made into a world-class destination by the work of Frank Gehry. People have been staying away. But we go, not for the “big name” shows, like the coming Chagall, but for the pure joy of the art. We were lucky. On the fifth floor, where Frank designed very high-ceilinged rooms to accommodate modern (and often large) art pieces, there was an exhibit by the Montreal artist Patterson Ewen. It went through his development from representational “pictures” to Impressionism, and to abstract. If it hadn’t been for the school groups, we were nearly the only people there. It made me sad.

I was lifted a little when we went down a few floors to the breathtaking print and illustrating of David Blackwood. His Newfoundland bristles with vigour and shape. His film about Labrador is warm. My spirits rose a little because there were more people there, perhaps only more school groups.

My mind did strange things. I wondered how often Mayor Ford or Don Cherry visit the gallery. I had just read the startling piece in the Star about Cherry and how his “patriotism” affected Canadians, especially hockey fans. I put the word in brackets, not because I mistrust Cherry (which I do but not about this) but because it is so rah-rah, so jingoistic and to me – fraudulent. But I often feel that way about Canadians who bluster and boom a lot about “our gallant troops in Afghanistan.” It’s almost as if there is a patriotic bandwagon going and they want to be part of it. My own feelings are that we probably shouldn’t be there in the first place, but I salute the bravery of the troops who, given no choice, go and do their duty, sometimes with a fatal outcome.

I wonder where Canadian values really are. I wonder how many people, in their personal rush toward “success” felt the same giving of grace I felt looking at this year’s crop of green leaves. I couldn’t help wondering, as I walked by the paintings, if in fact Don Cherry felt the same was about Canadian art as he does about Canadian military. Or would he disdain it, leaving it to his enemies, the left-wing pinkos.

Alas, we seem to be worlds apart. I think it is because in the rock-em sock-em world there is room only for physical prowess. I fear that we have, at least in the person of Cherry and Ford, entered a world of anti-intellectualism and mistrust of anything that can’t be put on a bumper sticker.

P.S. The day after my visit I had dinner with a friend who is a docent at the AGO. She said the next day was crowded. I hope so.