Newfoundland shores welcome us, as abandoned structures echo voices of former prosperity. Moving amongst them, in dusk’s light, conjures ghostly images of past generations at work and play. Love is renewed while strolling well worn pathways at ocean’s edge, where visions of children’s wooden boats and woolen dolls return through distant chatter. We respect the past, and rejoice in the beauty of the present. This is the legacy of Port Union.
Back to the Artwork pageNewfoundland shores welcome us, as abandoned structures echo voices of former prosperity. Moving amongst them, in dusk’s light, conjures ghostly images of past generations at work and play. Love is renewed while strolling well worn pathways at ocean’s edge, where visions of children’s wooden boats and woolen dolls return through distant chatter. We respect the past, and rejoice in the beauty of the present. This is the legacy of Port Union.
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A man weaves tales of this land through poetry and song. Senses are awakened by images of past glory, as well as those of immeasurable pain. Challenges are whispered, to all who will listen, from frail limbs and foreboding eyes. Chanie Wenjack’s secret path jolts us into uncomfortable realizations of historical disconnects, and untold misery on the tip of a Raven’s wing. Pearls of wisdom, spoken by a sister, seek a different world through truth and reconciliation. We are all connected to someone, as Gord is to Chanie. Follow the examples of those who came before us, and seek the strength to facilitate change. Let us dance for healing under the moonlight on ashes of love. All is possible with the promise and power of courage.
More than one hundred years have passed over Achray landscapes. A guardian of the land, entrusted to protect the pillars of the forest, ventured along Grand Lake shores in search of inspiration. Across the waters of Carcajou Bay, violet horizons roll in serpentine rhythms, while foreground branches bow in sunbathed splendor. He ensured his dependent lived forever in his oil sketch, as rocky shores, pristine waters, and windswept Pines were the culmination of Thomson’s Jack Pine visions.
When approaching Algonquin, the quiet hush of nature begins its descent upon me. I feel the ever increasing distance from stress, noise, pavement and concrete. The layers of life’s hectic pace are replaced by nature’s serenity as I approach Algonquin.
Darkness descends on all who dwell here. Silhouettes emerge from granite pedestals set on fluid plains, but one stands out as a visitor to this primal land. Light ignites in feathery plumage dividing a placid sky. Ribbons curl on Eastern breezes, scattering celestial diamonds for all to see. Protect this place. Embrace its warmth and special gifts. Let its soul burn within you like Algonquin embers.
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