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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As the Atlantic surf meets the Newfoundland shore, as the Muskoka pines meet on Fiddlehead Mountain, as the sun begins to set, wherever we are, we know it must be An Hour By Sun.
A young Tom Thomson living in urban surrounds, sought solitude in the majestic bluffs of Scarborough. Venturing further east he explored the calm of a lake named Scugog, where inspiration lead to the creation of Near Lake Scugog and Evening Lake Scugog. His gaze is distant, while his four legged companion’s is inward. Was this a sign of his bold interpretations of future northern landscapes? Look inward at your accomplishments and interactions that have proven to be a positive influence on the world, but also look ahead with determination and creativity for a future rich with a canvas filled with vibrant brush strokes. Could these be the lessons of Reflections of Thomson?
I hear the world differently than you. Visual cues present themselves, and guide me in ways unknown to most. I hear rustling leaves through oscillating shimmer, as they dance to an East wind’s command. The splash of a Northern Pike delights me, as ripples radiate then fade to still waters. A loon’s crimson eyes rise and fall in royal splendour, as its lonely call brushes my soul. Night falls as ashen shadows and azure skies cloak reflective silence. All who bear witness unite in my world. I am not alone in the presence of the night birch.
I find my rest in silent choices. Breathe in your surroundings, as your work is now done. Listen to the stillness, and accept the gifts of canoe point.
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