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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.
Indigenous echoes surround them in this land of reflections and shoreline sparkle.
This is the 12th sculpture in my Kayak Series.
Instincts of a predator adorned in ivory hues move him slowly from one stone monolith to the next in search of sustenance.
A shaman’s essence reaches beneath the outer shell of grey and black, and seeks the hidden realms and deeper meaning beneath this everyday world.
Your clear waters calm my soul with every stroke of my paddle. My red canoe is drawn to islands where solitude and reflection have sustained me through formative years. A father’s love of nature flows through my veins like warm Summer breezes, and lessons learned are appreciated with every sunset’s glow. You are the catalyst that reunites long lost friends. You are Lac-du-Cerf.
An Algonquin lake sparkles like a rare gem set between two serpentine diamond strings named Madawaska. In view of the red trimmed cabins of Killarney Lodge, an ancient outcropping emerges and gives life to those who would cling to its rocky shores. Indigenous pathways reflect in mirror soaked calmness, as respect is given to the land that breathed life into their ancestors. Winter ice brings guests unlikely to traverse open water, and provides host for a moment of isolation and reflection. The warm waters of summer wafts quiet voices and gentle paddle strokes across glistening wakes, as distant loons call with lilting echoes. Approaching clouds hint at changing weather as all seek shelter in her bays. This enchanting landscape reveals its secrets in blazing colour, frozen solitude, and misty shrouds. This is the life blood of a gift we call Lake of Two Rivers.
Sunlit trails lead us through rustling grasses, lichens that crunch under foot, and sea urchin shells, as we draw closer to Callahan Cove.
Silence flows in rhythmic motion across these placid Algonquin waters, as we reflect on the days past.
Every individual who opened the doors of the library and traversed the historic threshold knew they would be greeted by a woman with a quiet dignity, discretion, and the utmost respect.