BLOG 118

OFF THE GRID

“Ring the bells that still can ring,
Forget your perfect offering,
There is a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in.”

(Leonard Cohen)

Composing this blog with no access to internet, and only rare moments of cell service, I am as far off the grid as I was in 2006 when attending the three month Yoga Development Course (YDC) at Yasodhara Ashram on Kootenay Lake, B.C. Geographically a world away from where I am today, at a venerable old lodge in Algonquin Park, Ontario, there are yet similarities between the two destinations. For one, they’re both a goodly ways from civilization. The lakes on which they are situated are similar in their rugged, forested shorelines, their deep, cold water, and everywhere the woodsy scent of decaying autumn leaves and dried pine needles. As for the inner landscape, both places free us up from the hectic pace of the city and offer the peace and tranquility to contemplate the profundity of our human nature.

From the resort where I’m staying I learned that Canadian artist Tom Thomson lived and worked in the area, and died on nearby Canoe Lake when not yet forty. A drowning, apparently. Some say the artist and woodsman chose to go that way:

“Thomson developed a reputation during his lifetime as a veritable outdoorsman, talented in both fishing and canoeing, although his skills in the latter have been contested. The circumstances of his drowning on Canoe Lake in Algonquin Park, linked with his image as a master canoeist, led to unsubstantiated but persistent rumours that he had been murdered or committed suicide.”

Others would say that the forests and lakes he painted so evocatively and loved so dearly returned his devotion by claiming him for their own. I will never know.

But, as one is wont to do when off the grid, I took time to ponder the ambiguity surrounding Thomson’s life and death, and draw some of my own conclusions, not about his inner world or motivations, but about the precious legacy he left for future generations. With his paintings, he left deeply moving scenes from a place that is still out of reach to a majority of people. And from a time when people lived closer to, and wrested their living from a largely untamed natural world. As perilous as that livelihood might have been, people like Thomson were still inspired to use their “free” time in the pursuit and creation of beauty.

Paddling along the shoreline of Little Joe Lake I spotted several scenes that could well have made their way into one of Thomson’s paintings. Paintings that probably didn’t earn him a great deal of money. And which must have been somewhat inconvenient to create, store (some of which were done on boards) and transport. Never mind sourcing the paint, frames and canvases in the early 1900s. Thomson could easily have just enjoyed the remarkable scenery without committing his impressions to canvas and thus to posterity. How much poorer would we be without his contribution to our cultural heritage and history?

This in turn got me thinking about inspiration and motivation. Who sees a stand of trees and thinks “I want to paint these?” Or compose a sculpture, a symphony, a story about such people and places as move one to creativity? Who asks oneself “How can I do justice to the feelings that these settings stir in me? And how will my efforts be received? Will others see what I see? Feel what I feel?”

Indeed, why take the time to discover, cultivate and share one’s own aptitudes or abilities with other people? I’m not now privy to Thomson’s thoughts on the process, but at a certain age and stage I feel compelled ask myself if there is a latent talent or potential that I too could tap into? And what would motivate me so to do? Being in the wilderness for such a short time nevertheless inspired me to be mindful of the beauty all around me. This in turn sparked a renewed interest in photography. While in the Algonquin I enjoyed the instant gratification of snapping iPhone photos to share with friends and family.

Further inspiring me upon our return to Toronto, we went to the Evergreen Brickworks on Saturday morning. The entire Brickworks — a repurposed quarry —is a testament to creativity and perspicacity. It was reopened in 2010 as “a year-round living demonstration of how past and present can work together to create greener models for urban living”. So many creative endeavors have their offices in the complex that I came away bursting with a desire to participate in some such creative collaboration.

In the farmers’ market the stalls groaning with fall produce inspired me to do more cooking, try different vegetables, make unfamiliar recipes. The stalls selling soaps, candles, jewelry and other handicrafts got me thinking about a new hobby. I met a woman in her eighties selling cutting boards at a makeshift stall that said a lot about her casual approach to merchandising. She explained that she got into woodworking after her husband made her a cutting board shaped like a pig for her 70th birthday. Their woodworking shop is located in a barn on their rural property. She described how, no matter what mood she started with, she would head straight to the barn and get so engrossed in making something that her mind would free itself of her cares and concerns. Also, she confided, her other chores would go undone and, taking an educated guess, left her house, and her person, a bit of a mess. But content to be doing something she obviously loved. That, I believe, has to be at the root of true creativity. Simply doing what one does for the love of it. Having a desire to share their inspiration and abundance with other.

And perhaps having a surplus of wooden pigs.