Village Squire, 1980-07, Page 11r
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result of his common sense which somehow manages to be both
shrewd and honest. Significantly, the word he uses the very most
is "sure." He never says just "yes," or "alright" but "sure"
which is indicative of an acceptance, almost an embrace which
goes far deeper than mere agreement. A born creator, he puts to
shame the Canada Council mentality where an artist must be
subsidized, cuddled and spared all the harsher realities if his
vision is to flower. If Jack had gone down on the Titanic, he
probably would have painted his lifeboat.
HIS DEEPEST LOVE, PAINTING
Back in Toronto after his stint with the Dumbells, Jack
resumed work with his first and deepest love, painting. He also
became involved in the golden era of Toronto's Arts & Letters
Club, writing and acting for their annual spring revues, shows
which were so good that large portions of the public demanded
access to them, causing them eventually to evolve into that still
thriving institution of Canadian theatre known as Spring Thaw.
Since he's a raconteur par excellence, it was somehow inevitable
when the club persuaded Jack to go public and become an orator
as well. Through the Club Jack became friends with an
intimidating list of people including the Group of Seven, Sir
Frederick Banting and E.J. Pratt.
"You knew E.J. Pratt?" I asked.
"Sure," he said and instructed me to pull down a book from
his shelf. It was a collection of Jack's linotype caricatures of
historical Canadians with a forew°rd written by Pratt, praising
Jack's ability to capture, "the mannerisms which live longer in
the public mind than the more sedate and self conscious
qualities." Jack mentioned that Yousuf Karsh complimented
designed his own furnishings. And always, always, always, there
was the painting. One grows mortally pale when confronted with
this immense body of various work. Who would ever have
guessed that days could be so long or time so wisely spent?
Jack shut down the advertising agency in the mid to late '50's
(he's useless at dates) and retired to Benmiller at the
approximate age of 60 with the intention of dedicating the rest of
his life to painting. 1 asked if he'd resented the agency work in
retrospect, if he felt it had kept him away from his more
important work.
He couldn't seem to grasp the philosophy on which my
question was based. He allowed that they were two different
kinds of art and that the non-commercial art gave him more
pleasure but he felt no resentment or regret, no inclination to put
down the one pursuit which paved the way for the second.
"I always felt there would be plenty of time for my own
painting," he ,aid; a hunch which has proven itself to be
abundantly accurate. "And there still is. I'm going to out -Mo ses
Grandma Moses and be painting when I'm 102. It's a great thing
to feel that you're going to go on working and not give up the
ghost."
In his studio I would estimate there are 100 paintings in
various stages of completion. Landscapes predominate, some of
them suggesting a Group of Seven influence, particularly
Thomson and Casson. He has me pick up one of the pictures and
tells me a story about it. Once, visiting some friends at Canoe
Lake, Jack returned from a painting ramble having completed
this picture of a wooded inlet only to be told by the host that it
was the very site where Tom Thomson's body had been found.
"being in the right place at the right time in the company of the right people.
him on the use of black in his linotypes. "You know Karsh?" I
asked.
"HE LIKED MY HANDS"
"Sure," he said and went rummaging through his closet in
search of a photograph that Karsh took of Jack in 1955. "I
suppose 1 should have this thing framed," he said. "He liked my
hands very much. I think 1 was the first and only person who
Karsh photographed and never charged a nickel."
Indeed Karsh did like his hands. Well lit, and prominently
displayed they take up about a third of the picture. Though it's a
beautiful portrait, Jack couldn't resist poking fun at it and sent
Karsh an original linotype etched from Jack's perspective of
their photographic encounter. There in the forefront once again,
a monstrous pair of hands, behind them, looking slightly
demented amidst his light stands and camera equipment is a
caricature of Karsh.
Next to the book of linocuts 1 found another MacLaren book, a
comical history of Hogtown, profusely illustrated of course and
entitled "Let's All Hate Toronto."
"How many books have you written?" I asked.
Transcending modesty with genuine confusion, Jack answered
vaguely, "Several, 1 suppose."
ESTABLISHED AN AGENCY
Somewhere in this flurry of activityjack also found time to
marry and raise a family. He also established and ran the
MacLaren & Son Advertising Agency which had contracts with
(among many others) Birks Jewellers, Eatons & Simpsons
department stores, and the Canada Permanent. Needless to say,
he also wrote magazine articles, built his own house and
"Did that give you the spooks at all?" I asked and Jack said no,
proceeding to point out certain features in the painting.
rationally explaining why any artist would be attracted to such a
location.
ALLEGORICAL PICTURES
On much larger canvases Jack has painted some allegorical
pictures; one of these was concerned with the balance of man.
Unlike many artists who refuse to explain their work to anyone
(fearful perhaps that if the viewer doesn't invent the meaning
then there won't be one) Jack will quickly point out all the
elements present in his piece. He respects your opinion, he
wants to know if you see it like he sees it.
Jack pointed out various spots on the balance of man piece.
"These are the four horsemen of the apocalypse, this is
pollution, I put the drug problem over here and this here is a
fiery rain." A bleak piece to say the least, and I responded to it
by asking him if he ever thought that the end of the world might
be at hand. He looked at me as if I were mad. "Oh I don't think
so," he said. "But who would ever know?"
I suddenly felt like an all too typiLal product of my times. In
this painting Jack had outlined the dangers facing modern man,
never intending I'm sure that an appraisal of it should spell out
certain doom or even be perceived as discouraging. I looked
around me and saw paintings of ancient mountains, streaked and
rippled cloud formations suspended over northern lakes, horses
pulling sleighs and a picture of Jack's wife hanging out the wash
on Monday morning. This was the stuff of eternity painted by a
man who'd lived a good sized chunk of it and will continue to do
so. For him discouragement isn't and never has been the point.
It isn't even an option.
VILLAGE SQUIRE/JULY 1980 PG. 9