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In a number of his columns were reprinted in Toronto Sketches: The Way We Were by Dundurn Press. Since then another seven volumes of Toronto.
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One spring afternoon, while the two were painting in Algonquin Park, a vicious thunderstorm suddenly overtook them. They took refuge in an abandoned lumber shack, but Thomson quickly fled, paintbox in hand, to sketch in the gale. Within seconds, Thomson sprang up, waved at his friend and kept on drawing. United by romanticism, mysticism and their outsized egos, the group proudly proclaimed themselves the emissaries of a new art movement. In , Harris hired the architect Eden Smith to build them their own three-storey brick clubhouse in the Rosedale ravine, dubbed the Studio Building for Canadian Art, which provided workspace and living quarters for six artists Thomson lived in a shack out back.

Harris paid three-quarters of that, with his pal the ophthalmologist and art collector James MacCallum kicking in the rest. Doing that work, of course, meant spending a lot of time far from Toronto. The group was as much an adventure club as anything else, and when they were out in the bush, they could just as well have been competing for Boy Scout badges as creating art. Lismer and Thomson camped and fished, paddled and painted in Algonquin Park.

Jackson rode the Canadian Pacific Railway in the Rockies. Johnston went deep into the Canadian Shield, where he captured the northern lights. Harris, meanwhile, often painted around Lake Simcoe, where he had a cottage. The work they produced was visceral, vivid and controversial. When Canada entered the First World War, the group was flung apart. Varley became a war artist, deployed to Europe, while Lismer and Johnston painted scenes from the home front; Jackson was wounded in battle. More than 60, Canadian men died in World War I, but tragedy struck even closer to home.

Suspicion swirled around his death—was it misadventure, murder or suicide? The case was never solved, and Harris was devastated. Just as he had managed to finally create something, just as the country had found the artists who could transform it, all Harris could see was death and loss. Spiritualism had always intrigued him, and in it became a lifeline. Theosophy, which dates back to the second century, was revived and reimagined by Helena Blavatsky, the magnetic, mysterious Russo-German occultist sometimes called the Mother of the New Age.

She was a foul-mouthed fabulist, huckster and high priestess, her body draped in Indian robes, perpetually enveloped in tobacco smoke. Theosophy had no rituals per se—practising it basically meant getting together with other theosophists and talking about it—but it did have holy books, including the immense, pseudo-scientific Secret Doctrine and Isis Unveiled, in which Blavatsky details the origins of the universe and the evolution of humanity.

Blavatsky borrowed a lot of her concepts from Eastern religions the books can read like Hinduism for Dummies ghostwritten by L. Ron Hubbard , but theosophy had serious supporters, including Yeats and Gandhi. For avant-garde artists like Kandinsky, Duchamp and Mondrian, the Kool-Aid was particularly intoxicating: it endowed them with a supernatural power.

Theosophists believed that artists had gone through several reincarnations to become more spiritually evolved. By the time Harris discovered theosophy, Blavatsky was dead, but her legacy was thriving. He joined the Toronto Theosophical Society serving on, of all things, the decorating committee , and gave lectures on theosophy and art. He quit smoking and drinking and Christianity. And he published in the Canadian Theosophist, arguing that art was part of the training of the soul. Blavatsky was an early eugenicist, who argued that North America would be home to a new, more spiritual race.

Marie, where he rested, sketched, pulled himself together. He kept moving north, and finally, on a trip with A. Jackson, he found what he was looking for on the banks of Lake Superior. The forests in the area had been burned 15 years previously, exposing the unadorned contours of hills. The sky seemed infinite. There was no fall foliage to capture, only scorched earth, dead trees and frozen isolation. No matter the weather, he was up at first light to paint.

They were both simpler and more whimsical than his earlier work. His palette thinned to gunmetal grey, glacier blue, russet and white; his light became more explicitly radiant; his shapes sculptural, fluid, bulbous.

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Harris hung five of his Ward paintings, some pieces from the Algoma trips and, unusually, four portraits. One of them was of a beguiling, open-faced woman named Bess Housser. It was breathless hagiography, less art history than advertorial. If the Group set out to define a mythology of Canada, Housser shamelessly trumpeted the mythology of the Group. She was a self-assured, self-taught artist and theosophist. For several years, she and Harris exchanged letters that stoked an uncommon, private intimacy. In , the bleeding stopped.

Bess found out that Fred was having an affair.

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When Trixie discovered their affair, she threw her husband out. Harris got his own Reno divorce and married Bess. It was an intimacy they both insisted was purely spiritual and intellectual. By all accounts, Bess and Harris never had sex. Others took her side, too, including A. That November, to avoid possible legal repercussions and the tabloid glare, Harris abandoned everything—his family, his home, his security, the country that he so loved—and fled south, to the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

The artist lives from within not without. H arris never lived in Toronto again. He returned, briefly, to his hometown in The occasion was a retrospective of his work at the Art Gallery of Toronto, the first ever given to a living Canadian artist.

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Harris relished the opportunity, reworking old canvases and ensuring that his more recent abstract paintings received pride of place. For someone who had spent so much of his life uniting disparate artists, it made sense that he would now receive such lavish attention for his solo pieces. Harris loved working with, and to a certain extent controlling, other people, but his artistic growth always required a certain solitude.

On Saturday evenings in Vancouver, Bess and Lawren liked to invite friends and colleagues over to listen to music. There was considerable ritual to the event. Harris selected a record from his large collection, gave a short speech about it and then turned off the lights. Two hours later, when he brought his friends back out into the light, somewhat disoriented, moved by the music, it was as if they had arrived at another realm of consciousness—just as Harris had always wanted.

I imagine running freely over Mr.

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Harris must be easy. Thank god these horrible White people will soon be replaced with progressive brown people. I am doing my part, I will never marry a White man and have babies of oppression. I agree, white people simply have to go. When white people are bred out and mixed into a lovely caramel coloured race, the world will finally know peace. All rights reserved.

Barbra Streisand "The Way We Were"

Reproduction in whole or in part strictly prohibited. The Mystic Lawren Harris became famous as the Group of Seven ringleader whose rugged landscapes changed Canadian identity. Frederick Varley, A. What resulted was one of those good news, bad news stories, for while the community gained a new health-care facility, Dr.

The other afternoon while driving along Lawrence Avenue East near the Don Mills shopping centre I spied a sign that at first glance suggested a solution to the financial plight of our beleaguered transit system had finally been realized. As I stared at the sign, waiting for the traffic light to change, the penny dropped.

It was the Subway sandwich shop in the plaza. My aunt and uncle lived nearby and I vaguely recall the place.


  • Embarrassed By My Village.
  • Treasures Out Of Darkness.
  • Big Stories.
  • Some Mosaics To Chew On.
  • Vows, Vendettas And A Little Black Dress (Mills & Boon Silhouette).

Anyone got other stories about the Turkey Palace, a photo perhaps? If nothing else, all this conjecture about whether the streamlining of our community into one so-called megacity boy, I hate that term will be, in the long term, good or bad for Toronto certainly gives me lots of new story ideas for this column. So step into my time machine and follow me back to the year , when something called Metropolitan Toronto was in some minds being forced down the throats of local politicians by Premier Leslie Frost and the Conservative members of the provincial legislature.

Only the mayor, someone named Allan Lamport, thought it was a good idea. Oh, there was one other thing those politicians demanded. They wanted to hold a plebiscite on the matter. The resultant benefits, as spelled out in a series of newspaper ads, would be the creation one elected government instead of the 13 as then existed, the centralization and uniformity of services throughout the new city, and all municipal planning and zoning done by one authority.


  • Game of Kings (Mughal Book 1).
  • John & Sons Oyster House - Downtown - Toronto, ON | OpenTable.
  • Advances in Medical and Surgical Cornea: From Diagnosis to Procedure (Essentials in Ophthalmology).
  • Prisoner.
  • The Vote That Made the President.
  • The Bringer of Light.

Are you aware that today you can smoke in the Diana Sweets restaurant in Scarborough but not in the one in North York? The most important advantage, as most taxpayers would agree even those of today , was that the one-city concept would mean reduced administrative costs. Let me remind you, all this took place prior to the creation of Metro, 44 years ago!