(Alert Bay with Welcome Figure, 1912).
Eric Brown, the director of the National Gallery in the early twentieth century, described Emily Carr’s works as “having some merit” but hesitated to buy any of her works. Today, in 2010, I went to the premiere screening of Winds of Heaven, at the same institution. We should remember, however, that women artists such as Carr are still struggling for representation at major institutions like the NG and it is not ironic that the same institution that turned her away is now celebrating her work.
While I had always preferred Tom Thomson’s rustic oil sketches to Carr’s dramatic landscapes, the vivid colours of Carr’s work and her loose expressionistic brushwork resonated throughout the entire film and I came away with a much greater appreciation for her work. Winds of Heaven is an impressive attempt to summarize Carr’s passion for painting and her perseverance for her art. It is sensitively and thoughtfully constructed offering multiple perspectives on Carr’s life and the landscapes and subjects she depicted, but most importantly allows the viewer an intimate appreciation of her brushstrokes and subject matter. You feel like you have been to a major exhibition, without having to travel across Canada. The panoramic vistas of the forests and mountains of British Colombia are breathtaking and convey the sense of majesty and mystery in Carr’s work which the film’s director, Michael Ostroff, calls “emotional archaeology.”
The narrative of the film is loosely chronological, although moments of Carr’s life are juxtaposed with scenes of present day life for the indigenous peoples on the Northwest Coast. In particular, the recurring image of Marcel Russ carving away at a totem pole in the twenty-first century conveys the strong, vibrant presence of totem carving and the important role it has in cultural expression for the Aboriginal people of the Northwest Coast. Throughout the film, the viewer hears and sees archival recordings of traditional songs, largely collected by Marius Barbeau, along with film clips of early ethnographic research and photographs. This historical record intermixes with contemporary views of Aboriginal peoples performing their cultural dances suggesting the continued legacy of culture and recalling the bans imposed by the Canadian government against potlaches and other cultural activities such as totem-carving.
The strong, slightly-scratchy voice of Carr is present throughout the entire film, reminding the viewer of her strength despite the many hardships she faced in her life. At one point, she stopped painting for many years, but she gained momentum again and received support and guidance from Lawren Harris and was seemingly accepted as one of the Group of Seven. Perhaps her works were too expressive for the tastes of the conservative institution of the National Gallery, which rejected her works and later bought only a few watercolours. In 1927 her work was included in a national exhibition, alongside traditional Aboriginal carvings from the Northwest Coast, and with other works from the Group of Seven. She was in her fifties at this time and it seemed her work was just receiving recognition. Carr’s spirited works continue to enthral visitors today, a testimony to her vital art and also her determination despite not receiving full acknowledgement as an artist until long after her death. Perhaps this film will push winds of change through the doors of the nation’s major art institution.
(Self Portrait, 1938-39).
(images courtesy of FADIS).
