‘height of land’
Tim Schouten’s suggestion to title our show Height of Land was quite compelling. He had come across the phrase while researching aboriginal treaties from Manitoba. “…height of land…” described a physical, topographical prominence, an identifiable marker that was readily recognized and understood by all. The title fit perfectly with my intended objectives.
I live amongst farmers and ranchers who have a reverence and respect for the land. It is a beautiful landscape I live in, but these days there is a palpable heaviness, a weight that hangs over it. Hidden beneath the vistas and valleys are the recurring fears of drought, of insect plagues, and disease… fears for livestock that have no market. We watch our neighbors struggle to take off a crop that has no value… and we know that we are all a part of it.
Much of the soil in central Alberta is very dark. When it is freshly turned there is a remarkable blackness to it that is startling. There is also something symbolic about the blackness… it signifies a beginning, and an end. As I went around the countryside last fall, the contrast between the beautiful autumn colours and the dark, freshly empty fields left me uneasy about the land for the first time in many years.
To invoke within my paintings a sense of underlying disquiet, I used a process of toning in discordant colours in the under painting. In 1989-90 I had created a series of images called Forest-Fade to Silent, dealing with acid rain in New Brunswick forests. Acid rain is insidious. You don’t see it. On the surface things look normal. It creeps up from within. To achieve the effect I was after I laid down discordant colour relationships, then interwove the image on top. The result was paintings that at first glance appeared “normal” or representational of typical forest imagery. Only after staring at the paintings for a while did something seem wrong. The unsettling effects of the hidden colours began to work their way through…much as acid rain itself. The infuse uneasiness into the landscape.
The “viewing distance” for my paintings is 10 – 15 feet. That’s the distance I step back to see if the colours are combining to give me the space and form I’m after. At that distance the top colours and the under painting begin to fuse, and the image “clicks” into focus. If one of my paintings seems unsettling up close, step back a few paces until you feel it form and fall into place. The landscape is readable then, comfortable; as it should be. Return for a close examination and the agitating undertones begin to make themselves felt. When we look beneath the surface, we are sometimes uncomfortable with what we find. Most of the images also have at least one dark field within them. What that darkness represents, I leave to the viewer. From the vantage point of a Height of Land, we can look down over the countryside, and find within it what we wish to see.

Previous Artist
