Emily Carr As I Knew Her

by Carol Pearson

  She made me almost glad that it rained a little. She did it on purpose and in such a way that I was extra glad to have been there. It made leaving like putting a lid on a box of treasures, something to be taken with us, kept always, enjoyed at our leisure.

  When we were unpacking at her home several days later we found, pushed far down in the corner of the boxes among the soiled clothing and linen, the head of one of the fish we had eaten, several sea shells, a lid from one of the cans (which we thought had been carefully buried) and the skin from an old grapefruit! And you think monkeys are nice tidy little fellows, that mind their own business? But we did laugh.

  About 1930, when the heart pains began to come and she tired very easily, Emily Carr thought out another plan to make the sketching trips possible. Her friends, who knew how much depended on her trips out into the woods, thought her a genius. Those who did not know her, did not understand her, were quick to criticize.

  This all happened long before car trailers were thick on the roads. Any there were, were light little two-wheel affairs. Miss Carr got a truck body and had it fitted up with neat built-in cupboards, shelves, and furniture. It had good strong wheels, though it was a little rough outside. She arranged for a man to tow her with his truck into the woods when she wanted to go. There she would sketch or rest, as her tiring heart demanded. She would stay sometimes a week at a time, or many weeks, depending on the weather. I enjoyed many of these trips with her when, after my marriage, I went West to visit with her. But even in her caravan she could not be free of the unkindly, curious public, who would poke about, though she would have welcomed them graciously, had they given her the chance.

  Miss Carr’s friends went to visit her on Sundays and had many lovely picnics there, with the little animal family, out under the trees. On these occasions, Miss Carr was always so relaxed and amusing as she related the meetings of her little pets with the wild animals. There were smiles and chuckles everywhere; her descriptions were so accurate and colourful, it was almost as if the incident were taking place before them. Imagine, then, the gross ignorance the strangers would show, wandering about as close as they dared, listening and staring. There was never anything out of the way going on. I would get angry clear through, but Miss Carr never let me show it. “Don’t give them the satisfaction, Child,” she would say. “Poor things, they may have no place to go, no real interests; I suppose we should be proud. But just ignore them, be glad you are able to enjoy the woods and the animals.” I would have to grin, as I wondered what their reactions would be, if they knew her reasons for letting them be?

  Again you see, the advice given to me by Miss Carr was reasonable, quiet, short, and to the point. Yet when she refers to herself in her books, have you noticed that she leaves the impression that she thinks of herself as a devil to deal with? This is I think, because she was a severe critic of herself always, of her painting and writing. She was the last to give credit to any of her own hard work.

  Miss Carr’s paintings, years ago when they were very new, puzzled many people. They had become accustomed to the copies of land and sea done by many artists of the district. Her large canvases, with their vivid colouring, great feelings of strength, space, loneliness, age, youth, anything at all that she wanted to express, were very different and not everyone was capable of understanding them. So, at once, her paintings were labelled queer.

  She painted what it was that she felt as she gazed at the subject before her, and with her great imagination at work on her canvas, trees came almost alive. She could give such dignity to an old grey stump that she made it seem almost holy. Beside it would be the gayest, most devilish little tree, carrying on with another little tree. In this way she would portray their great wisdom and extreme youth, with no apparent effort at all.

  Some of Emily Carr’s best paintings are trees or groups of them, as seen by her in the great forests of our Canadian West. Her love for the West is there on the canvas for you to see. A mother cat, washing a kitten, holding it firmly but at the same time accomplishing the job thoroughly and gently, that was Emily Carr, at work on a canvas! Gentle, loving strength is hard to portray on canvas; it is even hard for me to put words around.

  PULLING DAISIES: HE WILL, HE WON’T

  LAVISH though her use of colour and descriptive words may have been, when it came to dress Emily Carr was simplicity itself. She insisted on fresh clothes every day, but they were as plain as possible; her dresses were almost like shortened nightgowns. As she said, they were the easiest to get into, also they were less showy on her plump little body. Once you knew her, you never gave a thought to her weight, mostly, I think, because she was the first to poke fun at herself. After only a minute or two with her, you were quite unaware of it, so completely engrossed would you become with her eyes, her hands, and her manner, which, when she was interested or entertaining, was almost a magnetism. Even differences in age were not apparent; people of both sexes and all ages felt the magnetism when they were with her, that is if they had a real reason for being there. She could smell out a faker every time, and for these she had no patience or time, and very few words.

  For several years my family came back for the summer months to their summer home in the Haliburton area, but returned to the Pacific coast soon after the first frosts came. My close association with Emily Carr lived through all the separations; her letters were so alive and chatty, that though I was only a child I kept most of them. Miss Carr was not famous then; she was poor, she worked hard, and at times was openly made fun of.

  About that time there was some talk of my going to Europe, to continue with my painting. It was to be for a four-year period, and Miss Carr was to choose my teachers. I was not overly anxious; I hated the thought of being so far away from everyone I knew; also on one of the summer trips East, I had fallen in love, and nothing else seemed important. My Mother, when I told her, pointed out that I had just turned seventeen. She suggested that we go West again, for the season at least. If, at the end of that time, I still wanted to be married, whenever it was, she would return East with me for the, to me, great event. She was so very fair always. Miss Carr asked only, “Child, could, or would you keep house, and paint?” Then, I thought I could! Emily Carr and I talked it over at length. The boy lived in the East. I agreed to try to convince him as soon as possible that the West was the place to live. She, like my Mother, thought me much too young, but, “Never let love, if it is true love, slip through your fingers,” she said. She had told me many times the story of the one man in her life who had mattered, and who, years before, had gone off to war, never to return. He had been anxious to marry before he went, but she was afraid a wife at home would be an added worry for him. She had waited, and so lost all chance of happiness. Several men had loved her, and offered her marriage, but she had remained true to her real love. This was not what she wanted for me. At the end of that year I decided to marry, and rejoin her at the Coast as soon as possible.

  I wrote to her regularly during the few months each year I spent in the East. Miss Carr said that she had noticed in my letters a free, easy way of expressing myself, and suggested that I take up short story writing. I have always been crazy about horses, have always had at least one, and every minute I was not with her I was out with the horse, riding or grooming him. To sit, and write! But I did think she should adopt her own advice, take the course herself, and write. Miss Carr was then only middle-aged; she was brim full of animal stories, all true, that children and animal lovers would like. We had several set-to’s about it. She finally agreed to take the course herself, if I would, and said she would gladly pay all fees in order to get me started. I never did start it. Just as the first forms came (there was some delay), my train was pulling out for the East again. So she took the “mail order” course herself. She said she would send the courses on to me, after I was married and settled, and would then correct them herself. But married life was too much for me. As you will have guessed
, I had no time.

  Later, in 1940, when the heart attacks became worse and Miss Carr was confined to bed, and painting was for some time out of the question, it was to writing she turned to give an outlet to the energy she possessed. Quite often her letters to me would contain short stories that later appeared in her first book, Klee Wyck. She wrote them piece by piece, each chapter a story in itself. Her memory was amazing.

  HER ANIMAL FRIENDS

  CHEESE and apple pie, sauce for a gander, Emily Carr and animals. Some things just naturally go together; when one is present, the other will be handy. Woo, the little monkey, was, I think, through the years I knew Miss Carr, the most interesting of her animals. Miss Carr had had her for years and was very fond of her. Woo was very intelligent and was well worth studying. Like all monkeys she was very sure about whom she liked, and whom she didn’t. Perhaps she had learned this trait from Miss Carr herself.

  She always wore little full-skirted dresses, that were made for her by Miss Carr. Many were knitted, all very attractive. They were the old-fashioned hoop style dresses of long ago; the full skirts left plenty of room for the active little legs. The leather strap she wore, sometimes as a belt, sometimes around her neck, had a small steel ring riveted into it, that her chain snapped onto. The fact that Woo could very easily undo her chain did not matter; she must wear it! It was amazing how seldom she took advantage and released herself. When she did, she would glance about, over one shoulder and then the other, obviously feeling very guilty and in great haste. “OooOOOHH ooOOOO,” she would mutter, her little lips pursed, for all the world like a naughty child about to raid the cookie jar and wondering how much time remained before Mama returned. Often Miss Carr and I would be behind the door, watching the little monkey. She would get the collar undone, and in spite of her haste would always take time to refasten the buckle before placing it on the floor. She never left it undone! Then off she would go. We never knew till she was on her way what it was she had in mind for that particular raid. Sometimes it would be only a trip to the cage of the parrots which she teased unmercifully if she had the chance and time. The sunflower seeds kept there were a treat for her also, and she would fill her monkey pockets (these are little pouches monkeys have inside their cheeks for just such purposes), spill the rest on the floor of their cage, then give the cage a good shake, mainly to get them yelling, as only parrots can yell. If there had been guests for afternoon tea, and the tray had hurriedly been taken out, out she would go to inspect the partly eaten treats. Lumps of sugar, cookie pieces, anything that happened to be there would go into any room left in the monkey pockets. Every teacup would be carefully drained, any sugar carefully scooped out with her small forefinger, and then she would place each cup back on its saucer but upside down! We never did know why she did this, but had many jokes about it. Her little brown hands were not more than two inches long, yet you have never handled your own best Dresden china with more care. When she had finished, back she would go to her chain, tie herself up, and sit, looking like a cherub. If, as we spied her, we saw that she was about to get into some real mischief, we would rattle the door knob, or stamp on the floor, and back she would rush, quickly put on the chain, and turn her back to the spot the sound had come from. Then she would appear lost in thought, as very absent-mindedly she plucked away at a few folds of her gown, just as old people are apt to do. When we had been away, and had been obliged to leave her for a time, it was very simple on our return to tell at once if Woo had been into any monkey mischief! All that was necessary was to enter the room. If we were greeted with monkey glee, or gloom, or curiosity, then all was well, she had been a good monk. But if she was too preoccupied to notice us, then Heaven help us clean up the muddle we were apt to find! The days she decided to paint were the worst; almost as bad were the times, and there were a few, when she decided to cook!

  One day we had seen a pretty little rock plant while walking out by the Gorge. I dug up a small piece of the root for Miss Carr, as soon as she admired it. But in the process I got into a poison plant of some kind, and very soon my hands and one side of my face were covered with a rash. Miss Carr gave me an ointment she had. It was a pale yellow greasy salve, very good for this type of thing, so I kept it in my pocket, and applied a little every time I started to itch.

  After a trip one day, we returned to find Woo preoccupied, very intent on the stitches in her hem. But her little hands and face were the greenest little hands and face you could imagine. She had seen me with the tube of salve and thought that any paint tube would do. We had a green monkey for days, and we had a hard time trying to clean her enough even to save the furniture.

  Sometimes on the long walks in the evenings, Mom would take Woo’s chain and snap it to CoCo’s collar. CoCo was the most loved dog. It was funny to see them. Dogs are interested in bones, and gate posts, while monkeys like to turn over leaves and look in empty candy wrappings. Though small, the dog was much the stronger. They would run along a few yards, then the dog would stop short to sniff, and the monkey would nearly take a header as the chain stopped her with a jerk. She soon learned to carry her chain in her hand, leaving a loop always, between her fist and the collar, and in this way she was saved the sudden jerks on her neck or small waist. At first, when she wanted to stop, she applied all four brakes, but the little dog would settle down and pull her right along. She soon learned a very smart trick. At that time most of the sidewalks off the main streets were made of boards. When she wanted to stop, she put on a burst of speed, passed the dog, then, quickly she took up several links of the chain, as close to the dog as possible, and crammed the few links in her fist between the cracks in the boards! The dog stopped in a hurry; he fussed and fumed about, as the monkey deliberately dawdled. The monkey learned very quickly to carry extra chain to protect her neck, and then the trick of jamming the chain into small crevices to hold the dog. But the dog never tried to put two and two together. CoCo never associated, in his slow little mind, the fact that the monkey ran ahead with the fact that he was so suddenly stopped. Yet his capacity for loving and for expressing his devotion was much greater than hers. Woo would loiter till we were in danger of passing from sight then, because she knew the little dog would really fly to catch up, she’d undo the links, then leap wildly, like a frog, onto the dog’s back, where she would crouch jockey style, the loose chain gathered up in one little fist, as she hung on with the other three! The children along the way loved to see them. When we had gone only a short distance, often we found a spot to sit, where we could watch the animals as they played about. The dogs, though clever, were no match for the monkey’s active little brain. Miss Carr was always thinking up situations that presented hazards to both, just to see them work their own way out. The monkey often went to the dog’s assistance if, for example, he was dragging his own chain while she was loose. If he became tangled, and we pretended not to see his distress, she would go and quickly undo the snarl. If, however, we did let them know we were aware of his plight and in sympathy with him, she would bare her little teeth in a monkey grin, and jump up and down, making fun of him. When she thought he was pulling the chain free, she would quickly tangle it up again.

  Often we would walk to the top of Beacon Hill Park, where we could see far out in every direction. The animals loved it up there too; they would run through the broom, dodging and playing, with no chains to hamper any of them. There was no traffic for miles. They would come, monkey and all, at a call from Miss Carr; her “Hi tykes” would ring out gaily, and they would scamper in from every direction.

  One day we were walking through our favourite path in the broom, and she asked me what was wrong. She said that not only was I quieter than usual, but seemed sad. I had not intended to tell her, to save her heartache, but her love and sympathy changed my resolution. So I told her of my Mother’s old Scottie who had been failing for some time and had reached the stage where living was an effort. That evening I was to take him for his last walk, then t
o the Animal Hospital for his last sleep. Mom said nothing for a while. Then, “Child, years ago Saint Francis said animals were very close to the heart of God. They must be; I am sure they are. The faith the animals have in us is heart-warming, exceeds by far, very often, the faith we have in each other. It is not so hard to part with an animal we love, when we remember it is dear to the heart of Him.”

  Often Miss Carr would sing softly as we walked along. She loved to sing; not operatic selections, or current hits, but little ditties, made up by herself to fit the occasion, to her own gay little tunes. She had, too, an easy knack with verse. She could start to write, and go along as if it was a letter, yet when it was read over, there it was, as clear as a bell, and all in rhyme. Very often these verses were done in a little book, illustrated, generally in pen and ink. There her free, easy style is set off to advantage, and is beautiful to see. Years ago Miss Carr gave me a lovely one that she had done in 1895. There were a dozen or more about the studio, but she gave them away to friends. They should be collected and put on exhibition where the public could see them. These easy sketches can be enjoyed by everyone, including those untrained in the appreciation of Art.

  Woo seemed to know when Miss Carr was busy with pupils and could distinguish, in some way, between them and the visitors, I suppose by the chatter. She was always very good if work was being done in any form, but to have to sit and be ignored, because of visitors, was asking too much of her. Like a naughty child, she would rather get into trouble and be punished than be ignored. If time passed, with no fuss being made of her, she would quietly slip her collar off and go to the shelf where the papers and magazines were kept. Woo would carefully take a Liberty, or a magazine of similar size, that she could handle easily. Then, when it was spread out to suit her, at the feet of the guest usually, she would sit down, and the fun would start. The book would be flat on the floor, her little hands would flip over the pages as she skimmed through, apparently looking for a certain page or picture. To keep the bottom page in place, one little foot would snap up and down, as each page was turned, to hold it firm. Every eight or ten pages she would glance up to see if she had the visitor’s interest or attention yet. As soon as she saw a flicker of interest, she would clap the book shut, careful always to leave a finger or a toe in the pages she thought the visitor had been interested in. Then she would clasp her arms around her tummy, rock back and forth, apparently in great glee, laughing fit to burst, in such obvious mirth that even the most serious person had to smile. That was her cue! She would then carry on such an exhibition of flirtation and comic mirth that everyone present would soon be weak from laughing, even those who had seen the performance many times. The little dogs would all gather around, staring very solemnly, like little stooges trying to get in on the act. If the laughing ceased, or if the attention lagged, Woo would reopen the book a crack, peek in, slam it shut, and roll on the floor, pretending to be weak, and would continue to play and act up as long as anyone laughed with, or even at her.