Germanic

Dec 8 2018

A sturdy ferry, in nautical white.

With a bright red stack, jauntily angled

and wind-whipped flags, crisply snapping

on a brisk blue sea

flecked with froth.

A coal-black plume

chuffs from its funnel

streaming toward the bow.

How disconcerting,

to see it vent its exhaust

in the direction of travel.

Unlike ships, as they're always depicted

bravely steaming ahead

trailing smoke.

But in the artist's eye

we see a working vessel

on a sweet-water sea,

an infernal smudge

on pastel sky.

A tail wind,

yet the sulphurous plume

evokes the resistance of water.

Of glowing boilers

steam erupting,

massive pistons

repeatedly thrusting.

The rusted screw

straining, churning,

an unglamorous vessel

hard at work.

It occupies most of the canvas

but still seems small,

eclipsed

by the indifferent power

of wind and wave,

by a merciless sea

so vastly present

yet hardly seen.

I can hear the clanging of pipes

sense a low-pitched throb.

Feel her steel shudder

at battering waves

and the weight of water.

A workhorse ferry

forging on.

This is the second consecutive time this picture appeared in the weekend paper. A small ad for an art gallery, one among many that also contained full colour reproductions. Yet both times, it was the only one that absolutely compelled my eye: caught and held it, then drew me back. Even though it occupied a small rectangle in the lower half of an otherwise unremarkable inside page.

I know what I found immediately appealing: the bright primary colours; the sure but unschooled style; the ship itself – jaunty, almost festive, but still a humble working vessel. Words like “sturdy” and “dogged” come to mind. But what compelled was that column of smoke, going in the direction of travel. Which is, of course, perfectly normal, and as common as any direction. Yet is also striking because it seems few artists ever depict a ship this way. Yes, a tail wind, but it still makes the ship seems slow: steady, determined, and unaccountably charismatic; reminiscent, somehow, of “the engine that could.”

The artist is Angus Trudeau (1908 to 1984), and the title of the piece is Germanic. Here is a thumbnail biography, which I've lifted from the website of Gallery Gevik, who apparently represent his work:

Angus Trudeau spent his working life as a sailor and cook aboard the Lake Huron commercial ships. He devoted his spare time, and his retirement years to painting and model building. Trudeau's language was Ojibwe and he spent virtually his whole life on or around Manitoulin Island, and in later life, on the Wikwemikong Reserve, where he was much admired by the younger generation of the Woodland School of painters.

Trudeau's inspiration is drawn from the world of Manitoulin, although his vision is imbued with deeply personal insight. His subjects (the lake freighters and ferry boats, the bygone community buildings and events), are often portrayed through the diapason of memory or through reference materials he collected.

The artist's self-taught style is well suited to the purity and freshness of his vision. The approach perfectly conveys the lively delight with which Trudeau viewed the world around him and its ghosts from the past. His paintings incorporate a variety of media, including some elements of collage. Often bending the "laws" of perspective, they are startlingly vivid and richly evocative.