Eden bursts with art
Could it be true that God designed New Brunswick especially for me as my own private Eden? Otherwise why doesn't everyone want to live here? When the temperature dips to minus 30 C or an ice storm makes it impossible to go anywhere by foot or by car, I realize, however, that no wimp would stay. Some theologians conjecture that we have a vision of a lost Eden in our DNA. I complain a lot (my father claimed that all women complain a lot), but when I think about living here, my Eden gene becomes palpable.
Our neighborhood was a good place to bring up children, with its little park, ball field and skating rink, lots of kids, and parents who cared about these kids, mine as well as their own. Some of my American friends sent their children to super schools and expensive universities, but when I observe the outcome, the education of my own children stacks up very well.
Crime occurs here but not the heart-stopping every-minute kind of crime, and poverty is present but with caring people to help. My husband liked his colleagues and enjoyed his teaching, unlike some of his graduate student buddies who loathed the universities they landed in. He would explain to these buddies that he could walk one way and be in the UNB forest and walk another way and be at the library.
For me personally, the great Edenic joy has been the literary and art scene. In the U.S., I thought that aspiring to be a writer was akin to wanting to be a rock star. When I arrived in New Brunswick, becoming a writer was not only possible but inevitable. My publishing five novels involved very little angst and a great deal of pleasure. Kent Thompson said that when he came to New Brunswick, he could do everything he had only dreamed of: publish his fiction, teach creative writing, edit a literary magazine, and participate in the founding of The Writers' Union of Canada. He led a lively, productive writers' group that for 16 years provided me with inspiration, creative energy, friends, and opportunities to participate in various literary projects.
Without any credentials, I was asked to write on the arts. New Brunswick is large enough to have a densely populated arts scene but small enough for me to comprehend it. I loved meeting the artists and craftspeople and watching them perform their miracles.
This lively scene was here long before I came and hasn't died out. The University of New Brunswick still provides creative energy for young writers in the persons of Ross Leckie and Mark Jarman along with its writer-in-residence program. The Crafts School has metamorphosed into the College of Craft and Design with ties to other institutions. Saint John's art and literary scene is burgeoning as is Moncton's and Sackville's. Our provincial newspaper has had a dedicated arts section since 1993. How many small newspapers have one? When MP Andy Scott asked me to be on his arts advisory committee, he explained that the arts were an important part of his constituency.
We have a lively performance scene with The Playhouse, the Imperial, the Capitol, and lots of amateur theatre as well as professional concerts. UNB's library has been one of my great joys, large enough to provide for my wants but small enough not to demand I go through many hoops.
The arts are vigorously pursued here but in a humane, manageable way: the Tao rather than the Maelstrom. We have not now, nor have we ever had, one towering artistic presence. I have been watching Simon Shama's The Power of Art. The logo is in blood red for good reason; the eight artists Shama portrays, at least as he sees them, painted violently, either because that was the way they lived or that was the way they saw the world. They dominate the history of art. Our best creators will probably only be footnotes in that history. It's the price we pay for living in a peaceful place, in a relatively peaceful age. You've seen the T-shirt with the curse: "May you live in interesting times." I consider myself blessed to have lived most of my life in commonplace times in a serene spot, "a spot that's known to God alone." I remember the terror I felt during the FLQ crisis. That turned out to be only an eddy, but I could feel in my gut how it would be for me and my family if it had turned into a maelstrom.
Most artists, and I am one of them, feel obligated to carry on their creating, hoping to do their part in insuring that these civilizing arts continue, helping to maintain the possibility that another artist coming after them can also catch a glimpse of her Eden gene.
Nancy Bauer is an arts columnist who lives in Fredericton. She can be reached at wbauer@nbnet.nb.ca.
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