Trading the keys to a city for all this
I loved the area of Northumberland, England where I lived, and through my art I felt an integral part of a rich culture by documenting its mining, fishing and farming communities.
There was a lot of community support. The Duke of Northumberland allowed me to use a turret for a studio when I needed it, and I held a much treasured pass from Newcastle United FC with the freedom to put up an easel anywhere at home games. I was also artist-in-residence in an educational program on Newcastle's redeveloping quayside.
I loved the castles and fishing villages along the coast and would spend the summers exploring for subject matter. When I had an idea for a project or an exhibition I had a good relationship with several arts development officers in the region.
I loved the pub culture, and the humour that went with it. Sunday mornings were spent in the pub; with my Dad, my friends, most of their Dads, and there was the smell of Sunday dinner on the walk home.
On the negative side, there was a period of social change in the 1980s. Margaret Thatcher's globalization policies meant the closure of the heavy industries that had been the pride of the region since George Stephenson invented the Rocket. Theft was on the increase with unemployment and hardship in all sectors of the British workforce. I had two motorcycles stolen in six months. And there was the class system to think about.
Moving to New Brunswick started in pretty much the same way that I approach my work, through a compulsion, an idea, an adventure, the thought that if you say no you will always wonder what would have happened.
One Saturday morning in March 1988 a letter arrived from lawyers informing me that I was the beneficiary of a house in Cambridge Narrows in the estate of my uncle Richard. On an invitation, my wife Linda and I arrived in Saint John in June of 1988.
Even from the air, as we flew into Montreal, Canada looked different. On the flight to Saint John our culture shock really began.
Do you see a house? Do you see a road? You want to come here?!! At this point half of the plane of normally quiet business people joined my wife in the discussion. By the time we arrived in Saint John we had our first impression of the warmth and the hospitable nature of the Maritimes.
It had been a late spring, and when we arrived in Cambridge Narrows a mist hung like a veil over the lake, revealing the landscape slowly in the sunlight. Our hosts left us to get a feel for the place.
The first day left a memory of beautiful moonlight swims with a bar of soap because the hand-dug well had run dry, and the introduction to Jeffries Store, where I requested a bottle of wine. Waking up the next morning I ventured out through a field of lupines to find a deer fawn in the grass a short distance from the house. I did not have to go far for subject matter, everything was in bloom. I chose to paint an apple tree looking in the direction of the lake. The result resurfaced at Tim Isaac's gallery recently.
During a break in the afternoon our future was sealed when Linda asked, "Where are we going to put the garden?"
A few days later we visited Cambridge Narrows School, and were impressed by the atmosphere and the quality of education that would be offered to our children Rachel, 12, and Paul, 8.
On a visit to Fredericton, I was amazed at the collection of the Beaverbrook Art Gallery. Reproductions of Sutherland's sketches of Churchill had inspired my early portrait work, a series of miners. Getting to know the Dali's took several visits.
The city had a wonderful summer, festive feel to it as people celebrated the sun after a long winter. This we would come to understand later.
Saint John had the gritty subject matter in its industry that I needed for my work and a series of the Grainger Market in Newcastle could easily be extended in the City Market in Saint John. The main difference was that people are much less aggressive in my new environment and I missed the fun of retaliating to the abuse. In Saint John only Elsie Wayne has ever provided that kind of fun.
Deciding to emigrate, on our return to England we applied to find immigration very difficult. "Everyone is talking Canada," I was informed by the director of Northern Arts, Peter Davies. "I don't know anyone who has been accepted."
I had a lucky break in the shape of an advertisement in Canada News, an immigration paper. Consequently, I met an agent for New Brunswick in London. She looked over our documents and could not see a problem, advising me to keep trying. A week later a letter arrived from Fredericton, an invitation to lunch in London, signed by Frank McKenna.
"So I hear that you have been having some problems, Richard," I imagined him saying in a cozy restaurant atmosphere. The McCain family had also been invited. It was a formal occasion, and McKenna gave a rousing speech on the quality of life in New Brunswick, and the integrity of its people, where a handshake was enough in a business deal and traffic jams were non-existent.
I returned home to discover our application had been accepted, that we were on our way. I worked for a year putting together a final show of works at Seaton Deleval Hall, going back over 20 years. We said goodbye a month later.
On our arrival Aug. 10, 1990, the Cambridge Narrows community welcomed us with a party at the house, and we quickly began to feel part of a vibrant community of people who were facing challenges and shaping the future of their village.
I began to explore the St. John River for subject matter while construction began on a studio built on wheels, a solution to winter landscape painting. A neighbour said he could get me anywhere, giving me the freedom to think of the possibilities and locations. The fall was a dramatic time, with trees the colour of tulips.
At the age of eight Paul needed to be accepted by the local kids, and hockey was the key. I can't think of anything more character building, watching him fall so many times until he learned the necessary skills. Driving to hockey games became a ritual that lead to a series of paintings on the subject and helped us all integrate into Canadian life. Rachel never seemed to have problems making friends. She was lucky to have classmates that were good role models and never looked back.
I am fortunate that my urban work is produced in the public realm. I began to meet people in the business community that have become steadfast friends, giving me confidence to be creative. In just over a year I was ready to exhibit and had a show of winter work at the Ring gallery, with several paintings of Saint John, including the frigate program together with landscapes from the mobile studio. This was followed a month later by a show of summer images at Gallery 78.
Fredericton is a different environment in a province with several art communities, which seem to be waiting for an arts development officer to bring them together. The Marion McCain show in November 1991 completed my education of the demographics of art in the province. I met several artists for the first time, and it turned out to be a social event that has happened few times since.
Some memorable moments shaped the future for me. I am still trying to give an articulate answer to Christina Sabat's first question, "What is the role of the artist?" She predicted that I would be seduced by the beauty of New Brunswick. In the end it was the land around my house that turned my head.
I developed a vision for future paintings at the planting stage, shaping the landscape with gardens, trees and ponds, providing a choice of subject matter on the doorstep. This makes every day in the summer seem like an adventure in a microcosm of the St. John River. Few artists get the opportunity to create like this.
Richard Flynn is an artist who lives in Cambridge Narrows.
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