Sarah and Kim were playing in the freshly fallen leaves and a mild wind blew as the red and orange leaves stirred. The modest sign on the front lawn proclaimed "W.R. MacAskill House". The house itself sat back from the road and was white and wooden framed. The ancient glass in the windows shimmered unevenly, like century old glass does, in the late afternoon sun. The sun came through the clouds in golden rays, and glimmered on the blades of grass. The old stone foundation showed its wear and the mortar of the joints was starting to fall away.
A car entered the drive and rolled up beside the house and came to a sharp stop. From the car emerged a spry and smiling older woman who promptly marched up the steps and shuffled through her keys. "She's here." Kim beckoned.
We entered the vestibule and the sun filled the small entry with blinding rays. A small old wooden entry table had an open guest book on it and we signed ourselves in. The lady introduced herself as Eva and proceeded to tell us to go in and see as much as possible. She apologized for the delay and not being able to help us earlier in the week, but she explained she had her whole family over for thanksgiving when we had called. We shared our thanks to her for coming in late in the day on such short notice to allow us to see the house.
Eva was a gracious host and even told us to let little Sarah run while we looked around and she took here in to play with the old black phone in the kitchen. A knowledgeable guide, she started right away to tell us all about the restoration of the house and the gifts of original prints from the locals. The house was restored largely with private funds and gifts to the keepers.
The main foyer is a modest room with a staircase straight ahead and simple wooden trim. The old black and white prints hang on the walls, like shining ghosts of the past, soft and grey. We turned to the right and entered a room that likely was the family dining room and were immediately surrounded by photographs, some hand painted in soft earthy tones and others left pure and soft as the black grains of silver absorbed the light of the room into the prints. In the middle of the room hung a small tiffany style lamp, but instead of colored glass, the sides were covered in silver gelatin images. Eva said Wallace like to display his pictures like that and that this was one of the lamps he had made.
On the wall just to the right of the main front window, hung a print, and on the frame there was stickers and notes from several countries, galleries and shows. The print was soft and grey and slightly out of focus. A single sailboat, on glassy still waters, which faded to a soft grey mist. I knew the image right away, it was the Grey Dawn. It is said this image had won him over a hundred awards and had been on display at the World's Fair, I think I read in 1929. A shudder worked it's way through my body as I felt the powerful image touch me like it had so many others almost 80 years ago.
Eva said " I see you have found the Grey Dawn," then she proceeded to tell me about the history behind the silent Peggy's cove scene. After the brief explanation I had told her that I was fascinated by MacAskill and pictorialists of the era. I explained to her how I felt about the out of focus and soft areas of an image being as important and possibly more important than the areas in focus. She then wanted to tell me the whole story of Wallace MacAskill.
There once was a young boy from St. Peters, Nova Scotia, who loved sailing schooners, and the sea....
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To be continued...
B
You will note the pictures I am posting are mine and may not really be related directly to this story but, they are ones I am choosing to share the essence and feel of the time and place. Thanks for visiting.
