Emily Carr by Lewis DeSoto Page A

she arrived in a remote village with only an Indian girl as a guide. In the drizzle and mist, on a rocky bluff, she stumbles on the path and looks up from a bed of nettles to see a creature looming above her. “She seemed to be part of the tree itself, as if she had grown there at its heart.” The eyes bore into Emily and she imagines that the life of the cedar is looking out and the voice of the tree is coming from the mouth of the carved figure. Years later, Emily comes upon a similar figure, and this time her descriptions are similar to those used by others to describe Emily herself. “The whole figure expressed power, weight, domination, rather than ferocity.” When Emily asks who the figure represents, she is told that it is the wild woman of the woods.
    On the third occasion when she meets the figure, Emily sees it as a young and fresh singing spirit, graciously feminine and womanly. The wild woman is now shy and untouchable. It was while she was painting this figure that a swarm of feral cats came out of the forest and surrounded Emily, a dozen of them, purring and rubbing her ankles, one even jumping into her lap.
    We can speculate that Emily saw herself in the carved poles she painted, as one of those silent, isolated figures, alone, noble, and proud. In light of her written descriptions, we can look at the painting of Zunoqua as not sinister at all, but as an image of integration. The animals, the art, the forest, and the woman are all one together—a self-portrait of the spirit.

CHAPTER TWENTY
The Painter
    Musing about art in her journal, Emily jotted down this thought:
    I do not think that most artists could tell what was their aim in art exactly. It just grew and grew from a small beginning. It necessitates much digging and searching, burrowing as deep as one is able and the using of our hearts as well as our eyes.
    One can become a painter by learning the requisite skills and techniques, but to become an artist is a different matter entirely. Emily wanted to make something that was true and real. She could not see what she wanted to make, but her intuition and her desire told her that it existed—if she could find it. She felt blind and alone because what she wanted to make had never yet been seen. She wanted to make something entirely new. The task seemed almost impossible, but she went forth, into the unknown.
    All children like to draw, and then, as they grow older, they abandon the pastime. But with a little encouragement, some persist. Emily was one of these. The Carr family had never produced an artist of any sort. Emily was the first. She had some natural talent and some ability, but above all, she had the desire.
    When Emily was eight years old she drew a picture of her father’s dog, using a bit of charcoal from the fireplace and a scrap of paper. Years later, after her father’s death, it was found among his papers. On the back he had made the notation, “By Emily. Aged 8.”
    She also drew a couple of family portraits from a photograph. When her father gave her some gold coins and commissioned her to make copies of the portraits, she set up a studio in the pantry. She was further encouraged when drawing lessons were arranged.
    She wanted to learn more. She sought out teachers, first in San Francisco, then in London, and once again in France. She also learned a great deal from two other artists, Mark Tobey and Lawren Harris. But her greatest lessons came in the forest, from studying totem poles made by carvers whose names she never knew.
    No artist emerges from a vacuum or works in one. The idea of the solitary genius is a myth—a myth sometimesencouraged by the artist herself. Emily Carr was not some untutored creator simply expressing herself in paint. She studied her art and was exposed to many influences. The fact that she absorbed and transformed those influences into something unique is a testament to her ability. The kinds of paintings Emily made are a