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A. Y. JACKSON, Reproduced by Courtesy of Rous @ Mann

They select a nice quiet spot away from cold winds or burning sun,
and set daintily to work, preferably on something with a little pool
in it, and reflections, and fluffy little clouds. Or else they ponder
solemnly on the scene in front of them, then retire to the seclusion
of their ‘‘studio,”’ and perpetrate their masterpieces, which are duly
framed and placed on exhibition, along with others of the same kind.
They select pretty spots in Stanley Park, or North Vancouver, or in
their gardens, and fondly believe that they are painting British
Columbia.

How different the approach of the artist (for the other is but one of
the “‘others’’) to the real British Columbia! His eyes are opén to
the true character of the country, he feels and understands its rhythm,
and his spirit is one with that of his surroundings. The appeal to
his being lies not in placid pools, or dainty trees and shrubs, or sunny
garden spots, but in the boundless sweep of sky and country away
from man’s depressing influence.

The majestic curve of shore and wave upon a calm beach; the lines
of mountain and mist across the water; the relentless upward thrust
of rounded hills; trees gnarled and twisted and blighted by the
breath of forest fire, silhouetted against dull skies; wave forms magi-

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