Stories Told

 

Earlier this week a few coworkers of mine began exchanging ghost stories.  One coworker recounted how her aunt’s cottage was haunted by a previous owner.  People see an elderly man through the windows of the house when it is supposed to be vacant. There are disembodied footsteps on the stairs. Taps are turned on and off at random. Another coworker shared that her sister’s house had previously belonged to the sister’s parents in law.  The house is surrounded by miles of prairie and is an old, yet still beautiful, yellow brick farmhouse. It is known within the family to be a creepy place during a full moon.  When the young couple purchased the house from their elders the sister’s mother in law (who had lived in that farmhouse the whole of her married life) said in a soft, girlish voice, and wry smile, “Oh, it’s a full moon tonight. The gremlins will be out.” Pets raise their hackles and bare pointed teeth to vacant hallways. Hard soled shoes walk across the wooden floors.  The sounds of people talking are hear behind the door leading to the attic. I scoffed at these stories but leaned in closer and kept listening. It wasn’t yet noon and yet I felt chills on the back of my neck. 

It should be mentioned that I don’t believe in ghosts.  I believe in the power of perception and of the human imagination. I believe in the power of a good story and of the magic (or if I should provide a word which carries less of a supernatural connotation, perhaps "captivation"?) between a story teller and their audience.  Having now shared my beliefs, I know that had I been listening to these stories in a darkened wood near a campfire I am sure my empirical resolve would not shield me from the thrilling power of these tales. 

The moments I spent listening to my coworkers and their creepy tales inspired me to think of the seemingly universal appreciation of an eerie narrative. I thought of those huddled in a longhouse ages ago, who shivered as a bard spoke with a thunderous voice and great gestures of the monstrous Grendel  who wandered the misty moors. I thought of Victorians sitting in overstuffed flower-patterned chairs holding crystal glasses of port round a crackling fireplace on a wintry eve and exchanged stories in hushed, resolved tones of floating grey ladies, mysteriously locked rooms, and draughty castles. For a good story (no matter what we believe) we can let ourselves be carried along for a time in the waves of the tale, for our hair to raise, and to watch for moving shadows in the corner of our eye.  Seemingly, it something we have shared in common through the ages.

Images from Rupert`s Land: The Work of Peter Rindisbacher.

How time flies! The month of March has kept me busy; marking papers, concentrating on my own work, and yes, procrastinating. I'm currently working towards completing an essay about the artwork of Peter Rindisbacher. Never heard of him, you say? Canada claims his work as an important element within the foundations of its history. Rindisbacher came from Switzerland at the age of fifteen in 1821. The Rindisbacher family, as well as 160 other settlers (primarily Swiss), were part of a last effort by the English Lord Selkirk and the Hudson's Bay Company to try and colonize the Red River area (present day Winnipeg). This project had begun in 1812 and was never considered anything other than a failure. The area of Red River was already inhabited by various First Nations groups, retired fur traders, their families and earlier groups of settlers (mainly Highland Scotts in this case) sent by Selkirk in years previous. Meanwhile, many from this fresh group of Selkirk Settlers would not stay in Red River very long; some, including Rindisbacher, would travel southwards to the United States after a few years of crop failures and disease. Rindisbacher would die at the age of twenty-eight in St-Louis, Missouri.

Great Danger of the ship Wellington of being crushed by an iceberg at Lat. 61.42 N.

July 25, 1821.

In the meantime, Rindisbacher painted many scenes depicting life in Rupert's Land. He was primarily self-taught, except for having studied briefly with Swiss artist Jakob Weibel, a minituarist and landscape artist. Rindisbacher's images reflect European stylistic preferences of the time. Scenes of Rupert's Land would begin with the arrival of the settlers aboard the Wellington at York Factory in Hudson Bay and the ship's close call with an iceberg. Other scenes would reveal the life of the settlers as they journeyed from Hudson Bay towards Red River; portaging York boats and camping along Lake Winnipeg.

Extremely wearisome journeys at the portages,

1821 .

Cold night camp on the inhospitable shores of Lake Winnipeg,

1821 .

Colonists on the Red River in North America

ca. 1822 .

The Governor of Red River, driving his Family on the River in a Horse Cariole,

1825.

Un métis et ses deux épouses.

Other scenes, such as the one above, would cater to European interests of the time such as notions of the exotic.

Indian hunters pursuing buffalo in the early spring,

1822.

Another popular scene at the time, which Rindisbacher produced amply, was that of hunting big game.

In the past, many of these images have been taken as accurate and truthful representations, though current endeavours by historians have commented that Rindisbacher had his own perceptions of that which he was witnessing and was also well aware of the interests of potential buyers. Negative stereotypes regarding First Nations and Métis peoples have also sprouted from literal interpretations of these images. Nevertheless, the art of Peter Rindisbacher are valuable remnants from an exciting age of interaction between cultures. The last image is one of my favourites; it depicts the forks where the Assiniboine and Red Rivers meet, where now stands the center of present-day Winnipeg.

Winter fishing on the ice of the Assiniboine and Red Rivers,

1821.1

*Images were provided by the digital collections of Library and Archives Canada*