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The Art of Fenwick Lansdowne
[James Fenwick Lansdowne died in 2008. The following article was published approximately eleven years earlier in July of 1987 by Robert H. Jones and subsequently offered to BC BookWorld for reprint purposes by the freelancer.]
Meeting a legend
By Robert H. Jones
There is a moment of hesitation at the gate. Beyond, behind the faded exterior of the small cottage, one of the most respected artists of modern times is at work: James Fenwick Lansdowne. The cultured, almost aristocratic voice on the telephone is about to become reality. The problem: How does one greet a living legend?
Stepping onto the wooden veranda, I see Lansdowne through the window; he is sitting at his easel, a telephone receiver at his ear. He spots me and waves me inside. As I enter, he covers the mouthpiece. "Sorry about this. Give me a minute." I nod in mute reply. So much for the greeting. I study the surroundings. Spartan. What was once a living room is now a spacious, well lit studio. Sparsely furnished, a few mementos scattered here and there, a bird skin on a stand beside the easel, and behind him, leaning against the wall, a wooden crutch.
Born 50 years ago in Hong Kong, Lansdowne was stricken with polio at the age of 10 months. He was seven years old before a series of operations permitted him to walk, ten before he attended a public school.
His telephone conversation ends and we get down to business. I explain what Wildlife Art News is after. There has been reams of stuff written on the art of Fenwick Lansdowne, but very little about the man behind the brush.
"Well, I suppose I'm not really very interesting." He is very matter of fact.
I've heard you called talented, cynical, opinionated but never uninteresting.
"I was recently called 'stuffy' in an Art Impressions article," he counters.
Ah, but the editor, Yvonne Sheppard, described you to me as 'reserved.'
He mulls that over, then smiles. "Well, I suppose that sounds better than stuffy."
As we chat, the legend proves to be quite congenial, and his deep, oh so cultured voice is much less intimidating in person than it had been during our short telephone conversation. What I find slightly disconcerting, is that unlike most artists his hands do not become animated while talking of his craft.
I quickly learn to watch his eyes and facial expressions, for they reveal far more of what he is conveying than any waving of hands. He does not smile often, but when he does, his face virtually illuminates.
Why do you work in a studio rather than your home?
"It keeps me away from distractions. I've had this place since 1963, even before I bought a house. As long as I'm in town, I come to work every day, even if it's only for an hour or two. It's hard to stay away from it.
"I'm a slow worker, so I try to spend about five or six hours a day here. I used to start about 8:15 in the morning, but now with two small children one three and one just under a year by the time I get out of the house, I don't get going till about nine. I usually work till about three."
He points to a drawing on the easel. "Right now, I'm working on some commissioned paintings, a series on 32 endangered Chinese birds. This is a jay from Taiwan. I'm having a lot of trouble finding skins to work from because they are rare. Collections that have them just won't lend them. The Royal Ontario Museum has about a dozen, so I'm working my way through those. Where I'm going to get the rest of them, I don't know.
"This is a preliminary sketch. I'll work this up into a detailed drawing, then I'll transfer it onto the final paper. I find that by tracing the final image, the figures can be moved around and erased as necessary. If the preliminaries were all done on the same paper used for the painting, the surface would be damaged by the erasures."
Do you ever use other paint mediums?
"No, I've never worked with anything but gouache and water color. I find it suitable for me, for the type of work I do."
Okay, let's talk about your early years. How does a young fellow born in Hong Kong end up in Victoria, British Columbia?
"My father was an engineering executive with a British firm there. About the beginning of the Second World War, my parents took me to London to see what could be done about my polio. There had been a big epidemic about the time I got it, but no one knew much about it in those days.
"There was little to offer in London, so they came here and put me in the old solarium, which at that time was out by Mill Bay, north of here. It coincided with the beginning of the war, when all the women and children were being evacuated from Hong Kong, so my mother and I stayed. My father very foolishly went back to take a new post at Shanghai. He ended up spending five years stifling in an internment camp.
"My mother came from Manchuria; that's where she spent her childhood and part of her girlhood. At one point, her parents decided to retire here in Victoria. They did for about two years, but then they went back to Manchuria. So, when we had to stay here, at least Victoria was familiar to her.
"Father's company paid the expenses, but they were very small. I think Mother got a hundred dollars a month from this rather colossal firm. At the time, there were a number of women and children in similar circumstances, about a half dozen whose husbands were either interned or in the army. It made sort of a little club. My earliest recollections of life here on the Island are centered around this little group of women and children." He smiles at the remembrance. "I suppose you could say my childhood was spent with other expatriates and old colonial people.
"We lived in a number of different places. Thinking that the Japanese were about to invade Victoria, people would often rent their houses and go off to the Okanagan. Nothing would happen, so they would return and want their house back. As a result, we lived in a tremendous number of places here in Victoria and to the north, in Cowichan Bay and Mill Bay.
"After the war, my father came back and we returned to Hong Kong. We only stayed about 18 months, though, because he had contracted tuberculosis. Everybody came out of those camps with their health wrecked. They either died right away or the effects shortened their lives. He retired in 1948 and we came back here."
At what point did your interest in birds begin?
He ponders for a moment. "You know, I really have no idea. I was always keen on birds it just seems to be a predisposition. I remember that when I was five years old, I already knew quite a few of them, so it must have started even earlier. I suppose, too, that I have a certain affinity with my subjects. Which is probably natural after working with them day and night for over 30 years. I don't get out on bird watching trips as much as I used to, but I know what's there when I see it or hear it.
"I used to think that I'd be a biologist or something along that line, but by the time I was in high school, I wasn't really that interested any longer.
"I've been drawing since I could pick up a pencil. My mother drew and painted, so she encouraged me. And, of course, I had a fair amount of time because I couldn't run around. I read a lot and drew a lot I liked to draw anyway, so I probably would have in any event.
"I was about 13 when I really got going on painting birds. In retrospect, I'm sorry now that I never took any art training. We used to be told that, 'Oh, it will affect your style,' or 'It will damage your natural ability.' I think that's hogwash. I no longer believe that good training at drawing or working with colors would ever hurt anybody. You would apply it to what you are doing and be a lot better off in the long run.
"Art is a continuing learning process in which I discover great patches of ignorance. The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know. Things I know now, or things that I may never know, I might have learned and much sooner had I gone to a good art school."
I had heard from several sources that Lansdowne was quite modest about his talent. Pat Dunn, a well-known Victoria conservationist, has known him for 25 years. "Whenever I'm with him, I have a feeling of being in the presence of greatness. I once told him that and he said, 'Don't be ridiculous!' He's very self effacing, you know. He's a far better artist than any of the present day hotshots, but they are better salesmen. I'm afraid Fenwick doesn't believe in beating his own drum.
"A friend of mine, Gaylord Donnelly, has a fantastic collection of originals by Audubon and Peter Scott. He told me that Fenwick's book on Rails of the World, which was commissioned by the Smithsonian Institute, was one of the finest books since Audubon."
Lansdowne's work is often compared to Audubon. In 1956, when he was barely 19, a portfolio of his paintings was sent to John Livingston, then executive director of the Canadian Audubon Society. As a result, arrangements were made to show 40 works at the Royal Ontario Museum. Soon after, Lansdowne's bird paintings began appearing in various Canadian magazines, introducing his work across the nation. Two years later he appeared at Audubon House, and in 1961, at the prestigious Tryon Galleries in London.
[Bob Jones / Wildlife Art News]
Meeting a legend
By Robert H. Jones
There is a moment of hesitation at the gate. Beyond, behind the faded exterior of the small cottage, one of the most respected artists of modern times is at work: James Fenwick Lansdowne. The cultured, almost aristocratic voice on the telephone is about to become reality. The problem: How does one greet a living legend?
Stepping onto the wooden veranda, I see Lansdowne through the window; he is sitting at his easel, a telephone receiver at his ear. He spots me and waves me inside. As I enter, he covers the mouthpiece. "Sorry about this. Give me a minute." I nod in mute reply. So much for the greeting. I study the surroundings. Spartan. What was once a living room is now a spacious, well lit studio. Sparsely furnished, a few mementos scattered here and there, a bird skin on a stand beside the easel, and behind him, leaning against the wall, a wooden crutch.
Born 50 years ago in Hong Kong, Lansdowne was stricken with polio at the age of 10 months. He was seven years old before a series of operations permitted him to walk, ten before he attended a public school.
His telephone conversation ends and we get down to business. I explain what Wildlife Art News is after. There has been reams of stuff written on the art of Fenwick Lansdowne, but very little about the man behind the brush.
"Well, I suppose I'm not really very interesting." He is very matter of fact.
I've heard you called talented, cynical, opinionated but never uninteresting.
"I was recently called 'stuffy' in an Art Impressions article," he counters.
Ah, but the editor, Yvonne Sheppard, described you to me as 'reserved.'
He mulls that over, then smiles. "Well, I suppose that sounds better than stuffy."
As we chat, the legend proves to be quite congenial, and his deep, oh so cultured voice is much less intimidating in person than it had been during our short telephone conversation. What I find slightly disconcerting, is that unlike most artists his hands do not become animated while talking of his craft.
I quickly learn to watch his eyes and facial expressions, for they reveal far more of what he is conveying than any waving of hands. He does not smile often, but when he does, his face virtually illuminates.
Why do you work in a studio rather than your home?
"It keeps me away from distractions. I've had this place since 1963, even before I bought a house. As long as I'm in town, I come to work every day, even if it's only for an hour or two. It's hard to stay away from it.
"I'm a slow worker, so I try to spend about five or six hours a day here. I used to start about 8:15 in the morning, but now with two small children one three and one just under a year by the time I get out of the house, I don't get going till about nine. I usually work till about three."
He points to a drawing on the easel. "Right now, I'm working on some commissioned paintings, a series on 32 endangered Chinese birds. This is a jay from Taiwan. I'm having a lot of trouble finding skins to work from because they are rare. Collections that have them just won't lend them. The Royal Ontario Museum has about a dozen, so I'm working my way through those. Where I'm going to get the rest of them, I don't know.
"This is a preliminary sketch. I'll work this up into a detailed drawing, then I'll transfer it onto the final paper. I find that by tracing the final image, the figures can be moved around and erased as necessary. If the preliminaries were all done on the same paper used for the painting, the surface would be damaged by the erasures."
Do you ever use other paint mediums?
"No, I've never worked with anything but gouache and water color. I find it suitable for me, for the type of work I do."
Okay, let's talk about your early years. How does a young fellow born in Hong Kong end up in Victoria, British Columbia?
"My father was an engineering executive with a British firm there. About the beginning of the Second World War, my parents took me to London to see what could be done about my polio. There had been a big epidemic about the time I got it, but no one knew much about it in those days.
"There was little to offer in London, so they came here and put me in the old solarium, which at that time was out by Mill Bay, north of here. It coincided with the beginning of the war, when all the women and children were being evacuated from Hong Kong, so my mother and I stayed. My father very foolishly went back to take a new post at Shanghai. He ended up spending five years stifling in an internment camp.
"My mother came from Manchuria; that's where she spent her childhood and part of her girlhood. At one point, her parents decided to retire here in Victoria. They did for about two years, but then they went back to Manchuria. So, when we had to stay here, at least Victoria was familiar to her.
"Father's company paid the expenses, but they were very small. I think Mother got a hundred dollars a month from this rather colossal firm. At the time, there were a number of women and children in similar circumstances, about a half dozen whose husbands were either interned or in the army. It made sort of a little club. My earliest recollections of life here on the Island are centered around this little group of women and children." He smiles at the remembrance. "I suppose you could say my childhood was spent with other expatriates and old colonial people.
"We lived in a number of different places. Thinking that the Japanese were about to invade Victoria, people would often rent their houses and go off to the Okanagan. Nothing would happen, so they would return and want their house back. As a result, we lived in a tremendous number of places here in Victoria and to the north, in Cowichan Bay and Mill Bay.
"After the war, my father came back and we returned to Hong Kong. We only stayed about 18 months, though, because he had contracted tuberculosis. Everybody came out of those camps with their health wrecked. They either died right away or the effects shortened their lives. He retired in 1948 and we came back here."
At what point did your interest in birds begin?
He ponders for a moment. "You know, I really have no idea. I was always keen on birds it just seems to be a predisposition. I remember that when I was five years old, I already knew quite a few of them, so it must have started even earlier. I suppose, too, that I have a certain affinity with my subjects. Which is probably natural after working with them day and night for over 30 years. I don't get out on bird watching trips as much as I used to, but I know what's there when I see it or hear it.
"I used to think that I'd be a biologist or something along that line, but by the time I was in high school, I wasn't really that interested any longer.
"I've been drawing since I could pick up a pencil. My mother drew and painted, so she encouraged me. And, of course, I had a fair amount of time because I couldn't run around. I read a lot and drew a lot I liked to draw anyway, so I probably would have in any event.
"I was about 13 when I really got going on painting birds. In retrospect, I'm sorry now that I never took any art training. We used to be told that, 'Oh, it will affect your style,' or 'It will damage your natural ability.' I think that's hogwash. I no longer believe that good training at drawing or working with colors would ever hurt anybody. You would apply it to what you are doing and be a lot better off in the long run.
"Art is a continuing learning process in which I discover great patches of ignorance. The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know. Things I know now, or things that I may never know, I might have learned and much sooner had I gone to a good art school."
I had heard from several sources that Lansdowne was quite modest about his talent. Pat Dunn, a well-known Victoria conservationist, has known him for 25 years. "Whenever I'm with him, I have a feeling of being in the presence of greatness. I once told him that and he said, 'Don't be ridiculous!' He's very self effacing, you know. He's a far better artist than any of the present day hotshots, but they are better salesmen. I'm afraid Fenwick doesn't believe in beating his own drum.
"A friend of mine, Gaylord Donnelly, has a fantastic collection of originals by Audubon and Peter Scott. He told me that Fenwick's book on Rails of the World, which was commissioned by the Smithsonian Institute, was one of the finest books since Audubon."
Lansdowne's work is often compared to Audubon. In 1956, when he was barely 19, a portfolio of his paintings was sent to John Livingston, then executive director of the Canadian Audubon Society. As a result, arrangements were made to show 40 works at the Royal Ontario Museum. Soon after, Lansdowne's bird paintings began appearing in various Canadian magazines, introducing his work across the nation. Two years later he appeared at Audubon House, and in 1961, at the prestigious Tryon Galleries in London.
[Bob Jones / Wildlife Art News]
Submitted on February 2, 2005 in By David.
