Booting it to Wellington

John Pohl

My great friend Barry M. and I were walking toward Wellington St. in Verdun one day in the spring of 2019 when the sun dipped below the dark clouds and created a high-contrast black and silver streetscape.

I stepped back a bit to record the long shadows that preceded us and that inspired this painting. Barry, with his canvas backpack, is on the left, both a presence and a shadow. I am just an elongated shadow.

I don’t remember why we met that day, but it was quite possible that we ended the evening with a pizza and beer, as we sometimes do.

The painting, which I called Booting It To Wellington, was done fairly quickly, using a rubber spatula to spread the thin glazes of red, yellow and blue paint to create purples and greens.

That summer I rented a kiosk at MTL en Arts, a street festival along several blocks of Ste. Catherine St., centred on the Beaudry métro in the so-called Village. I gave Booting It To Wellington a prominent spot in the open side of my tent.

I sold the painting, not to a passerby, but to someone who already knew and liked it. Serge D. had seen it at one of the vernissages for group shows I had organized at rental galleries. Serge attended as part of a duo providing soft music for the arriving guests. Serge’s guitar accompanied the vocals of Hélène C., aiming to achieve a background sound that wouldn’t interfere in conversations.

Booting It To Wellington affected Serge deeply. He said it evoked memories of the central role that Wellington St. played in his youth, where he went to escape the chaos of his home.

Serge has even offered, even insisted that he would, will the painting to my children.

Barry showed up at that art fair in 2019 with his paints, setting up an easel near my kiosk. Afterwards, we went to the bar where participants had gathered for an awards ceremony. With us were the artist in the kiosk next to me and his wife.

The four of us sat on the terrace, Barry and I drinking beer bought at a nearby dépanneur. Someone came outside to tell me I had won an award. I strode into the pub to warm applause; a woman even slapped me on the back as I made my way to the judges.

(My past as an art critic and being friendly with the young artists behind the event, including being a judge a couple years earlier, certainly helped me get that honourable mention.)

My award allowed me to participate in the next street fair at half price. But the next year was 2020, the year of Covid, and by the time MTL en Arts resumed its festivals, it had shrunk to one block near the Papineau métro. Too small for a big artist like me!