Arboretum blossoms into impressionist paintings

It’s the impressionist time of year: shifting clouds of vague dots surround the tree branches, their winter nakedness still visible despite spring’s best attempts to cheerfully dress them. And where better to see this brief, seasonal splendour than in Ottawa’s Arboretum?

Every year in early May, I contemplate Claude Monet, Vincent Van Gogh, Camille Pissarro, Georges Seurat and even the Group of Seven. These impressionist and post-impressionist painters used dots and swirls and dashes of paint to give the impression of leaves surrounding the tree branches – and that’s exactly what I see when deciduous trees sprout their baby buds and leaves.

Walk anywhere there are trees, narrow your eyes, and they appear almost pixelated. That’s a concept that doubtfully occurred to the masters, but I’m sure they would have loved that technological anomaly. They attempted to capture the fleeting impressions of shifting light patterns, especially on water, as well as their emotional responses to the scenes. And they preferred to paint outside – en plein air – where their senses came alive.

I love impressionist paintings, possibly because I cannot paint to save my soul. My creativity, such as it is, lies in the challenge of capturing emotions and images in words. Several times this spring, I’ve wandered through the Dominion Arboretum to relish this impressionist time of year.

Any way you get to the Arboretum, next to Ottawa’s Central Experimental Farm, you’ll likely pass crabapple trees. The Arboretum has a few hundred crabapples – some planted in groups while others are lone specimens – that bloom at different times along Prince of Wales Drive and down by the Rideau Canal. When I last visited, their burgundy leaves were just starting to expand out of their buds. A nuthatch swooped in to explore the bark, hopping down the trunk as he hunted for insects. My kids learned to climb trees in our backyard crabapple, so I feel a surge of motherly love when my hand runs over their shaggy bark. 

Taking the east exit from the traffic roundabout, I cycled into the heart of the Arboretum along the circle drive towards the two lookouts. A heavenly scent drew me towards a large, arching shrub, cascading with pale pink flowers and ridged leaves. Bees gathered nectar from the tubular starfish-faced flowers. I think it was a viburnum – the sweet scent has hints of spiciness – but there was no label. During the impressionist time of year, the flowers and leaves are like a sheer curtain, allowing you to see through the branches.

A red squirrel lectured me from a nearby katsura tree – no doubt chastising me for my overactive imagination in comparing his trees to the impressionist masters’ work. But really, isn’t that what impressionist paintings are supposed to do? Invite you to study and think about your own reactions?

Impressionism evolved in France in the late 1800s, becoming a painting movement that was not welcomed by the established art world. Monet, Van Gogh, Pissarro and others attempted to capture the fleeting impressions of shifting light patterns, especially on water, as well as their emotional responses to the scenes. They painted outside – en plein air – rather than always in studios. Tom Thomson and the Canadian artists who would become the Group of Seven in the early 1900s drew inspiration from the impressionists and post-impressionists.

Arching branches, dappled shade, reflections, shadows, fleeting moments in time, sifted light. Your impressions of trees and flowers and landscapes change as your emotions change as well. One day they may cheer you up, another day they may appear dark and foreboding.

Each twig on a Princeton Gold Maple was crowned with a wreath of tiny pale green baby leaves. Just like puppies and kittens, they won’t stay pure and sweet and perfect for long. However, the silver lining of our relatively cold May is that the impressionist time of year will last longer than usual.

I sat on the stone wall atop the lookout, surveying the steep hill that leads down to a pond, meandering stream and the Rideau Canal – all lined with moisture-loving willows. Clouds of yellowy-green slender leaves swayed on their bendy branches. It reminded me of a yoga class – the tree pose in perfection. Laughter floated up on the breeze. A couple sprinted up and down the hill, with their poodle gamely keeping pace. It was peaceful, serene.

Further along the circle drive, a trembling aspen glowed in the sunshine like stained glass, each heart-shaped emerald leaf sparkling. Fuzzy caterpillar-like seeds hung down below the clustered leaves. Group of Seven artists also painted that glow of tender new leaves: Franklin Carmichael’s Spring Garland and Franz Johnston’s Interior, Lake of the Woods.

The Arboretum has a useful webpage with maps showing where various types of trees and shrubs are growing. Once you’re there, walk all around the trees and look up and down to find the labels.

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Riding down the steep winding path, braking on the curves, I descended to see the willows up close. They are huge – like Grandmother Willow in the Pocahontas movie. I ducked under the trailing branches to read the tags: Salix sepulcralis, aka Weeping Golden Willow, along the stream and Coral Bark Willow along the canal. Just before the stream meets the canal, there’s an arched bridge that looks like a Monet painting of his water lily ponds at Giverny in France. It took me back to our magical springtime visit there in April 2003.

I wandered north, parallel to the canal, past many trees that were still waiting for their impressionist time of year to start. An enormous, stately bur oak was just barely putting out its buds. A silky hawthorn had scant leaves. Many of these huge trees have been here since the Arboretum – Canada’s largest – was founded in 1889.

Monet painted many early blossoms, such as Springtime 1886, An Orchard in Spring, and Springtime at Giverny, as well as his beloved water lilies with the Japanese bridge in his garden at Giverny. In trying to capture the essence and momentary changes in light, shadows and reflections, he painted the same scenes over and over – much as we take dozens of digital photos of the same thing, trying to get the best shot.

Off in the distance, bright white and pink blooms called to me, as well as many other people. I waited for a couple to finish taking photos before I ventured near. (Physical distancing applies to magnolias too.)

In their own little microclimate, Wada’s Memory magnolia was covered with white floppy-petaled blooms, although there were still many buds with a greenish tinge, the leaves wrapped tightly around the coming flower. Some buds’ leaves had peeled back, making them look like bananas. The Leonard Messel magnolia flowers had light pink centres and rosy pink outer petals, more rose-like in shape. The buds were just starting on many other magnolias, so there’s still time to see their splendiferous show.

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I pushed my bike back up the hill to head towards home. A rust-coloured aura turned out to be larch trees, aka tamaracks. These scraggly trees have feet in both camps: they’re coniferous (i.e. they produce cones) as well as deciduous (i.e. they shed their ‘leaves’ in the fall). Up close, I could see last year’s cones, still perky on the branches of the Japanese larch. Small reddish-brown balls had light green tips where the soft needles will soon protrude. The European larch next to it had soft green tufts of needles that produced a green haze around the tree.    

The larches in particular suggested the Group of Seven – the Canadian painters that rose to fame in the 1920s. Although impressionism and post-impressionism had passed their arcs of fame in Europe, the Canadians were still influenced by them. Indeed, several group members studied art in Europe: A.Y. Jackson in France, Lawren Harris in Germany, and Frederick Varley in Belgium. When you look closely at Group of Seven works, you can see the dots and dashes and swirls they used to give the illusion of leaves and branches, yet with a more rugged Canadian style.

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“One thing that tied this loose association of artists together was the influence of European impressionism,” said an article about the group’s inspiration. “You can look over the art of anyone who was part of the Group of Seven or was associated with the Group and see this influence. Their genius was bringing impressionistic style to Canadian landscapes.”

Just like the impressionists, Tom Thomson and the Group of Seven preferred to sketch and paint outdoors, capturing those fleeting impressions of light and shadow, the rush of wind, the smell of fresh earth or rotting leaves, rough bark under their fingers, and the taste of fresh coffee in the morning. (Wait, maybe that’s just me as I write, a coffee by my side.) Later, they would finish larger versions in their studios.

Works such as Spring, Lasky by A.J. Casson and Early Spring by A.Y. Jackson show that more rugged, dark spring beauty.

As I cycled towards the Arboretum exit, one last treat remained: a Rancho cherry with delicate pink flowers and burgundy leaves. Blossoming fruit trees have caught the eyes and noses of countless artists, including Van Gogh: the Pink Orchard, The Pink Peach Tree and Orchard with Peach Trees in Blossom. But even Group of Seven members and Tom Thomson have captured those delicate petals, although in a decidedly more untamed manner, as Thomson’s Wild Cherry Trees in Blossom shows.

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In the strange COVID times we’re experiencing now, it’s comforting to know that spring – and the impressionist time of year – has arrived as it usually does, bearing reminders that the seasons turn and life goes on, despite humans’ best efforts otherwise. When you need calm, sunlight and cheering, the Arboretum and artists deliver.