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Daffy over Daphne: One of the 'Indian Group of Seven'

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  • Robert Schmidt
    http://www.torontosun.com/news/columnists/2008/10/19/7134601-sun.html Wednesday, October 22, 2008 Daffy over Daphne One of the Indian Group of Seven, painter
    Message 1 of 1 , Oct 31, 2008
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      http://www.torontosun.com/news/columnists/2008/10/19/7134601-sun.html

      Wednesday, October 22, 2008

      Daffy over Daphne
      One of the 'Indian Group of Seven,' painter Odjig is at Yorkville's Gallery
      Gevik

      By MIKE STROBEL

      Confessions of a Daphne Odjig groupie ...

      It is healthy, I think, to expand your cultural horizons beyond hockey
      pools, draft beer and dancing girls.

      At least once in a while.

      For me, that means native art. Or Indian art or aboriginal art or woodlands
      art or First Nations art, Anishinabe art or whatever you call it these
      days.

      I bet you didn't know there was even an Indian Group of Seven, brief but
      bright, in the 1970s.

      Norval Morrisseau was the brilliant bad boy of the group. Very bad.

      Norval never met a substance he didn't abuse.

      Here in the Big Smoke, he got mixed up with the Mob, sold his paintings for
      a bottle, partied night and day and was a general rascal and reprobate.

      So, naturally, the press lapped him up. Made him famous. We love a rogue.

      When he died at 75 (or was it 76?) at Toronto General last December it was
      front page news across Canada.

      Then there's Odjig, the only woman of the seven.

      A HEROINE

      My heroine. So much so that, like a good little groupie, I just spent three
      days stalking her around the GTA, as she opened exhibits and accepted
      honours.

      So much so that I have made pilgrimages to her childhood home across from
      the pow-wow grounds at Wikwemikong, a reserve on Manitoulin Island.

      You might think that's kind of weird.

      Tough. I like her and I like her art, with its vibrant colour and haunting
      images.

      Odjig is the yin to Morrisseau's yang, pure as the driven snow that will
      soon wrap Wikwemikong, where she was born 89 years ago.

      Well, not too pure.

      "Sex," she says when smiling for the camera. She flirts like a schoolgirl.
      She's been known to play the slots.

      Thirty years ago she illustrated Tales from the Smokehouse, a book of
      native erotica.

      Few of those paintings could appear in a family newspaper, but the
      originals sell for $50,000 each. The book has a sort of cult status.

      So Odjig, whose dad was Potawatomi, her mom an English war bride, is no
      prude.

      Nor is she "precious" and self-important, like so many in the art-world.

      Compared to Morrisseau, well, she's a saint.

      Like Norval, Daphne fled the north for Toronto. But she worked. She made
      Colt-Browning machineguns for World War II. She toiled at Dr. Ballard's pet
      food plant and at Planters Peanuts. She waited tables.

      True, she partied. But not Morrisseau style. She got dressed up and
      jitterbugged at the Palais Royale and Casa Loma.

      "I was just this little Indian girl trying to be a white girl," Odjig tells
      me.

      We're at the Ontario College of Art and Design, off Dundas St. W. students
      arrayed like disciples at her feet.

      They have just given her an honorary degree. Yet another. To go with her
      Order of Canada and last year's Governor General's Award and a drawer full
      of other ribbons, medals and citations.

      An overnight success. After 60 years. It took Morrisseau about 60 minutes.

      "Maybe I should have been a streetwalker in downtown Vancouver," Odjig
      says, with a twinkle in her deep brown eyes. "Might have got more
      attention."

      Maybe. But Odjig's work now outsells Morrisseau's. For one thing, there's
      never any doubt who painted it.

      She is arguably among Canada's three greatest women artists, with Emily
      Carr and Doris McCarthy.

      "She has the same charisma and courage Picasso had," says gallery director
      Phillip Gevik.

      "They weren't afraid to try different styles, but you can always tell their
      work."

      Odjig paints no more. Arthritis is a harsh critic.

      OPENING TWO SHOWS

      She's in town from her longtime home in Kelowna to open two shows -- a
      major retrospective at the McMichael Collection in Kleinberg and a smaller
      exhibit at Gallery Gevik in Yorkville.

      In the past two years, her popularity has exploded, including two
      travelling shows with stints coming up at the National Gallery of Canada
      and in the States.

      "It's taken a while," she says, leaning heavily on her cane. "But I'm
      grateful and humbled by it all. I think of some of the greatest who never
      lived to see the fruits of their efforts."

      Three members of the Indian Group of Seven died young, including Carl Ray
      at the point of a knife.

      "Sometimes," says Odjig, "I wonder, 'Why me?'

      "I always felt that I was given a gift and it was up to me to use it."

      Her voice is as deep as her eyes.

      "I'm an Indian artist and I'm proud of that. I'm proud to be Potawatomi.

      "But I'm a Canadian artist, always, who happens to be First Nations. Why
      should there be a distinction?"

      Beats me, Daphne.

      I'm just a groupie.
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