From childhood my mind was tied up in a ligature of snobbish family traditions and religious bigotry, so I ill-treated my Indian servants, loved my dogs, and decided I'd make a good soldier. My father got me a commission in the Indian Army (I could not have got it myself); but before this I was an expert horseman and a crack shot (leaving a trail of dead creatures from Lahore to Calcutta); this fever died down after the war, leaving me determined to succeed in business. I tried the Imperial Police, but failed in the exams, then went from plantation to plantation, wasting most of my time taking long rides and loving the scenery (it was wrong and effeminate, of course, to love beauty in nature. Men who spent their lives painting, were affected, irresponsible, and radical). Only after I had experimented with some hardship in Canada did I get a faint suspicion that there was a decent fellow locked up in me somewhere, a fellow who wanted to paint and use his intelligence. It was not till World War II began that the last of the mummy-wrappings fell off and I started to paint - that is, to paint as an artist, as myself. To complete the metamorphosis I ran away in -44 to the spiritual desert known as Toronto. There, in loneliness I found myself completely and understood, at last, that the artist more than anyone else must be utterly honest since his work is an end in itself. Except for the true scientist, the artist is the only honest man in society. (!) This preamble is a little sketchy, but even so, the critic must know this background to be able to appraise the work.

     My reading (quite extensive) has convinced me that Art is the Manifestation of the collective ideology: in the past the collective ideologies were mainly religious. The great art of the past is, consequently, mainly religious or ritualistic. Up to the Renaissance the artist shared the honours with the priest.

     Today, the collective ideology doesn't exist, or is chaotic at the best. A visit to the art galleries of New York convinced me that artists today are manifesting the collective chaos.

     The shattering art revolutions of the last century were won, and over and done with by 1900. But ever since then, thousands of little artists have been holding their own little private revolutions. I cannot speak for others; as far as I am concerned, I am consolidating. Grateful to those who fought so that I may be free I glory in the freedom of line and brilliance of colour and I am determined, before the end of my life, to tie up the knowledge of today with the traditions of the past. There is a tradition of Art after all, the loose ends of which must be picked up again, unless it is to degenerate for ever into sensationalism. Van Gogh painted in vain, and Picasso has been betrayed if we deny the old masters on whose work the revolution itself was built. I believe this myself, and I hope these ideas are beginning to show in my work. If I were to advise a young artist today I'd insist that his technique be learnt (sic) from the old Masters (I am speaking of the serious student) and not till he could draw like Botticelli should he consider himself free to practise abstractions and experiment in Surrealism, in the studio. - No public exhibitions for him until he knew the world in which he lives and the society he represented and had in his hands and brain the technique with which to express himself.

     At the age of 48 I consider myself an artist, pretty humble at that. It is, however, the point of view that counts and not the social sucesses and failures, that is why I have been at some pains to write as I have done. My philosophy is simple, but definite. I find that what my mother taught me at six holds good today, while it took twenty years hardship and bitterness to break down what I learnt after I left her knee. (In my opinion, an artist without a philosophy is a boat without a sail; and an artist without an ideal is a sailboat without a wind). My ideal drives me to express the brotherhood of man through whichever medium I can handle best. While I am no longer "religious", I believe that Love is the unifying, constructive influence; - Desire, the destructive influence. If I paint what I see because I love what I see, I shall one day turn out a great work of art. If I paint out of a desire for fame or fortune, I may turn out a work of great technical excellence, but it will never be a work of art. So much for all that.

     In the immediate future, Scribners of New York are bringing out a book of New Yorker short stories. I was given the contract for the illustrations. The book will appear in the spring. I have also been promised a show in that city in the early summer. Most of the pictures you have will go down there.

     After the Vancouver show I hope to take a trip to Mexico where I hope to make a portfolio of watercolors. I hope the Art gallery will do me the honour of allowing me to exhibit them.

     All this has been for your private information, Mr. Grigsby. You are at liberty to pass on anything you think fit to any reviewer interested enough to give me Write-up.

     Thanks for all the courtesy you have shown me through the doubtful years. I hope you will find the quality of this show high enough to feel repaid in some slight measure.

         (signed George Goutiere)