NO! NO! MORRISSEAU – Christmas Letter to Norval Morrisseau from Mr. Robert Lavack

-
Last Correspondence from Robby to Norval
December 2004
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
"Christ", 2-3 © 1974 Norval Morrisseau -
-
-
Dear Norval,

It was good to see you again in Toronto after such a long interval, 32 years give or take a few months. You still appear to be enjoying life and living well. Time had also been kind, considering how you abused the years given to you by that gentleman with the scythe. You even acquired a ‘noble’ appearance like that of Chief Dan George, the Hollywood Actor. You may remember, he played opposite Dustin Hoffman in the movie 'Little Big Man'. Chief George was also a Canadian native and member of the B.C. Salish Band. I can imagine you quoting his philosophies while plotting how to terrify some innocent ‘White Eyes’, a term you often used in joking derision when referring to your white brothers. I think Chief Dan George had an ‘Anishnaabe’ like you in mind when he wrote:

"… Make me strong, not superior to my brother,
But to be able to fight my greatest enemy,
MYSELF..."

The undimmed twinkle in your eyes made me recall the old days when you and Carl Ray seemed bent on destroying me with your crazy antics; smoking and fighting in the back of the aircraft next to the spare fuel drums when I was flying you around the isolated Indian communities. “A propaganda trip”, you said, “ to let your people know that Canadian First Citizens like you and Carl could achieve success in Canadian society”. Meeting Gabe and Michele, your present ‘keepers’ (read slaves) was also interesting. It proves your charisma continues to impress the ‘white eyes’.

I was often tempted to tell you that my Grandmother was purported to be an American Sioux, but I wanted to save this for the right moment. Do you recall when I first employed you and Carl on the secondary school and community art circuits when I had to bail you out of jail? You told me then that your Thunder Bird had advised you that I was Satan’s acolyte. I realized you were trying to allay my displeasure from having to drive several hundred miles to arrange your release. Your statement confirmed my initial assessment that you were slightly deranged, but I took advantage of your superstitious leanings and went along with the fantasy thinking it might give me some control over you. Being cast in the role of Satan’s acolyte did help to achieve this, but it made me think, “How would an authentic acolyte play such a role?” You started the charade and, like you, I enjoyed playing my role. I did wonder whether the native genes we carried made us more apt to contemplate, or even believe, such an unlikely fantasy. You seemed to enjoy the play as we both strove to stretch the truth and make this ‘fiction’ a near reality. It gave us lots of laughs when we thought we were overheard discussing our acolyte roles, a tall native and a tall ‘white eyes’ talking nonsense. But did you ever ask yourself, “was it really nonsense?”

Remember discussing how a Satan’s acolyte would plan the soul capture of a selected victim, you in this case? My reply, couched with a degree of pseudo professionalism to impress, was something along the lines of, “Your blip registering on the radar soul screen and was automatically be added to a roster, mine in this case. You then were classified as an easy capture since your personal history would show you as a developing artist with considerable potential for terrorism. That would naturally interest me because most terrorists I heard about blow themselves up before their souls could be captured. I was interested to learn how a prize of seven virgins used in the brain washing technique could influence a person to take such a drastic step. Gaining an insight into this process might disclose a weakness in the present system and increase our count of Islamic souls. After all, Christianity and Islam are Satan’s main competition in the soul capture activities. In trying to dampen my explanation, you asked, “Why would an experienced soul collector be interested in a person like me? Does my Shaman background and my Thunder God links terrify you? ” Ignoring your inference about my being terrified and trying to follow through with a rational explanation, I replied, “It wasn’t my interest, but that of Satan’s. He was interested in your Shamanistic background and your belief in a Thunder Bird God” Adding as an after thought, “With the Archangel as a constant competitor, Satan didn’t need an amateur Copper Thunderbird to distract him”. By then you claimed to be getting vibes and needed another drink to allay your fears, claiming that Satan might be participating in our charade. “A con man to the last I murmured.”

All of this verbal interaction and pondering strengthened my control position. To increase the drama, I casually mentioned there were other local prospects developing and implied that ‘someone’ close by might be on my list. I didn’t expect you to whine for mercy, but you appeared to blanch a little. You then tried to reassure yourself by asking me why I worked for the Department of Education in Ontario’s hinterland, when I possessed employment skills that would provide me with a better income and life style. This played into my hands because I could then indicated this was a special ‘arrangement’, part of a master plan, to position me in a strategic location where I had access to artists, educators, politicians and others, all capable of tuning into the victim’s (nodding my head towards you) mental wavelength? That was why your meetings with Bud Thomas, Paul Bennett, Jack Pollock, Angie Littlefield, Lassy Malowny, all concerned with the advancement of native Canadians, were arranged. Then there were the politicians interested in the Indian vote, journalists looking for a native cause and others that had taken place to unknowingly help in the soul capture scenario. Remember my lobbying the politicians so they in turn could pressure the Canadian Postal Authorities to issue a postage stamp featuring your ‘Mother and Child’ painting? That would have been difficult without Satan’s help. The ‘cover’ was the native vote, and they believed the story while Satan silently chuckled. The journalists were enticed by the story of a struggling artist being exploited by mercenary ‘white eyes’. If they had ever opened their own ‘white eyes’, they would have noticed the human debris you left in your wake. But I think my ‘piece de resistance’ was persuading the politicians to back a cross-cultural art program in Ontario’s secondary schools and community art clubs. This led to further recognition and gave you and Carl Ray a stage on which to perform. I must admit you were both were masterful on these circuits.

Unfortunately fame went to Carl’s head and led to the creation of a Morrisseau-Ray Native Rights Movement. It was Sad to think this may have led to Carl being stabbed to death in a barroom brawl when haranguing some visiting Ozark characters to join your movement. You hastily disassociate yourself from the movement and started wearing dark glasses and a speaking pseudo Mongolian gibberish until I convinced you the Ozark visitors had left Canada. The postage stamp issue singled you out a native choice for the politicians. They were seeking a non-politicized, native Canadian, to nominate as ‘Native of the Year’ and ‘fate’ (read Satan) pushed you into the limelight. What a ‘surprise’ it must have been when you were selected for that symbolic honour and later awarded the Order of Canada.

Pretending to capture souls for Satan didn’t require formal training as an actor, but when reflecting back on those days, the way we played out our charade was very convincing, almost as if there was a director in control. Whether we were play-acting, myself as Satan’s acolyte and you as Thunder Bird’s, we weren’t hampered by conventional ethics or religion. We joined in a make believe battle between Satan and Thunder Bird zealots. Which brings me to an important issue, why do you persist in inferring that you and your Thunder Bird made me flee the Ontario scene? That isn’t true. I told you at our recent meeting in Toronto, the first after 30-years or so, that time I checked on you in Vancouver without your knowledge. You were pan handling during the evening on Hastings street and fled in terror when you saw me. You thought you were hallucinating and no doubt thought Satan had sent me to claim your soul, After my that I continued to keep track of you from the sidelines and was happy to see you progress successfully in your art career, not to mention experiencing the seven deadly sins. You claimed this was for your art, which caused me to convulse with laughter as your soul continued to attain the ideal black gloss of a top specimen. I was amused, even amazed, by the manner in which you squandered your most productive years. There is no doubt you were possessed by the art demon you strove to satisfy. I realized that all I had to do was to wait and your soul would be an easy delivery. Or perhaps, you could become a candidate for Satan’s Acolyte Division. I could see you were on a high burn path with self-destruct resolve. Time was on my side and I felt I could leave the scene and collect the other dark souls of politicians, UN & EU hierarchy, religious leaders, terrorists, the type of candidate that appear favoured for the Norwegian Committee that award the Nobel Peace Prize.

Then out of the blue, or should I say, “dark”, Angie Littlefield send me the John Geddes’ McLean’s Magazine article that indicated you were causing mayhem in Canada. This coincided with a recall signal from Satan and an order to place you on my priority list. Establishing contact again wasn’t a problem because Gabe and Michele, to their amazement, ‘discovered’ a cache of 30 early Morrisseau paintings in your dwindling hoard (courtesy of Satan’s art forgers). This led to an art showing and sale in Toronto of the ‘30 pieces’, or paintings. Doesn’t the 30 pieces sound familiar? With the showing arranged and knowing you would follow the money, I arranged to be there and saw your look of surprise as you penetrated my disguise of age. This surprise was quickly replaced by a twinkle of humorous defiance in your eyes and a smile of confidence as you whispered in a conspirator’s manner, “I’m looking forward to continue the charade.” Amused that you remembered this, I whispered back, “It will be interesting to see if our charade skills have deteriorated over the years?” I knew then the victory was mine and I would regain the prestige and confidence I enjoyed in our first encounter. During my last briefing by Satan, I hedged a little indicating that everything in your case was under control. That permitted me to plead for more time before collecting your soul. I used the excuse that a further delay would allow time for your soul to attain that perfect black sheen so prized by Satan. My request was granted when I was able to convinced Satan that your terrorist activities on this planet hadn’t yet peaked. I foresaw your ‘painting authentication‘ scam and was interested in seeing the outcome of this.

Perhaps I should have heeded the haunting words of Simon Frogg that echoed above the noise of the storm at Big Trout Lake on that memorable night in the early 1970’s. His cries of panic merged and broke into sobs of relief when we finally managed to subdue and tie you, an inebriated and possessed artist, to a tree in the hope that the cold, lashing rain, would return you to some semblance of normality. His repetitive cries of, “No! No! Morrisseau”, heard above the clap and rumble of thunder, interspaced with lightning illuminating the scene, highlighted the effects of your writhing and fighting actions. Not to forget the liberally added curses and screams that accompanied these. All this had a profound and drastic effect on poor Simon. Bravely trying to bolster his shaken spirit after such a traumatic experience, in a shaking voice he kept mumbling, “So that’s the Great Morrisseau! So that’s the Great Morrisseau!”… I knew then that you had broken his spirit and made a few cracks in mine.

The Bishop of Keewatin, and other members of the Christian Synod, who were meeting in Big Trout Lake, were attracted by your screams and curses and witnessed Simon’s and my subduing action. This, combined with my having to fish you out of the lake when you stumbled out of the aircraft door and into the water earlier, convinced the Bishop and his entourage that I was responsible for corrupting a member of his flock. He didn’t know about my frantic search in Red Lake before locating you and Carl arguing and in a drunken state in the Red Lake Inn saloon. Then there was a problem of getting you and your gear in the aircraft where you continued drinking from a secreted supply you denied existed. When airborne and on route to Big Trout Lake, your continued drinking ended up with you and Carl fighting with forbidden cigarettes in your mouth. When I leaned back to separate you and Carl, fearing that sparks from your cigarettes might ignite the reserve fuel carried in Jerry cans under your seats, one of you grabbed my arm that produced a series of aerobatics until I could free myself and return the aircraft to a stable flying condition. After all that, and being embarrassed by your falling out of the aircraft float and into the lake, Simon Frogg now joined me in my shame by being labelled as an accomplice to a ‘white eyed’ corrupting villain. You convincingly played your ‘Noble Savage’ role as the cold rain returned you to a semblance of sobriety. Situations like this were not strange to me by then. What annoyed me was your bellowing in your corny Hollywood Indian jargon, “firewater’ is good ‘white eye’s medicine”. Brilliant acting, and it conveyed the desired message to the religious onlookers that Simon Frogg and I were to blame for your inebriated state. I should be glad that Carl managed to stagger away from the dock when we arrived without falling off the float like you did … if that had happened I likely would have been arrested on the spot.

As it was, your native cunning and survival instincts saw the advantage of the Big Trout Lake situation and you adopted the guise of a devout Christian, an action that added another dark smug on your soul. Fortunately the Bishop of Keewatin was later made aware that you were still involved in painting craven images depicting your peoples’ pagan beliefs (prohibited by the early Jesuit missionaries and founders of the current Christian Union). He eventually realized that you were not the devout Christian you claimed to be, this no doubt strengthened by the high ‘evaporation’ rate of his communion wine stock during the time he housed and fed you. I must admit that the ‘fall out’ from your earlier combined actions, encouraged and sustained by Carl Ray and others native artists, led to my being sent abroad on R&R. After which I was recalled to my soul collecting duties when you started acting up again. I’m relating all this to you because I can’t face a repeat of the 1960-70 horrors you imposed on a friendly Satan’s acolyte and an outstanding person like Simon Frogg.

You drove poor Jack Pollock mad, broke Bud Thomas’s faith in native Canadians, destroyed Paul Bennett’s reputation, turned Lassy Malowany into a bitter woman, embarrassed me in the eyes of Shelia Lavack by turning a North Bay I.O.D.E. ladies art show into mayhem. Your appearance in an intoxicated as the guest artist wearing only one shoe and tight jeans with an open fly, has become an I.O.D.E. legend. But what is hard to overlook, or forgive, is that you turned the pacifist Angie Littlefield into an avid ‘woman’s rights advocate’. You also managed to complicate my life further by casting me into the path of a sympathetic Swedish missionary lady when I was soul searching in Africa. She mistakenly saw me as ‘a burnt out case’ like the one in Graham Greene’s novel and decided to save my soul. Now I’m bent on obtaining retribution between my houseboy and dog boy duties on her estate. This will be achieved through contributing to an expose novel about your formative art years titled (I hope) No! No! Morrisseau. I will dedicate it to Simon Frogg to honour his support in the Big Trout Lake odyssey. I should have realized from the start that were a budding terrorist. This fits in with Satan’s master plan that will lead to your nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize. The naive Norwegian Committee responsible for that prestigious award are noted for choosing terrorists recipients. That, and being a famous native Canadian terrorist will make you a ‘shoo-in’. Satan has indicated he will use his influence with the Norwegian Nobel Committee to ensure you receive the nomination, He, with a few acolytes like myself, look forward to attending your Nobel Laureate dinner. I think you should also invite Simon Frogg considering how you were responsible for his nervous breakdown.

Please accept this letter as a forewarning about the plan to chronicle the most important years of your artistic development. My revelations may aspire First Canadians to seek an antithesis to you as a role model. Few, in any case, would be gifted with sufficient terrorist genes to walk in your moccasins for three moons as some native sage prescribed. I hope the kind nurse you ‘con’ into reading this Christmas letter won’t have her dream of following in the footsteps of Florence Nightingale shattered, I close this note by wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy and Prosperous (Terrorist) New Year. If I hear on the news that there is panic on the streets of Nanaimo or Toronto, I will know you are on the rampage again. I will then hasten to find refuge in some obscure part of the Andes where I am told Simon Frogg is hiding. No! I won’t give you the exact location, I only mentioned the Andes to lead you astray. Keep well and I hope to see you soon. Don’t expect anything from Santa. He has been informed about your past sins. Gabe and Michele have also informed him about your current behaviour. So it’s no presents again this year!
-
Warm regards,

Robby
Prague, Czech Republic
-
Note: Originally published in edited/shorthened version as "No, No Morrisseau" at www.angielittlefield.com.
-

* The painting in this posting: "Christ", 2-3, 37"x23", © 1976 Norval Morrisseau /Private Collection/