Thoughts on Driving to Venus documents the thoughts, memories and impressions of Canadian artist Christopher Pratt as he drives across Newfoundland in search of inspiration.

Christopher Pratt (b. December 9, 1935) is one of Canada's most prominent painters and printmakers. After studies at the Glasgow School of Art, Scotland (1957-1959), Pratt completed a Bachelor of Fine Arts at Mount Allison University in New Brunswick in 1961. Pratt's first solo exhibition took place at the Memorial University Art Gallery in St. John's in 1965. Since then, Pratt has exhibited extensively both nationally and internationally, and is the subject of many substantial publications. He is a member of the Royal Canadian Academy of Arts (ARCA), a member of the Canadian Society of Graphic Art, and a Companion of the Order of Canada. In 1980, Pratt designed the Provincial Flag of Newfoundland and Labrador. He lives in Newfoundland in St. Mary's Bay along the Salmonier River.

Christopher Pratt's profile page

Tom Smart is the Executive Director and CEO of the McMichael Canadian Collection, Kleinburg, Ontario, and the President of the McMichael Canadian Art Foundation. For seven years he was Director of Collections and Exhibitions at the Frick Art & Historical Center, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where he developed an ambitious international exhibition program, and at the same time, he was appointed a Distinguished Visiting Scholar at Carnegie Mellon University and the University of Pittsburgh. He served as Acting Director of the Winnipeg Art Gallery from 1997 until 1999 and was Curator of the Beaverbrook Art Gallery, Fredericton from 1989 to 1997. Smart is the author of nine books and catalogues. His most recent book is the critically acclaimed Alex Colville: Return, which moved criticism of Colville's works to a new intellectual level. His 1995 book The Art of Mary Pratt: The Substance of Light won the Atlantic Provinces Booksellers Association Booksellers Choice Award, the Studio Magazine Award of Merit, and the Printing Industries of America Award of Merit. It was included in Great Canadian Books of the Century.

Tom Smart's profile page

Ribbed paper, evocative language, and sculpted lines make Thoughts on Driving to Venus an interactive artistic experience of the highest order.

Canadian artist Christopher Pratt's transcribed 'car books' are gathered together in Thoughts on Driving to Venus, an intersensory and multiyear account of his travels across Newfoundland in search of meaning and inspiration. Natural poetry comes through these keen and artistic observations that bring the distant north to life.

Pratt's car books are situated in the ever-changing landscape of Newfoundland-a land that is gorgeous and unyielding by turns, that brims with silver-greys and sunlit treetops, but where abandoned shanties and unused lobster pots also abound. His observations capture both the beauty and poverty of the landscape.

Lines of thoughts, both idle and grand, gather on the page, transcribed from the passenger's side as Pratt's wife Jeanette ferried him from one end of the island to another: lines written in preparation for paintings; lines that seek the meaning of paintings once made; and lines that are always willing to pause to laud a good cup of Horton's coffee. Those familiar with the process of bringing art to life will find Pratt's musings, which ebb and flow between passion and exhaustion, both sympathetic and endearing.

The layered nature of Pratt's artistry stands to fascinate: paintings are less something that come to him than stories that are chased, as landscapes that looked one way years ago prove wholly different on second pass. He snaps photographs in the right light, and jots notes to capture what the camera cannot:

The sun, which had been shielded by the horsetail clouds, makes a low-angle reappearance and as suddenly the forest glows as if it were phosphorescent, still richly darker than the sky. Then only the tallest trees are lit-a dust of golden snow blown across their tops. Finally they gather to themselves.

Such moments bring stilled dimensions back to life, honoring motion and change. Pratt is convincing at presenting his artwork as 'encounters with places,' images about, rather than of, the places that he visits. Each tells a story. Each finds a new way to package the glittering grey. And so, too, does each painting coalesce beneath the brush of an artist who has been told that greens sell less, and who cannot excise that practical knowledge from his work.

Midway through the book, the car books themselves become part of Pratt's exhibits, making interaction with the text a fascinating and informative gallery-esque experience. Lines on disillusionment are moving; brief thoughts on the responsibility of the Canadian government toward nations abroad capture the time period beyond the province. Pratt's entries are adept at both humor-'Stopped at McDonald's in Grand Falls for lunch. Many fat people.'-and philosophy, as he warns fellow travelers that revisiting a place you love too often robs it of its emotional power. Skating through the icy landscapes with Pratt is a continually rewarding experience.

Ribbed paper, evocative language, and sculpted lines make Thoughts on Driving to Venus an interactive artistic experience of the highest order. It is an experience that appeals to all of the senses as it introduces Newfoundland to audiences with loving attention, and with the exquisite pain of acknowledging that not every moment can be maintained, no matter how devout an artist is.

Foreword Reviews

'What Pratt does so well is reveal the continuum between art and life, making it all seem valuable.'

Artist in Transit

'It's a rich ride to accompany painter and print maker Christopher Pratt as he jots responses to weather, landscape, wildlife and more while he's driven around Newfoundland-mostly the Burgeo Road, west coast, and northern peninsula.'

Atlantic Books Today

'A few dozen pages into the work, I thought to myself, "Christopher Pratt is making his soul." The book-extracts from what he called his "car books"-is a series of journals he kept while driving around Newfoundland with his wife Jeanette Meehan, a record of animals seen, photos taken, meals eaten and kilometres covered. The car books started out as a log, a random series of lists and images, a stream-of-consciousness record of what he glimpsed beyond the windscreen. But after a time, the entries morphed into a quasi-journal or diary.'

St. John's Telegram