by Sharon Frayne
Tom Thomson winked as Marla tucked a daisy into the open paint-box on his lap. She did a double-take and stepped back. There was a discordant crash behind them; she flinched and looked over her shoulder. Her family was banging on the rainbow-painted piano in the middle of the patio outside the Civic Centre in Huntsville.
“Ma, come on, let’s go . . . we’re bored,” her son said. He waved at the colourful mural covering the brick wall behind him. “We’ve seen enough of these damn Group of Seven paintings to last a lifetime.” Her daughter-in-law nodded while her granddaughter’s fist pounded up and down the keyboard.
Marla ignored their complaints and glanced back at Thomson—her favourite artist—captured for all time, in a bronze sculpture.
She wondered if she was losing her mind.
Thomson sat on a sunny stump, oblivious to the tourists. […]