Somewhere I’ve been, the doctor’s or the dentist’s office, I’ve passed a surrealist painting of a woman on a dock in early morning, her two feet dangling in still water. Something in her stillness makes me think of myself as I often am – alone in the soft light of dawn, with sparkles on water, and sounds of waves gently lapping. For a second I’m there, on that dock somewhere in Muskoka. The thought that comes to me amid the bustle of the doctor’s office: This is a skill, a remarkable skill, this ability to transport me away.

Recently I’ve had the luck and privilege to get to know people who can do this for me. Like many beautiful places, Muskoka attracts and traps artists – woodworkers, potters, painters, actors, and writers like me. Some were born here, some retired here, some never left, and some came back after time elsewhere. Maybe it’s the rock, or the blue water, or the green of the trees. Or maybe it’s the snow, I don’t know. Whatever it is that’s drawing them here, they feel a need to draw the place back for me – to show me what they see. As a writer I’ve spent a lifetime trying to render Muskoka with words. I’m guessing it’s the same for sketchers and photographers, jewellers and furniture makers. See? I imagine them saying. See how magical this place is? See?

I was one of those who left and came back. At age 18 I’d never have guessed I’d come to live in Muskoka again. But you can’t take Muskoka out of a girl any more than you can take country out of a cowboy, so here I am in midlife, back again. And one of the best parts about being back is getting to know Muskoka artists.

Among the first I met upon my return was a wildlife and landscape painter called Wendie Donabie. She settled here in the second half of her life after a first half that was peripatetic.

“I think Muskoka chose me rather than the other way around,” Donabie says of the place that’s finally claimed her. “Muskoka exudes a powerful energy, a magnetism created by the natural terrain. Inspiration exists everywhere.”

Donabie’s website quotes a French film director, Robert Bresson, who once advised artists to “make visible what, without you, might perhaps never have been seen.” Hmmm, I’m thinking, that explains things.

By Lori Knowles

Here in Muskoka, Donabie paints simple, natural landscapes: pine needles blanketing rock or a crocus popping up in early spring. As Muskokans we see these natural scenes every day, but do we really see them? It’s a question Donabie is exploring. I imagine for her, the pine needles are like Horton’s Whos: “We are here, we are here, we are here!” It’s Donabie’s job to make them seen.

I come from a family of pilots and what astounds me most when I fly with them is the vastness of Muskoka’s lakes. There’s more water than land – more blue than green – at least as it appears to me from up high. Which may explain why a second artist I’ve come to know, a photographer called Andy Zeltkalns, is embracing drone photography.

“I search for unique perspectives,” Zeltkalns shares. “Capturing photos with a drone, with its unique bird’s-eye view, has opened up many new possibilities.” From snow-laden landscapes to shimmery patterns created by light on water, “the perspective from above,” Zeltkalns says, “can be truly stunning.”

This perspective, this artist’s perspective, is not one most of us get to witness every day. Here in my office on a dark February day, gazing at Zetlkalns’ images – well, again, I’m transported away. See? I imagine him saying. See how magical this place is? See?