About the illustration:

At the east end of Victoria Island, in the Ottawa River, is an icon of the human experience: a fire pit waiting at the water's edge. The hollow in the sun bleached, weathered stones is a symbolic marker. Fire meets water, air meets earth, heat turns back the cold, and light turns away the dark. Politics and industry compete for attention. Day and night chase each other over head. People come and go, leaving only their passing. The river and the seasons flow through here. It is a magical cross roads.

It is a place of the communal experience. People meet around the fire pit to share food, light and heat. Plans are made; hopes are shared. Stories are retold and embellished, yet the scene remains the same. Whether two thousand years ago or yesterday, a simple pile of rocks at the water's edge sheltering the fire and harnessing its energy connects the past with the present and the future. The continuity of time and place participates in a communal experience.

To the west is the Carbide Mill of T.L. Willson. What the firepit produced in heat and light for the immediate site, this mill made available internationally by the turn of the 20th century. Fire provided the ability to mould metal and light the darkness. Calcium carbide produced at the mill was used to manufacture acetylene which in turn was used to weld metal and create arc lights. The capacity of heat and energy at the mill cast a long shadow over the primitive firepit on the shore.

Reflected in the river is the political equivalent to the industrial site. The Parliament Buildings are the evolution of the political communion that first occurred around the fire. Decisions on how to acquire and allocate resources necessary for survival two thousand years ago, are the same decisions still being made. Looking across the river and up the cliffs to the new meeting place, one is impressed with the change of scale. And that somehow the institution has made the process of political communion less personal and immediate.

There is something enduring about this very human symbol, the firepit: first in the shadow of a political institution cast by the morning sun, then the mid-morning sun warming the age old stones and by mid afternoon in the shadow of an industrial complex creeping across the site. By nightfall the dark shuts out the world beyond the firepit. The moon and the stars reflecting in the water offer the only light, and the human experience collapses in to the immediate. The magic of the fire draws people to it, even when it has been long extinguished.


About the artist: Greg Money