Judith E. Martin
March 3 – June 25, 2023
Micaela Fitzsimmons
March 3 - June 25, 2023
Tracey Lawko
March 3 - June 25, 2023
If you’ve visited Homer Watson’s studio, you will have seen the artist’s huge paint-caked palette, brushes, and easel – but stored away in the collection is a set of Homer’s
Phoebe Watson had many jobs when she lived at the Watson House with her brother Homer. She acted as curator of the gallery, gave tours of the home, and hosted
As Spring arrives, be prepared to start seeing fresh new plants and flowers poking their heads up through the soil getting ready to bloom. Phoebe Watson loved flowers, and they
Over the past couple of years, we at Homer Watson House & Gallery have been transcribing the Watson family’s letters and correspondences in order to make them more accessible. During
Homer Watson House & Gallery is the standing homestead and art studio of Canadian Artist Homer Ransford Watson (1855 – 1936)
Today the Homer Watson House & Gallery aims to preserve and celebrate the legacy of Homer Watson’s creative spirit through appreciation, enjoyment and practice of the visual arts. Through exhibitions, events, programs and a museum space of the late artist’s studio, the Homer Watson House & Gallery has something for everyone.
Homer Watson House & Gallery acknowledges that it is located on the traditional territory of the Attawandaron (Neutral), Anishnaabeg,
and Haudenosaunee peoples; land promised to Six Nations, six miles on each side of the Grand River.
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The Loch Doon area was memorialized in celebrated Scottish poet, Robert Burns piece “Ye banks and braes O’ bonnie Doon”
Ye banks and braes o’ bonny Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu’ o’ care?
Thou’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o’ departed joys,
Departed, never to return.
Aft hae I rov’d by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o’ its love,
And fondly sae did I o’ mine.
Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose,
Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause lover stole my rose,
But, ah! he left the thorn wi’ me.