Fantastic. Flamboyant. Kind. – by R.M. Vaughn

Wearing a white fur coat cape-style, the collar clutched around his neck, he burst out of the CHANEL store looking furious, upset, and ready to run. Or at least hail a taxi. “Mr. Cranston!” I blurted out. He stopped, gently shook himself, and then said hello. I was too young and too stunned to do anything but say, “I enjoy your work”, or something equally flat. He said thank you and walked on.

Then and now, this remains my idea of glamour. Glamour is in a hurry but never forgets to be kind. When we talk about Toller Cranston and his work, we forget the sweet, the cheery twinkle, and focus, too, too much, on the bitter—on his sense of being an exile, of being overlooked and dismissed first by the Canadian figure skating community and then the Canadian art world.

Yes, his work is fantastic and flamboyant and arguably even, at times, lurid. Well, what’s wrong with that? Have you seen any Canadian art? Not a lot of colour, not a lot of light. The Canadian art world idea of a glamorous life is a tenured position at a mid-range university. Toller Cranston wanted more. More colour, more dreams, more flights of fancy. In other words, freedom.