Summer visitors to Atlin who drive up Monarch Mountain Road are astonished to discover an art school in the wilderness. Offering a unique blend of outdoor adventure and art exploration, the Atlin Art Centre has flourished since it first opened its doors to students in 1983. Here, in a setting of unparalleled natural beauty, instructors and students alike can examine the link between art and nature. Challenging students on every level -- visual perception, physical, intellectual, emotional -- the art centre seems to specialize in setting the stage for a transforming experience.

Gernot Dick, its founder, managing director, and the driving force behind its programs, was swept away by the location when he first visited Atlin in the mid-1970s. And what a place it is! Atlin Lake -- the largest natural lake in B.C. --- sits tucked against the leeward side of the St. Elias Mountains, the highest in North America. To the south is the wild Taku watershed; to the north and east, a vast expanse of mountains, lakes and plateaus.

My 17 fellow students turned out to be an eclectic group. They were painters, fabric artists, furniture designers, glass blowers, and even photographers; they were beginners and highly accomplished artists seeking either a change of direction in their work or an infusion of new energy and ideas. They trickled in during the two days prior to startup; 17 new names and personalities. It was going to be interesting.

Accommodation ranged from rustic to primitive on a first come, first served basis. I opted for primitive, and loved it. The "Creek Tent," one of two canvas-wall tents, slept four in bunk beds and was equipped with a wood stove for heat, propane stove for cooking, and a great view of the lake and mountains. Students who preferred electricity and running water -- or who arrived too late to claim a spot in one of the tents -- moved into the main student residence building.

Gernot's introductory slide show had introduced us to some ideas about visual design and the terminology by which we could communicate concepts. In fact, we were given an assignment: to think about what we want to express in our work and arrive at a concept - a simple, clear statement of intent. This proved difficult for most participants, myself included. In desperation, I signed up for a drawing class.

San Francisco based painter Leigh Hyams was principle art instructor for our course (guest artists vary from year to year). An extraordinary communicator, Leigh asked us to focus on process, not result. Striving for perfection would have been disastrous for a novice like myself; Leigh allowed me to let go of any expectation and work intuitively. "I just don't have any fear " she explained. "That's the secret for all of us, isn't it? It's only paint. It's only paper."

Meanwhile, Gernot had arranged a series of field trips of varying lengths and degrees of difficulty. Hoping to challenge participants on many levels, he called it "walking on the edge with everything; you've got, in your art and in your life." One evening he led us on a short walk through a lovely old forest to some bluffs overlooking Atlin Lake, stopping here and there to point out various features and translate them into the language of visual perception. He introduced examples of positive tension, directional force, surface-form relationship. "You cannot represent life directly in your art; life is life. Somehow you have to transcend reality in your work."

The paddling trip in three large canoes to a small island in Atlin Lake was sublime: sun sparkling on clear water and a pristine shoreline to explore. Janet, Shirley and Linda chose to camp there overnight and return by canoe the following morning. Later, I watched in awe as Shirley completed a series of exquisite water colours in a tiny sketch book depicting her experience on the island.

The most demanding trip took us to huge ice fields at the south end of Atlin Lake. We chartered a boat for this, and departed Atlin by 5:30 a.m. After brief stops to watch a mountain goat traversing a sheer cliff face and a black bear working a berry patch, we docked in a shallow bay and began the 2.5-hour hike to the Llewellyn Glacier, in Atlin Provincial Park.

A good trail, winding first through forest and then across a glacial floodplain cris-crossed by wolf and grizzly tracks, brought us to the ice by mid-morning. On the way we found some perfectly round rocks, shaped and polished for hundreds -- or thousands -- of years by ice and water. Gernot challenged us to balance one of these using only three tiny pebbles for base support. when we continued to the glacier we left behind this natural sculpture amid the randomly scattered rocks of the desolate valley, and took with us a strange feeling of elation.

Peak experiences can affect us deeply; however, inspiration can be found everywhere in the natural world. As Gernot pointed out, "Everything in nature has a sense of order. Look at a flower: the centre, every component, is truthful to the core." A mountain, a glacier, a pine cone or a fireweed blossom can be equally inspiring if one is open to their message.

The notion of interconnectedness and the importance of a coherent conceptual approach to life and art is the foundation of the centre's teaching program. Art is not the exclusive domain of a talented few. We have a tendency to overrate talent; in the long run, desire and inner drive may be more useful assets.

By this time everyone was immersed in individual projects and submitting their work at different stages of completion for group critique. This feedback proved immensely valuable, for we gained momentum and insight from each other. I watched Gary, a highly skilled realistic painter depart from realism and produce a series of explosive abstractions. For others the most significant experiences were less tangible. "It hasn't been about my artwork," said one participant. "It's been about accepting myself."

On the last day, Monarch Mountain lured me again. Mountain as metaphor: today it felt like an obstacle, a keeper of secrets, There are infinite ways to view a mountain, and to draw or paint or photograph it. Today, however the mountain had painted itself! On its upper slopes I hiked through huge patches of bright orange dwarf birch and scarlet barberry; far below, the sunlit lake shone like quicksilver, its surface rippled by breezes. I began photographing trees silhouetted against the silver, focusing first on the tree, then on the water, turning the tree into a dark smudge, a mere suggestion of a tree .. . all the while remembering what Leigh had said about her own work: "I'm really interested in what I can say with the least. Can I suggest a waterfall with a few marks? Can I suggest a forest?" I sat on the windswept summit and gazed across the lake at the endless, shining mountains.

In the end, I left Atlin with a few thousand photos, a handful of drawings, a notebook full of phrases and quotations, and a riot of ideas zinging through my brain. It would take time to sort things out. The excellent quality art instruction was almost overshadowed by the powerful connections with some of my co-participants, reinforced by communal meals shared music, hot tubs, sauna, and salmon smoking projects all using on-site facilities. Is it possible to form genuine bonds with people in such a short time? You bet it is!

No teaching program can be perfect. I would have preferred to see more emphasis on instruction in outdoor skills. For example, the glacial creek crossing was more haphazard than organized . One student waded across in bare feet, while others tried to place stepping stones in the rushing water. In the context of problem solving this was consistent with the art component - learning: through discovery -- but I thought a teaching opportunity was missed. In general, however, safety measures were adequate, and the pace of each activity was geared correctly to the ability of the group's weakest member.

The Atlin Art Centre isn't for everyone. People who need assurances about everything, who are unwilling to open up and take the risk of changing, likely would fight the process. On the other hand, the emphasis on "intuitive work" rather than skills makes it accessible to anybody with a sense of adventure, the physical endurance to handle long, active days, and a willingness to take risks with new materials and ideas.

Although I had visited Atlin once, many years · ago, I had not really experienced it; now I can feel a deep-down sense of connectedness that I don't think will dissipate.To my surprise, in the days following Atlin while camping alone in the northern Yukon, I started drawing spontaneously. The only materials I had brought from Atlin were a charcoal stick and a graphite stick, but I remembered Leigh Hyams often uses natural pigments in the field. And so I began making marks in my little sketch book with leaves, grasses, berries, mud, coffee grounds, charcoal and ashes from my camp fires.It felt good. It helped me see the land in a new way. Always, the land, its ridges and peaks, its contours and colours, the stuff that grows out of it and the creatures it sustains. We can never receive too many reminders of this, can we?

- James R. Page is the photo columnist for EXPLORE.

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