For Folk’s Sake: The Complex History and Economic Realities of Nova Scotia Folk Art

For Folk’s Sake: A Critical Look at Folk Art in Nova Scotia

Folk art is often celebrated as an authentic, raw, and unfiltered form of artistic expression, but what if this perception is itself a carefully curated construct? Erin Morton, in her book For Folk’s Sake: Art and Economy in Twentieth-Century Nova Scotia, challenges the romanticized narratives surrounding folk art, revealing how elite art institutions, collectors, and tourism industries have shaped, marketed, and defined what we recognize as folk art today.

Through an in-depth exploration of Nova Scotia’s folk art scene—especially the legacy of Maud Lewis—Morton examines how economic and cultural forces have framed self-taught artists not simply as creators but as symbols of an imagined past.

1. The Myth of the Self-Taught Artist

One of the most enduring narratives in folk art is the “discovery story”—the idea that a collector or curator finds an isolated, self-taught artist, elevates their work into a fine art context, and transforms them into a cultural icon.

• This story often overlooks the economic realities that shaped these artists’ lives, instead portraying them as figures untouched by the modern world.
• Morton highlights how Maud Lewis, one of Nova Scotia’s most famous folk artists, became a symbol of artistic purity, despite the fact that she lived and worked during a time of great economic hardship for rural Nova Scotians.
• While collectors and curators placed her in a museum context, they also reinforced a mythology that celebrated her isolation and poverty rather than engaging with the complex socioeconomic forces that shaped her life and work.

This idealized vision of folk art—as something created outside of mainstream influences—ignores the reality that many self-taught artists were fully aware of the art world, market forces, and the ways in which their work was being consumed.

2. Folk Art and the Legacy of Settler Colonialism

Folk art is often associated with heritage and tradition, but Morton argues that the very concept of folk art in Nova Scotia is deeply tied to European settler colonialism.

• The image of the self-sufficient, rural, white folk artist, living close to the land and preserving a “simpler time,” plays into a mythology that erases Indigenous histories and the true economic struggles of rural communities.
• Folk art is often framed as a nostalgic return to a past that never truly existed—a romanticized vision of Nova Scotia that ignores the complexities of history.
• This framing is not accidental: it has been deliberately reinforced by collectors, curators, and the tourism industry, who benefit from presenting Nova Scotia as a place of quaint traditions and authentic, untouched culture.

In this sense, folk art becomes not just a form of artistic expression but a tool in shaping public perceptions of Nova Scotia’s history and identity.

3. Outsider Art: A Construct of the Elite Art World

Folk art is often grouped with outsider art, a term that suggests a separation from the formal structures of the art world. However, Morton questions whether outsider art can truly exist when it is defined, categorized, and promoted by elite institutions.

• The term “outsider art” was originally coined to translate art brut, a concept championed by Jean Dubuffet in France to describe art created outside of institutional norms.
• Roger Cardinal, a British art historian, later adapted the term for English-speaking audiences in 1972, but its meaning has continued to shift based on the needs of critics, collectors, and galleries.
• Sociologist Gary Alan Fine has argued that art institutions actively decide who qualifies as an “outsider,” reinforcing social and cultural hierarchies that determine what is included in the fine art canon.

Far from existing outside the art world, folk and outsider artists often depend on art institutions for validation, visibility, and financial success—meaning that their “outsider” status is, paradoxically, defined by the very elites they are supposedly separate from.

4. Folk Art and the Tourism Industry

The myth of Nova Scotia as a “folk society” was not just created by art historians and collectors—it has also been heavily promoted by the tourism industry, shaping how the province presents itself to both locals and visitors.

• Historian Ian McKay, in his book The Quest of the Folk, explores how Nova Scotia’s cultural identity was deliberately crafted by middle-class elites in the early 20th century.
• Figures such as Helen Creighton (who collected folk songs) and Mary Black (who promoted traditional handicrafts) helped reinforce the idea that Nova Scotia was a land of timeless, authentic traditions.
• In the 1930s, Premier Angus MacDonald capitalized on this image, promoting Nova Scotia’s Scottish heritage as a key feature of the province’s identity and economy.

This deliberate branding extended into folk art, which became a marketable representation of Nova Scotia’s “authentic past.” Rather than engaging with the complexities of rural poverty, labor, and economic struggles, folk art was framed as a charming and nostalgic artifact, reinforcing an appealing version of history that could be sold to tourists.

5. The Perception of Folk Art as a “Golden Age”

Morton also discusses the concept of historical presentism—the idea that we tend to view the past through an idealized lens, often imagining it as a simpler or better time.

• This belief is reflected in how folk art is discussed and marketed—as a relic of a lost past when life was supposedly slower, purer, and more connected to the land.
• However, this perspective ignores the real struggles faced by rural Nova Scotians, especially in the postwar period, when many saw their wages decline and economic opportunities shrink.
• This nostalgic framing is particularly evident in the way Maud Lewis’s work is described, with her paintings often portrayed as “cheerful” and “innocent,” despite the fact that they were created during a time of severe hardship.

This idealization of folk art not only distorts history but also influences which artists are considered valuable and how their work is interpreted and displayed.

6. Is Folk Art Destroyed by Institutionalization?

As folk art has gained recognition, some argue that it loses its authenticity once it becomes part of the mainstream art world.

• This tension is not unique to folk art—every art movement that begins outside the establishment eventually faces the challenge of being absorbed into it.
• Morton asks a crucial question: Who defines these categories, and who benefits from them?
• As a university-based art historian, she acknowledges that she is part of the elite system that helps shape these definitions, highlighting the paradox at the heart of folk art discourse.

Rather than asking whether folk art remains “pure,” Morton suggests we should examine the power structures that shape how we view it.

7. The Future of Folk Art

Despite these complexities, folk art continues to evolve, and institutions are increasingly engaging with it through a critical lens.

• Contemporary exhibitions, such as Mireille Eagan’s Folklore and Other Panics, explore folk art’s role in shaping cultural narratives.
• Institutions like the Beaverbrook Art Gallery continue to reassess how folk art is collected, curated, and discussed, ensuring that it remains a living, evolving tradition rather than a static relic of the past.

The future of folk art depends on how we choose to engage with it—whether we continue to reinforce nostalgic myths or embrace a more nuanced, historically aware understanding of its place in both the past and the present.

Final Thoughts: A More Honest Look at Folk Art

Folk art is more than just a charming reminder of the past—it is a complex, evolving tradition shaped by economic, social, and cultural forces. Erin Morton’s For Folk’s Sake challenges us to rethink the way we define, collect, and market folk art, urging us to look beyond the myths and engage with the realities behind the art.

Rather than seeing folk art as a relic of a lost time, we should recognize it as a vital, ongoing dialogue between artists, institutions, and the public—one that continues to shape Nova Scotia’s cultural landscape today.