MORTON ROSENGARTEN AND LEONARD COHEN, BROTHERS IN THE ARTS
From the outside, this small clapboard cottage stands apart from all its neighbours on StDominique St. in the Plateau. And its minimalist interior could conceivably pass for that of a residence on a Greek island or in the bush of the Eastern Townships.
But the dwelling’s design wasn’t really what motivated friends Leonard Cohen and Morton Rosengarten to buy the place in 1971.
Cohen had been spending considerable time on the Greek isle of Hydra then, and Rosengarten in the Eastern Townships hamlet of Way’s Mills; they copurchased the cottage along with an adjoining duplex to establish a permanent foothold in the city. They lived in these homes as did family members — including Cohen’s kids Adam and Lorca.
“There was a period in the 1960s and early ’70s when everywhere we rented, we had to leave because landlords had other ideas about developing those places,” Rosengarten recalls. “In those days, this wasn’t exactly considered a desirable area. We couldn’t even get insurance for it. But we loved it. We just wanted somewhere to stay put and concentrate on other endeavours.”
In the case of Cohen, those endeavours are the stuff of legend, both locally and internationally. Rosengarten, too, is a major artist, a sculptor whose works are renowned.
Cohen and Rosengarten were lifelong best friends. They both grew up fairly affluent in Westmount. As young kids, they went to the same summer camp, and then to the same schools, Roslyn Elementary and Westmount High. They cavorted together in university, and after dark in the city. And they both left the security of their families to seek to establish themselves on unfamiliar cultural terrain.
In the ’50s, they launched the long-defunct downtown bohemian outpost, the Four Penny Gallery for contemporary poets and artists. They hung out in New York with Joni Mitchell, who credited Rosengarten for giving her drawings “boldness and originality.”
There was no lacking of adventure for this tandem. No matter where their adventures took them — together or apart — theirs was a bond that would never be broken.
Testament to Cohen’s appreciation and devotion to the sculptor comes in his poem Homage to Rosengarten, penned three years ago:
“If you have a wall, a bare wall in your house All the walls in my house are bare And I love the bare walls The only thing I would put up On one of my beloved bare walls Not beloved It doesn’t need beloved It doesn’t need an adjective The wall is fine as it is But I would put up a Rosengarten …”
Unlike Cohen, Rosengarten has never expressed himself with words. He is unduly modest and unassuming, preferring to work on his bronzes and drawings in the background and leave the limelight to others.
It is these qualities that no doubt endeared Rosengarten to Cohen over the decades. In the 1965 NFB documentary, Ladies and Gentlemen … Mr. Leonard Cohen, the poet/troubadour refers to Rosengarten as “one of the great gentlemen.” It certainly took one to know one.
Rosengarten and his companion of 50 years, Denyse Beaugrand-Champagne, had been set to visit the ailing Cohen in Los Angeles last year when they got word that he had passed away on Nov. 7.
“There has been this huge vacuum in my life,” says the sombre Rosengarten, who turned 84 last week. “We weren’t always in the same place together, but we were always there for one another.”
The Plateau cottage serves as a constant reminder of their relationship. Curiously, the same cottage, built in 1836, was once owned by Beaugrand-Champagne’s great-grandfather.
“I was a year older than Leonard, and I used to say that I was also a hair taller than him, too,” Rosengarten says, over a cup of tea in the sparse cottage. “We argued for years as to who was taller.”
The issue was never resolved. “We went to this summer camp in the Laurentians. We were so young — I was so little when I first went there, and so was Leonard. It was a terrible place. If you didn’t play baseball there, you were finished.”
But their relationship was really cemented in high school and college, hanging out together in pursuit of nighttime thrills as well as their artistic inclinations.
“It wasn’t like we were seeking any sort of artistic glory back then. There wasn’t much fame in those days for that. There was mostly disdain,” he says. “The ’40s and ’50s, when we grew up, were mostly conformist times. We were different from our peers. But Leonard and I shared similar visions.”
Rosengarten got involved in sculpture during his last year of college at Sir George Williams University (now Concordia). After graduation, he headed to Saint Martin’s School of Art in London to further his interest in the medium.
Upon his return, Rosengarten sculpted and taught would-be artists. When offered a chance for his first one-man show in the city, Rosengarten was apprehensive.
“But Leonard insisted I bring all my stuff out and do it,” Rosengarten notes. “He was always so supportive and so encouraging. Of course, he didn’t need my approval for his work, but I was always so struck by all he did.
“I’m still listening to his music now … I think about Leonard all the time. I have countless memories of the two of us. Like driving around the city at four in the morning when we were 17 and looking for action — which there rarely was at that hour. But we were, in a way, isolated. We tried, but couldn’t always fit in.”
Just as Cohen paid homage to him in words, Rosengarten is doing the same in a series of sculptures of Cohen’s distinctive face. Rosengarten is using a series of photos of Cohen for this work, but, frankly, he doesn’t need them as a reminder of his buddy’s likeness.