Christmas Eve at 12 O’Clock, 1995

Christopher Pratt, Christmas Eve at 12 O’Clock, 1995, lithograph, edition A/P VI, 20.3 x 23 cm, The Rooms, St. John’s.
Although seemingly unusual in Christopher Pratt’s practice, Christmas Eve at 12 O’Clock is in fact one of his most revealing artworks. The same precision and restraint that shape his landscapes and interiors are at play here but turned inward. Here, we see Pratt most clearly: the discipline of his craft infused with the tenderness of lived experience, the fragile balance between what endures and what slips away.

Christopher Pratt, Christmas Eve at 12 O’Clock – Notes, 1995, graphite on paper, 14.7 x 15.2 cm, The Rooms, St. John’s.
As with much of his work, the image begins in words. Language was central in his artistic practice. He wrote in journals daily and chose the titles for his paintings carefully. In his preparatory notes for this piece, Pratt reflects: “Christmas Eve, 12 O’Clock. The Hardy Poem. A sheep shed lit by an approaching figure. It is the viewer who goes to the shed; the light in his hand. The door to the shed is closed. Darkness behind - maybe trees. No moon or stars - the animals will not be on their knees.”
A published poet and nephew of E.J. Pratt, he treated language not only as a tool but as a material to be shaped. In this artwork, Pratt blends literature and visual art. The “Hardy Poem” he alludes to, “The Oxen,” cites the myth of animals kneeling at midnight in honour of the birth of Jesus:
Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
‘Now they are all on their knees,’
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.
We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.
So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
‘Come; see the oxen kneel
‘In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,’
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.
The piece presents a poignant moment: a portrait of the artist, seen from behind, poised to enter a barn, flashlight in hand. This is in stark contrast to many of his other self-portraits, in which he often faces the viewer.
“My father’s work is less about faith than about hope,” his daughter Anne explains. “It’s about moving through darkness—or standing in our darkest hour—longing for a sign of something greater, for something better to be true. Reason tells us that when you walk into the barn the animals won’t be kneeling. Hope is what pushes the door open anyway. In that moment the figure, Dad, is so exposed, so vulnerable—and yet you can’t help but hope alongside him.”
For Pratt, it is the viewer who will move beyond the artist on the passage through the barn door, imagining themselves stepping into the scene. This invitation not only draws the viewer into the artwork but also emphasizes the act of seeing and experiencing it as a participatory journey. For viewers, it may stir echoes of their own rituals and pauses, those charged moments when time seems to slow, and the weight of memory settles gently into the present. Displayed at his funeral, the piece resonated deeply with Pratt’s creative spirit throughout his life—the move forward into the unknown, hoping it might be so.
Gallery

Christopher Pratt, Gros Morne (At Portland Creek), 1960

Christopher Pratt, Boat in Sand, 1961

Christopher Pratt, Woman at a Dresser, 1964


Christopher Pratt, House in August, 1969

Christopher Pratt, Institution, 1973

Christopher Pratt, Spring at My Place, 1985


Christopher Pratt, Deer Lake: Junction Brook Memorial, 1999



Christopher Pratt, Season Series, 2009