Is it possible to find friends through their art? Yes. Is it possible to really see friends through their art? Yes. Is it possible to remember friends who are no longer with us through their art? Yes. This is one of the unusual effects of a painting or a photograph or a drawing. Every once in a while, it opens up the world of friendship. We have many stories in this category, and they are beloved to me.
There are friends who share their art. Sometimes these are generous gifts and sometimes they are about our own support of a loved one’s livelihood. Either way, these are special parts of our collection. Where to begin? With the youngest of contributors, I think. I teach piano as my primary job. I have about thirty students that come through my studio every week. Many of them are children. And, as we all know, children like to draw. I have layers upon layers of drawings taped to the window frame beside my piano. Sometimes I fear a paper avalanche, but love these little artistic treasures. Recently I received a painting of a piano from a young girl as an apology for her lack of practicing – not many jobs get that kind of amends!
For a number of years early in my teaching career, the daughters of some very close friends came for weekly lessons. These were extra special students because they were, and are, like family to me. One of them has continued on into a career in music and prior to entering university a number of years ago, presented me with a drawing of a hand playing a piano keyboard (credit: Kim Farris-Manning). What a treasure. A memento of her, her music and, honestly, of her sisters. It is displayed in my teaching room and is a daily reminder of these girls, now lovely strong women, and what they mean to me. We are also fortunate to have a painting done by another of the sisters, one that we acquired at her high school art show in a local restaurant (credit: Nikki Lauman). This one amuses me – because it is rather creepy. Nothing like the artist at all! A baby’s face, white as a sheet, staring out at us from an autumnal blanket of leaves. What does it mean? I don’t know, but I love it and enjoy thoroughly the reaction of people who see it for the first time….admiration for the skill, discomfort with the subject.
This family’s contribution to our collection doesn’t stop there. A photographer of many years, their dad has also contributed many images to our collection. His interest in nature photography is evident in quite a few, but my favourite is probably the one he took of a train in Norway. It is a perfectly composed moment observed in his travels there on a work related trip many, many years ago. It opens up a window into a place I’ve never been – photography is powerful that way (credit: Peter Farris-Manning). As I think about his photos, I am always drawn to the story of his life. The way he went back to photography school after many years in a different career; taking a chance on a creative pursuit. I think of how he has recorded his family over the years, capturing memories of these people both he and I love. When I look at his photographs dotted around our home, I think of his whole family – their friendship, the good times, the struggles, the meals, the conversations. Our memories.
For many years, I was involved with an organization called Ten Thousand Villages. A fair trade retailer that brought the work of countless artisans in developing countries to North America to be sold – creating jobs for those that truly needed them. There are many of these precious items in our collections, more on that later, but there are also relationships that emerged from this involvement, relationships with artists. Some were merely short encounters, changing the way I see the world, others were longer friendships that continued beyond the confines of that store experience.
One particularly meaningful friendship was with a Ten Thousand Villages volunteer that I had the pleasure of working with on many, many days. When we first met, it was clear that we connected, perhaps because we were both a little quirky, and avidly appreciated and loved the objet d’art. As it turned out, this dear weekly companion was also an artist of significant skill. Her ink drawings are remarkable (credit: Janet Bell). Detailed beyond comprehension, sometimes serious, sometimes filled with humour – drawn with an unsteady hand battling Multiple Sclerosis, but creating nonetheless, with a skill that I can't begin to understand. We are fortunate to have a couple of her original drawings, but were also the happy recipients of many copies that she generously gave us – often accompanied with a comment indicating that she thought we’d like this or that one, making us feel we were in her mind and heart.
Then there were the Sudanese artists. What a bit of joy they brought to my life and our home. We held two art exhibitions at the Ten Thousand Villages store, many years ago. One was a continuation of an exhibit the Mennonite Central Committee held in Winnipeg, and we were lucky to both host a portion of these works, and acquire a couple of paintings permanently. Paintings done by, and representing artists from Sudan. Artists that, having been displaced by war, were using their art to connect and share their experiences and their stories. A second exhibition by two of these artists allowed us the great good fortune to meet and talk with the painters. Two lovely men from Sudan. Working far from home. Travelling with their art. Finding new ways of making a living, adjusting to different cultures. What a privilege it was to get a little glimpse of their lives, if only for a moment. Hearing about their craft and process. Seeing photos of their family members. Understanding how very unalike our lives had been, and yet how much could be shared despite these radically different life stories. And, as is often the case when we meet people from great distances, we found we were more alike than different. We all loved beauty and wanted to be near it, to understand it, to speak through it and to share it in a spirit of friendship.
We were so fortunate to be able to acquire several paintings from these Sudanese artists. Paintings that reflect lives and cultural symbols so very different from our own, but somehow reminding us of things we share in common. These paintings are all about people. Two are by Ahmed El Sharif. These beautiful works were created by combining paint and paper with sand from the places where the painting took place – Sudan, France and Canada. This resulted in a texture representing these different cultures, and the artist’s travels. Powerful. One is titled, City Dwellers and shows people crammed into a space between two panels that depict freer spirits outside of the urban setting. The other, Ancestors, beautifully shows a couple in the foreground with layers of figures behind and above - representing all who watch over, all who came before, all who offer support. Both paintings offer an understanding of the human experience - whether from there or here, far or near, home or away.
The other artist, Izzeldin Kojour, is a master watercolourist whose painting beautifully depicts a group of figures walking. Walking from where? Walking to where? A reminder of the artist’s own experience as a refugee, an immigrant. Beauty in the journey, knowledge of its difficulty. Sheets of colour - washing away both past and future, creating the space that is now. I am better for having met these men, even though our friendship was brief, and I am blessed to see their ideas and skill every day. I wish them both well wherever they may be.
Art has the power to bring us together. To provide space for people from many perspectives to have conversations, to challenge perceptions, to share experiences, to savour and expand our definitions of beauty. It speaks of our histories and our futures. It allows us to look at each other, and see what is actually there. These pictures are all of these things. And a little more. We live with them for many reasons, and they are a special kind of company that is a constant reminder of their creators. A reminder of friends.
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