excerpt
He, finally, admitted defeat and declared bankruptcy.
A few weeks later, Ken’s father died, with his family by his side. Ken sat
on the edge of his father’s bed, watching his heart giving out, thinking
back to the time he had perched on the edge of his grandfather’s bed – two
men he had loved – two powerful men – both gone – both with him still.
He was exhausted. While Ron carved his decoys, Ken poured his heart
out to him. He was worn. He was interested only in an early discharge
from bankruptcy. The court documents stated that the collapse of the trust
company was not his doing and that, in fact, he was instrumental in starting
the police investigation into the company’s wrongdoing. The courts
set an early date for his bankruptcy discharge and Ken began to relax.
One morning, Ken woke to the jarring voice of the announcer as the
radio alarm went off. He lay on his back, eyes closed. Suddenly, his eyes
flew open. He listened, first to the weather. The weather was recorded in
numbers. Then the stock market report – the stock market was reported
in numbers. Then the traffic report – the traffic jams were estimated in
numbers. Everything was numbers. He made connections. How could he
not have seen it before? “Wait a minute! I’ve been trying to get politics
and art and philosophy out to the public using the wrong language. It’s
numbers! We live in a society that quantifies everything!”
His years of trying to tell his story, his frustration, his aggravation – it
was nothing – of no consequence! He had the answer. All he had to do
was paint the world’s largest portrait – and it would be a portrait, not a
painting.
In our society, a portrait is of a person or creature, usually a human creature.
The Inuit see their land as mother and father. Therefore, if I paint this
giant picture of their land – what I see as the centrepiece of their life – I will
be painting their mother and their father. Thus it is a portrait and not a
painting – not a landscape.
He visualized the project and a smile spread across his face.
So where does this idea go? This project will have to be done in the style
of a grand opera, laced with liberal doses of the magician and the combined
spirits of Michelangelo, P.T. Barnum, and Flo Ziegfeld. It will have to be
done in magnificent, outrageous, and annoying magnitude. If I were to do
that here in Vancouver, would it work? It became very clear to me that the
answer was no. When you get here, there is no here. Vancouver is a figment
– it does not exist. Where would I do it then? And another moment of utter
clarity came to me – Toronto of course – downtown Canada. That is where
the head offices are, all the key families, all the key money, all the key power
and all the banks. Toronto is where the decisions are made. Ottawa is just
another figment. Ottawa and Vancouver get their orders from Toronto. Why
on earth hadn’t I figured all this out a long time ago?
Before leaving for Toronto, Ken’s bankruptcy was discharged.
Libros Libertad 