excerpt
“More than has ever been paid for a painting in this country,” Ken said.
“And the figure will never be discussed beyond you and me.”
“Why would you want to do that? I would think that you’d want the
world to know.”
“I do. But I want the world to know it differently. Imagine the talk.
‘How did this cowboy-boot wearing character walk into your life when
you can’t be gotten close to? How did he solicit your help?’ No matter
how great the sum of money is, if we don’t talk about it, it will become
mythology and it will become even greater.”
“You’re almost a social engineer,” Albert said.
“I was well taught,” Ken said. “My father, who was a saintly man, was
actually that.”
“All right. How much is the figure?”
Ken told him a massive sum – one that was indeed larger than any that
had ever been paid for a painting in Canada. “And every penny will go
into Isumataq, and we will deal with the money in such a way that it does
and does not exist.”
“That sounds a lot like magic.”
“It’s not a lot like magic. It is magic. We are engaged in creating a perception
of magic.”
“I’ll do it.” Albert said.
Ken leaned across the table, picked up his watch, and put it back on his
wrist. “Now, would you like to see it?” he asked.
“Yes, I would like to see it.”
“Come with me to the studio, and I’ll show it to you.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
They drove to the studio in Ken’s old green station wagon. Inside, the
space was empty, the framing studio locked. Ken took him in, placed him
in front of the giant painting of an enormous Inukshuk against a blinding
white background, and left him alone for twenty minutes. When he
came back, he found him still standing where he had left him, dwarfed by
the painting and – by the white canvas stretching across the room.
Albert turned. “You’re going to use this money for making this giant
project – is it this one?” he asked pointing to the canvases.
“Yes, it is. It’s going to be called Isumataq. In the Inuit language,
Isumataq means an object or a person in whose presence wisdom might
show itself. It is my profound prayer that, for a few seconds or for an entire
minute, it will enter into the heart and mind of the nation. I hope that
it won’t be intellectual – this is visceral. I’m not interested in the intellect.
I am speaking strictly to the soul.”
“What makes you think that this reluctant nation will accept it?”
“Because it doesn’t really have an option.”
“Oh?”
Libros Libertad 