excerpt
Ken played with the hours of his days like a master juggler. He had to
paint Isumataq in the scraps of time he had left over – when he wasn’t
working on the canvases that he sold to his clients – they paid for keeping
Isumataq alive. Then the Steelhead Society called on his services again.
It was running low on funding and Ken created a series of sketches that
were silkscreened and made into limited edition signed prints and sold at
fundraisers. He created another series of his Tengri paintings – his Mongolian
alter ego – and organized another black tie dinner event where he
sold the lot.
He woke up every morning, not with the anxiety of facing an almost
insurmountable pile of work, but with deep gratitude for the gift of his
life. Karen had washed his pain away. Her love was a benediction. The
absence of heartache made him realize how much darkness he had been
carrying inside for so long.
In their many talks about the future, Karen told him that when
Isumataq was done, she wanted to move to British Columbia where she
could practise environmental and Aboriginal law. When Michael heard
that he said, “Me too!”
“You too?” Ken asked.
“I might want to go to university there. And I love the gray skies. I love
the rain.”
And what about the future, he asked Karen. What would happen when
Isumataq was done?
“Give me the same support I’m giving you,” she said.
As he imagined that future life, a great blanket of peace settled on him.
Yes, this was a tomorrow he could embrace.
In the present, plans for the unveiling of Isumataq began to take shape.
Ken envisioned a cross-Canada tour to rival the Rolling Stones “Steel
Wheels” production. To pay their expenses they would manufacture and
sell an immense amount of merchandise. He designed a logo – a circle
with a rising sun behind a silhouetted Inukshuk – that would be emblazoned
on all the products.
Elaine contacted Beaverbrook Brothers, a promotional products company,
and Ken bartered some paintings for the first run of merchandise: sweatshirts,
buttons, baseball caps, pins, pens, mugs, and other paraphernalia.
Winter was giving way to spring, in 1990, when Ken and the documentary
camera crew travelled to the Arctic once more. Egidio had hired
a new cameraman, Chris Porter, a big Maritimer. Roberto came along to
shoot stills and Franco flew over from Italy. Keith, who lived in Rankin
Inlet during the winter months, had rented a house next door for Ken’s
crew while Ken bunked in with his family.
Libros Libertad 