Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

excerpt

He had more canvases made that together measured twenty-five feet,
eight inches long by two feet high. By anyone’s standard, this was an immense
painting: by Ken’s yardstick, it was a miniature. However, the size
was ideal, as it allowed him to sketch in every detail and nuance he wanted
to convey.
He worked eighteen hours a day, but time had ceased to have meaning.
He physically barricaded the studio to discourage visitors. Several weeks
later, when the large model was complete, he started to calculate what it
would take to paint a portrait that was twelve feet high one hundred fiftytwo
feet long. He estimated that he would need thirty-eight panels twelve
feet high by four feet long, butted seamlessly together.
He had immense issues to deal with. First, he had to find a supplier
who could stretch canvases of that size. He also had to keep Rocco supplied
with paintings, and he had to complete them on time. And, he had
to finish the Reichmann and Yellowknife Airport paintings. In addition,
he was once again doing presentations at schools. Common sense told
him to say no to those requests, yet he felt an obligation to talk to the
children – to fire their minds with dreams. Although he should have been
tired, he was bursting with energy. It was as though the furnace of his
heart was being stoked with a fuel that burned endlessly – a fuel more
potent than food, drink or rest.
He could find no one who would stretch the canvases. Those he approached
thought he was mad. He talked to the company that supplied
their framing material, explaining that he needed stretchers double kiln
dried so they wouldn’t warp. They also had to be bevelled so that when
the panels came together the seams would disappear.
Ken wanted all the materials he used to be made in Canada. It wasn’t
possible. No one in Canada made canvas, so he ordered several rolls from
Brazil, each roll weighing hundreds of pounds. He also had to import
brushes.
With leftover canvas from the Reichmann painting, he and Diane
stretched the first panel using the device he had invented that was a combination
of canvas stretching pliers, Vise-Grips, and a torque wrench. Every
part of the canvas had to be stretched to precisely the same tension.
The canvas was perfect when he could lay it on the floor, toss a coin
on it ,and have it bounce off like a bullet. If it wasn’t right he started over
again – and he began afresh many times.
Keeping in mind his insight about quantifying the painting, he made a
precise list of every item he needed. How much glue would he need? How
much gesso for four coats on each of thirty-eight panels? How much paint?
Ken met with Mr. Stevenson, of Stevenson and Company paint manufacturers,
“I think I’m going to need two tons of paint,” Ken said.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

In Turbulent Times

excerpt

‘With Liam Dooley?’ Joe’s face took on a puzzled look. ‘You could have had your pick of every young man from here to Kerry. Why Liam Dooley of all people?’
‘Oh Joe, don’t say it like that. It just happened. I don’t know how. Something I said. We were both upset. And then we were consoling each other.’
‘In bed?’
‘Please, Joe. Don’t make it sound worse than it is. God alone knows how much I have paid for that one sin. And I shall go on paying for it till the day I die. God is very severe on sinners sometimes, Joe. His punishment seems out of all proportion to the sin. But He has His reasons, they say. And for some reason He has been severe in his punishment of the Carrick family.’
‘But Nora, going to bed with a man doesn’t mean you have to marry him. Nor does it mean that the one you might eventually want to marry is going to hold it against you if he knew about it.’
‘What if I was pregnant?’ Nora asked. ‘What if I was carrying the first man’s child? Wouldn’t that make a difference? Wouldn’t the man I might eventually want to marry hold that against me?’
Joe looked away and said nothing. A harshness, a bitterness, in Nora’s voice was new and discomfiting. But the more he thought about it the more justified it was. Fate—or God—had treated Nora cruelly.
‘Can you be sure?’ Joe asked. ‘Can you be sure you’re going to have a baby?’
‘I’m not,’ Nora replied.
‘You’re not sure?’ Joe cried. ‘Then why did you …?’
‘Oh Joe, please!’ Nora shouted in exasperation. ‘I didn’t mean I’m not sure. I meant I’m not going to have a baby.’
‘Nora, I’m confused. I’m not thinking too clearly.’
‘After I slept with Liam I was a month overdue with my period.’ Nora gushed out the words. She was embarrassed. It had been easier to put this in a letter. These were matters a woman did not discuss with a man. But Joe had rights to a full explanation. She had to tell him everything, if only to make herself feel less miserable by justifying what she did. ‘That never happened before. I was always regular. I was frightened, Joe. I was sure I was pregnant.’
‘Did you talk to your mother about it?’
‘I couldn’t, Joe. I wanted to. I tried to. But I was so ashamed, so frightened of what she’d think of me. I couldn’t do it. I suppose I kept hoping …’

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Katerina Anghelaki Rooke – Selected Poems

II
my time is
a waste of time
in nature.
I don’t become younger
I don’t age
nothing of my heart
touches the stars.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562965

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763521

Red in Black

Comrade
He had an exquisite aura
that only a few of the ones
who met him could recognize
we’re walking side by side
in the busy path of the park
a new mother was pushing tenderly
the stroller with her baby
who was crying as if singing
a future tune, the sun was
warming the dress of the mother
loose and freely falling over her
as if to cover her baby bump
a couple of months after childbirth
the breeze blew as softly
on her face and the curtain of the stroller
as my buddy and I walked side by side
on our regular afternoon stroll
when suddenly a four year old boy
stopped his bicycle in front of us
as if he wanted to say something
and my comrade, a fate’s wish
you could say, let his glance dive
deep in the eyes of the boy
no word was uttered
neither from my buddy
nor from the four year old boy
who only stared at my friend
as if magnetized by his eyes
from which tears stared flowing
and I, upon seeing his tears, wondered
what could had happened when my friend
guessing my wonder, stopped
he took my hand and said
one day even this innocence
will be defiled by the system

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1771713208