LEONARDO

LEONARDO D'AGOSTINO

One of the best and most memorable vacations Ivaan and I ever took was to Italy in October 1999.  Ivaan had made wedding rings for our friends Leonardo and Jiřina.  They were being married in the ancestral town of Leonardo's family, and invited us to attend.  Ivaan was really excited.  I still have the photograph he took of us with our airline tickets when he brought them home from the travel agent.

Leonardo's family hailed from Picinisco, in the city state of Frosinone, but they had emigrated to Edinburgh in the late 1800, and that's where Leonardo was born.  He had a heavy Scots accent, which made him seem all the more like family to me, and yet he had an Italian flair. Always attired in dapper fashion, he was the most charming man, witty, a gifted storyteller, and that talent served him well, because he had a fairly celebrated career in the film industry.

Jiřina, whom we originally met through our good friend Vladyana, was the love of his life.  She's one of the "Czech Chicks", a talented artist and a beautiful, gracious woman who also happens to love Ivaan's jewellery.  She and Len made a wonderful couple, and it was after a trip she made to Japan that Leonardo proposed to her.  I remember her telling me she was so tired after her trip that she couldn't absorb what he was saying, but once the jet lag wore off, she said yes, and they started to plan their wonderful wedding in Italy.

We arrived at Fiumicino airport outside Rome with only carry-on luggage, which included not just our wedding clothes but also our camera equipment, because Ivaan was going to be photographing the wedding. Travelling with Ivaan, I've learned to pack light. We picked up our rental car, a tiny Renault with manual five-speed transmission and headed south towards Atina, the town in which we were staying, just beside Picinisco.    It was hair-raising to be driving at 180 km per hour, just to keep up with the speed of traffic, and to be honked at and given hand gestures which suggested that I should be driving even faster.

When we arrived in Atina, we pulled up at the house where Leonardo and Jiřina were staying, and they came out to greet us.  First question from Jiřina: "Eya, you speak Italian, right?"  I conceded that I used to speak it reasonably well because I had studied it at university a quarter of a century ago.  They both sighed with relief:  "That's great, because we are being married by the Mayor; he doesn't speak English and we don't speak Italian.  So we need you to be the simultaneous interpreter from Italian to English."  Wow.

Luckily, I managed to get a printed copy of the wedding ceremony in advance, read it over and practised it a couple of times.   Now, that's the way to make someone feel welcome at your wedding:  have them make the rings, photograph it, and act as the interpreter as well.  I have always hoped that my interpretation was sufficiently skilled to make their marriage legal!

Anyway, it was a dream wedding, and a fantastic holiday.  We celebrated Ivaan's 55th birthday on a sleeper train from Napoli to Venezia, and we loved every moment of our trip.

Yesterday, I opened the newspaper and learned that Leonardo has died.  It seemed scarcely possible.  Almost immediately after,  I heard about it via email.  On Friday, our wedding party will reunite in Cobourg for his funeral.   I'm glad I have Ivaan's wonderful photos of our memorable trip to Italy - a time when we were all well, young, beautiful, happy and carefree enough to enjoy driving at 200 kilometres an hour.

Baruch Dayan Emet.

BARUCH DAYAN EMET

When I first started helping Ivaan with jewellery, I had a steep learning curve ahead of me. He'd send me to Toronto's jewellery district on various errands, and whereas he knew everyone and everyone knew him, he didn't necessarily want everyone to know he was ill.  As with any industry, bad news about an insider tends to spread like wildfire, and with each retelling the story often gets embellished.

Almost immediately, when I was doing errands for Ivaan,  I met Diane.

Diane was the "front man" for a wholesale supply company in one of the buildings I frequented.  I learned early on that Diane was discreet.
She knew Ivaan, she knew his work, she knew I was his wife and she never asked why he wasn't there himself, buying the supplies he needed.  It was Diane who introduced me to Esmaeil, who used to sublet a tiny workshop inside the wholesaler's where Diane worked.  Esmaeil and his wife Nazi were new immigrants and their English was limited.  Both their families were in the jewellery industry back in Iran.  Esi helped me so often with jewellery repairs and I came to rely on him and trust him.  Through Diane, Esi and Nazi became good friends.

Whenever I needed help with other things, Diane knew a good person for me to see.  "Diane sent me" was all the introduction I ever needed.  It was just accepted that I was trustworthy, that I would pick up and pay for my things promptly and that I would be professional in all my dealings.   If I needed a special order, Diane would get it for me.  And, like Ivaan, she had a tender heart for wildlife.  Whenever the window was open, even in winter, I knew Diane had been feeding the pigeons again.

A splitting headache last year sent Diane reluctantly to her physician.  A tiny, newly formed brain tumour was diagnosed, and since then Diane has been in and out of hospital undergoing treatment.  It seemed she'd caught it in time and Diane was soon back at work. Sadly, it returned with a vengeance almost immediately.  Today, I went in to the wholesaler's where Diane worked, to ask after her. I received the saddest news. Diane died this morning.

Baruch Dayan Emet.  Blessed be the True Judge.

I hope Ivaan was waiting for her in The World To Come, thanking her for her kindness to the two of us.  Thanking her on behalf of both of us, because I did not have a chance to.   Thanks to Diane, I feel like an old industry insider now. I will not forget her good heart.  Next time I go to the cemetery, I'll bring an extra loaf of bread for the birds and squirrels, and tell them it's from Diane.

THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING: BERNIE'S BUCKLE

Ivaan and his friend Bernie could have been brothers.  Strikingly good-looking and smart, they shared an ironic sense of humour, liked many of the same things, and both had a streak of individualism that abhorred convention. Recently, Bernie was telling me about a one-of-a-kind brass belt buckle Ivaan had made for him 30-odd years ago, which he still loves and wears frequently. I love seeing Ivaan's earlier work, especially the one-offs, so I asked Bernie to photograph it for me.

BERNIE'S BUCKLE © ESTATE OF IVAAN KOTULSKY

I love how it has the patina of age, yet the design is as fresh and current as though it were made just last week. Bernie had a custom belt made for it and treasures his buckle to this day.  It's amazing how well it has stood the test of time. Anyone who really knows Ivaan's work would recognize it immediately, yet it's unique.  I can almost guarantee that once I post this photo, people are going to start asking me if they can have a buckle just like it.  But I know what Ivaan would say: that, like his and Bernie's friendship, it's one of a kind, and that's the way they'd want it to remain.

SIX YEARS OF SEPARATION

Today is the sixth anniversary of the start of Ivaan's journey, leaving the planet behind, along with all the earthly things he loved. I miss him acutely, and yet I'm so reminded of him, especially here in Atelier Ivaan, that he doesn't actually seem far away.  Today a very close friend of ours sent me an email about him.  Here is what she wrote:

          I miss his jokes, his hilarious way of describing things with such 

          exactness. I miss the way he laughed with his shoulders and without
          making a sound in hopes of being able to laugh longer without
          coughing. I miss his particularity with food both in presentation and
          taste. I miss his big heavy winter jacket that made him look like the
          Hulk. (I never told him that, but I think he would have liked the
          comparison). I miss the way he teased you endlessly, especially in
          public, in his own way of complimenting you. I miss the way he looked
          so sharp in black and grew more handsome as he aged. I miss his
          admiration of old cameras that, if I recall correctly, were somewhat
          useless.  I miss the way his eyes sparkled when he was feeling
          particularly mischievous. I miss his eternal creativity and beauty he
          brought to the world. I miss the way he lived in the present to the
          absolute fullest and by his presence he enabled others to do the
          same.  When I see him again, I will ask him if he wouldn't mind making me a
          sandwich with "two kinds of cheese!"

I couldn't have summed it up better.  I remember exactly what she meant, especially about his shoulders shaking as he tried not to laugh out loud, so as not to trigger a painful choking episode.  I remember his constant teasing, and his eternal hope that the next camera he bought on eBay was going to be in perfect condition, and his inevitable disappointment when it wasn't.  "They said it was 'as is', he would grumble. "They should have said, 'as isn't'."

In memory of Ivaan, I thought I'd post a few snapshots of him over the years. Most of them are somewhere on the blog already, but it's nice to see them all at once: a trip down memory lane.

Ivaan and his sister in 1945.

Ivaan as a beatnik, centre right, at Harbord C.I.,  age 17

Ivaan, age 17, at Harbord C.I.

Ivaan at home circa 1963

          

Ivaan, 1986

Ivaan, circa 1972

Ivaan's first trip to Ukraine, 1979

Ivaan and me, 1986

Ivaan and me, 1986

Ivaan and me, 1993

our wedding reception, 1995

I

Ivaan, age 16

Ivaan christening Mariana, 2000

Ivaan in Cuba, 2001

Ivaan in Cuba, 2001

THE LEGEND OF KYRYLO

One of the most beloved pieces of art Ivaan ever made was a tryzub, or trident, which we've always called the Kyrylo.  It's named after a young man named Kyrylo Rewa, for whom Ivaan made one many years ago.  It's very distinctive, because it has the most graceful lines, it's neither tiny nor huge, and it's not flat.  In fact, it looks rather like bread dough beginning to rise.   It works well for both men and women, and the people who choose it for themselves are invariably confident, artistic and very particular about their choice of adornment.

What's also a source of wonder (at least, to me) is the route people take to acquiring a Kyrylo pendant of their own.   Apart from the Kyrylo for whom it is named, there is the "Slawko Sekunda" connection, the "Lesia Chyczij" connection and the "Adriana Buyniak" connection.  Every time these three people wear their tryzubs in public (and they seem to go out  a LOT), our telephone rings and the person on the other end says, "I want a tryzub just like Slawko/Lesia/Ada has".  Who needs to advertise when you have social butterflies wearing your art?

This week I made a couple of Kyrylo pendants in sterling silver, and as I'd recently discovered that coral comes in blue, I decided to have a Kyrylo tryzub strung on a blue coral necklace, and fastened with a toggle clasp.  I liked it so much, I then made a bracelet to match.  I'm pretty thrilled with the result. Ivaan would love it. Now I'll sit back and wonder underneath whose Christmas tree it will wind up.

Kyrylo Tryzub on Blue Coral © Estate of Ivaan Kotulsky

INKMAID ART

Our friend Emily Crown-Robinson is a wonderful artist who specializes in quill-and-ink drawings of the natural world.  They're whimsical without being cute, very detailed without being like a photograph, unique and interesting. Emily does a million things well, but she's always kind of kept her art for herself and her family.

Recently, she's been opening up a bit more to the outside world, and I asked her if we could have an exhibition of her work, Inkmaid Art, (www.inkmaidart.com) here at Atelier Ivaan.  So that's what we're doing on Friday, November 28th, from 7 till 10 p.m. - having the opening reception for her first exhibition.

Here's the poster for the exhibition:

If you're out and about in Toronto, stop by and enjoy the reception.  You can browse, shop, snack, chat, enjoy the event, and meet Emily, too.  If you're in a gift-buying mood, either for yourself or someone else,  her prices are very reasonable.  She'll have her drawings on stationery, throw pillows and suitable for wall mounting.

We're excited to be hosting our first exhibition by an artist whose work we love (apart from Ivaan's, I mean.)  And the snacks will be pretty good, too. Because Ivaan will be watching us.

THE THINGS WE LOSE: We Live In Hope

Here's the little film of my story of loss that appeared on the TTC video monitors in subway stations during the month of October, part of a video installation by LabSpace Studio, entitled The Things We Lose.  Due to the brevity of the film clip, the accompanying text makes it seem as though Ivaan had died just three days after reconnecting with the young woman in the photo.  In fact, he lived for six more years, during which time he suffered three additional strokes.  Yet he still managed to remind me regularly of the importance of finding the young woman playing the flute.
We live in hope.