CLOSING THE LOOP

In 1968, while working for Maclean Hunter Publishing,  Ivaan was sent to photograph various First Nations people for a Chatelaine article Barbara Frum was writing, entitled Canadian Indians 1968:  How Ottawa (And We) Slept.  Five years later, Maclean Hunter disbanded their in-house photographic studio. All the staff photographers' negatives and prints were discarded.  It was a disgraceful waste of valuable Canadian archival material. Ivaan, hearing about the disposal, rescued as many significant examples of his work as he could, and kept them. Instinctively, he knew that these were too important to be thrown away.

After Ivaan's death, when I was sorting through the tens of thousands of photographs he'd accumulated, I came across some enlargements and all the negatives from this Chatelaine photo shoot.  I knew they were from his Maclean Hunter days but beyond that there were few clues.  I decided to do a little detective work, and eventually located a copy of the November 1968 issue of Chatelaine, containing the article, in the Toronto Reference Library.  The article provided the names of the people Ivaan had photographed.  I decided that the photographs and negatives should be offered to them, or to their families, and I conducted an internet search to locate the individuals.

One group of photos was of a slight, pretty young woman named Elda Smith. She was a Mohawk potter who combined traditional techniques and motifs with her own distinctive artistic flair. I learned that her work was highly respected and valued and that she had been commissioned to make a piece of pottery as a gift for Queen Elizabeth II.   Although Elda was no longer alive, I was able to make contact with her son, Steve Smith, himself an acclaimed pottery artist in the Brantford area.  Steve was thrilled when I offered him the photographs and negatives, because although they had a copy of the Chatelaine article, they had few, if any, photographs of his mother.  So I packaged them up and sent them to Steve.

A few months later, I received a large box in the mail.  Here's what it contained:

I was overwhelmed.  It looks beautiful in the photograph (and you can see the other side of it reflected in the mirror behind it), but nothing compares to seeing it up close, and actually holding it.   It took a while for me to realize that there was some paperwork rolled up inside it, fastened by a leather thong. I untied it, and read this letter:

This beautiful vase is proudly displayed in Atelier Ivaan.  I look at it every day. I know Ivaan would have appreciated my efforts to "close the loop" by giving these photographs to Steve Smith, and I know he would have loved and cherished this piece of art as much as I do.  It will be with me, as will Steve's letter, for as long as I live.  Thank you, Steve, for this magnificent gift. I feel honoured to accept it, in memory of your mother, and on behalf of Ivaan.

VINTAGE 1979: From The Tomb of King Tutankhamun

In 1979, as part of his King Tutankhamun collection for the Art Gallery of Ontario, Ivaan made a beautiful sterling silver sommelier spoon.  I'm not sure if King Tut was into wine tasting, but Ivaan's spoon was a beauty. Ivaan had made a rubber mould of the spoon, simply as a record of it, but I found it monstrously difficult to make a perfect wax from the rubber mould. Eventually I made one in blue wax that was actually quite good, so I simply put the wax version of the sommelier spoon in the showcase.  Here are both sides of the wax:

King Tutankhamun Sommelier Spoon
(c) 1979 Atelier Ivaan

King Tutankhamun Sommelier Spoon (reverse)
(c) 1979 Atelier Ivaan

Recently, I had an urge to challenge myself, and see if I could make the spoon in sterling silver.  It's such a lovely piece, I thought that perhaps I could wear it as a pendant.  Suffice it to say, it was more work than I ever dreamed possible.  As with all of Ivaan's pieces, the reverse side is just as beautiful as the front.  You can see he has embellished it with little bunches of grapes and the tendrils of grapevines, and on the handle are the characteristic striations that I now recognize as bullrushes (thanks to an Egyptologist who once dropped by the store and explained it to me.)

In sterling, the sommelier spoon turned out to be quite a heavy piece - not surprising, as it's about the size of my fist.  I've been working on it intermittently, and finally last night I realized that it's close to completion. The shiny surface makes it difficult to see all the fine detail, but I'm sure a few mouthfuls of wine will work wonders.

When Ivaan first made the sommelier spoon, he had been working in metal for exactly ten years.  If I had a hundred years to spare, I could never have created anything so beautiful. When I look at the progression of his work over those ten years, his work is all the more astounding.  In a future post, I'll feature some photos of Ivaan's belt buckles from the early days.  They are spectacular.

IVAAN AT THE FESTIVAL EXPRESS, JUNE 1970

We were watching the movie Festival Express recently and it was fun to see glimpses of a 25-year-old Ivaan in his trademark Spanish hat strolling around onstage taking photographs.  Here are a couple of screen shots of him during a performance by Tom Rush.  He's the skinny guy wearing a white jean jacket and blue jeans.

If you are watching the movie on YouTube, much of the footage of Ivaan occurs at about 1:33:00 to 1:37:00. Sometimes he shows up wearing a vest with pockets and some tall brown boots, but more often he's in his hat and white jean jacket.  Just a little blast from the past.

Some of Ivaan's own photographs from the Festival Express are on exhibit right now at the Stephen Bulger Gallery on Queen Street West, in an exhibit called Summer Lovin', which runs until about January 18th, 2014.  Well worth seeing.

FIVE YEARS & THE THINGS I MISS

When I awake tomorrow morning, it will be five years since my beloved Ivaan left the planet. It does not feel like five years.  It feels like about half an hour. Despite the number of times I've heard people tell me that time heals all wounds, I can say with some authority that it does not. Our friend Jirina once wrote something to me which resonated deeply at the time and has stayed close to my heart ever since:

In times of sorrow, love heals.

I've had lots of time over the years to think about those words, and many occasions on which to reflect on the ways we try to comfort others in times of sadness.  And as often as I think of Jirina's words, I think of my friend Patricia, who once said two simple words to me which, literally, carried me one bleak day.  It would be impossible to say something more gracious and enduring than this to someone with a broken heart:

I care.

Tomorrow morning, I'm heading to the cemetery for a visit.  I'm bringing the usual:  some fresh bread for the birds and squirrels, some dried lavender, some pine boughs to cover the grave for the winter, and a pebble from somewhere I've visited recently - in this case, from the new Aquarium.

Since Ivaan's death, I've encountered plenty of things I could cheerfully live without:  suggestions that I stop signing cards and gifts from "Ivaan & Eya" , queries about why our phone listing is still in his name,  when I plan to remarry (almost always followed by, "you know, for companionship"),  why I wear both our wedding rings, the look of discomfort on some people's faces when his name comes up in conversation, as though speaking about a deceased person is a breach of etiquette.  I'm not crazy about the W word, because I'm still very much Ivaan's wife.  And, perhaps most of all, sentences that begin with "Ivaan wouldn't have wanted you to...", as though Ivaan, from his place in the next world, had appointed an emissary to tell me what I ought to be doing.

But this is not about the things I could live without.  It's about the things I miss.

I miss laughing my head off ten times a day.  I miss falling asleep with my head on Ivaan's left shoulder.  I miss the pleasure of watching him enjoy eating something delicious.  I miss making sure his coffee is exactly the way he likes it.   I miss his nicknames for me, I miss reading to him, I miss the fabulous birthday and anniversary cards he drew for me, I miss hearing his conversations with pigeons, squirrels and our dear old cat Pinky, I miss the mischief he and our nephews, The Pyromaniacs, got up to, I miss the early days of our marriage when I'd be busy around the house and he'd call out to me from wherever he was and say, "I love hearing you singing".  I really miss dancing with him.    I will never, ever be able to sleep on his side of the bed. And I love that, at least in his eyes, I was the most capable, resourceful genius in the entire world.  It is nice to have had someone in your life who is so utterly, unabashedly (and often unjustifiably) proud of you. 

Ivaan, my beloved husband, it is nice to be your wife. 

IVAAN, August 2008, by Slava Lukashenkov

INSPIRATION

Ivaan once told me that the best thing about being a jeweller is that you only ever get to see happy people.  They come in with hope and anticipation lighting up their faces, and they leave smiling from ear to ear.  He's absolutely right.  If you're a florist, you might be selling flowers to celebrate a birthday, an anniversary, or the birth of a child.  You might also be preparing flowers for someone seeking forgiveness, for someone in hospital, or even for a bereavement.   But, if you're looking for a steady stream of happiness, making beautiful jewellery is a thrill.

One day, not too long ago, a really nice young man came into Atelier Ivaan. He's a loving husband and a devoted father of two. He comes from an extremely supportive family, and with their help, he has become a highly skilled and very successful tradesman. Yet, for all his success, he remains down to earth, modest, honest and sincere.  He was very interested in what goes on at Atelier Ivaan, and you could see he really appreciated Ivaan's exquisite work.  He said he'd like to order a special piece of jewellery one day.

A few weeks later, he returned, and said he'd made up his mind.  He wanted me to make the most special ring I could manage, as a gift for his wife.  Every time he mentioned her, his face lit up.  He told me that years ago, in the early stages of their relationship, his wife had faced a serious health crisis which nearly destroyed her, and from which few people ever recover.  She fought her way back, tooth and nail, and for nearly five years she has been free of her illness.   He spoke with awe of her courage and determination to get better.

On December 15th, this young couple will celebrate the fifth anniversary of her recovery.  He wanted something absolutely jaw-dropping to present to her as a gift, in recognition of not merely her return to health, but of what an inspiration she has been to him.

My client brought his wife in to meet me a few days ago.  She hasn't seen the ring, of course, but she knows he has something up his sleeve. She is one of those people you warm to right away, and I liked her immediately. I kept wanting to turn around and introduce her to Ivaan, because I knew he would like her too.

But on December 15th, when she tries on this ring, I won't have to introduce her to Ivaan, because they will have just met.

So, I'll simply say this. From Ivaan and from me, to the two of you: may good health and happiness follow you wherever you go.  You are both a huge inspiration.

JUST A TINY FRAGMENT OF THE RING. I'LL POST A PICTURE OF THE ENTIRE RING ON DECEMBER 15TH.

AND HERE IT IS.  I SURE HOPE SHE LOVED IT.

THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

If you've ever been to Atelier Ivaan, you've probably noticed that there is a beautiful cabinet grand piano in the store.  It's a 1905 Chickering, the same piano that Glenn Gould played on as a child.  I've had it for a long time and I play it fairly regularly, though not as regularly as Glenn did.   His playing had probably surpassed mine when he was about four.  On the other hand, I am still alive and Glenn's not, and in my case it's all about the journey, not the destination.

I recently saw some ten-year-old film footage of my nephew Angus and I doing a piano-violin duet and I was chagrined to observe that I played better then than I do now.  So perhaps my present crankiness has something to do with that.

When strangers come into Atelier Ivaan, the piano is one of the first things they notice.   Sometimes it takes them a while to get to the shiny stuff in the showcases.  So the conversation goes like this:

     THEM:  There's a grand piano in here.
     ME:  Yes, I know.
    THEM:  Why is it here?  Do you give lessons?
     ME:  No.
    THEM:  Then why is it here?  Do you play it?
     ME:   Yes.
     THEM:  Would you like to play something for me?

Now, I know that there is a perfectly well-mannered way of responding in the negative to this question, but I can never think of it at the time, because I am too busy wondering what prompted them to ask the question.   I mean, there's a telephone in here; would they care to listen to me make a phone call?   My school books are usually here too.  How'd they like to watch me do my homework?

So I'm trying to come up with a humorous but polite way of saying that the very last thing on earth I'd like to do is perform an impromptu recital for a total stranger who just wandered in off the street in the middle of working hours.  So far my best line has been, "The only thing I'm playing today is the cash register." If you happen to think of a clever comeback, please let me know. All of my neighbours will thank you.

A MODEST PROPOSAL

If you are thinking of proposing marriage to someone you love, you may want to read this post first.

Here's the story: you fall in love and decide to share your life with someone. Once you start talking about making that commitment public, a subtle pressure begins to mount.  Even if it's unspoken, the spectre of a diamond ring begins to loom.  Now, this diamond ring that's hovering is not a symbol of your mutual love and trust.  It's more of a commodity, and that commodity takes on a life of its own, which has nothing whatever to do with your relationship, your love, your commitment and your future life together.  It has everything to do with satisfying a societal pressure, and it's fuelled by advertising, friends, social media, family and a deep psychological need to "measure up" to a standard that shifts like sand.

Six years ago, our friend T received a marriage proposal from her beloved, Z. He'd chosen a white gold and diamond ring by Ivaan - a ring of modest proportions, of a style that would look excellent on T's long slim hand.  As soon as he saw it, Z knew that was the ring.  And it was.  T absolutely loved it.   Recently, T and Z dropped by with their children.  I offered to give her engagement ring a quick polish to make it look brand new again, and I was struck by how gracefully that ring had stood the test of time.  It looks beautiful with her wedding ring, and on its own it looks as fresh and current as though Z had slipped it on her finger the day before yesterday.

In those six years, I've also seen people buying engagement rings with large diamonds of inferior quality, planning to 'upgrade'  after the wedding to a better quality stone.  Sometimes they upgrade the setting as well.  I often wonder if they have plans to upgrade their spouse.

Ivaan's acerbic quip, "Girls are a diamond's best friend" definitely applies to the 'upgraders', but I don't think it applies to the people who fall in love with what Ivaan's rings are:  pieces of small sculpture with which the wearer develops a deep emotional bond.  These sculptures go on to be a symbol of the love between life partners, but first and foremost they are stand-alone works of art.

My modest proposal, therefore, is that if you are considering a ring as part of your marriage proposal, or your wedding ceremony, that you choose a ring that is truly a work of art, not a mere commodity.  Ivaan's diamond rings feature beautiful gold settings with small, excellent diamonds. They stand on their own as works of art; they cost hundreds, not thousands, and there is nothing to upgrade.  I rest my case.

14 kt white gold Eve Ring, one tasteful, beautiful diamond, size 5
(c) Atelier Ivaan

14 kt white gold Wave Ring, three
tasteful, lovely diamonds, size 6
(c) Atelier Ivaan

Wave Ring: the other side