LA TOCCA FINITA

I finally finished restoring and replating the liturgical implements for Ivaan's beloved Priest and for the Cathedral.  To say it was more work than I ever dreamed possible is an understatement.  But the satisfaction of returning everything in perfect condition, gleaming and new looking, is profound.

The cross on the left was a gift from the family of another Priest who is recently deceased.  Ivaan's Priest was looking forward to wearing it in memory of his deeply respected colleague, but it had been well worn and loved for many years.  It was engraved on the reverse side, attesting to the fact that it had originally been a gift to the late Priest.

These are not items that sit around looking decorative.  They are used on a regular basis.  I'm pretty sure they will remain in good condition for a very long time, but I smile when I think of Ivaan  beaming down on me and saying, "Nice job, dear, but you'd better come and join me on this side of the great divide before they find something else that needs to be repaired."

COINCIDENCE?

We know a guy named Klaus who was kind enough to have his collection of Ivaan jewellery photographed for our website.  His collection includes a couple of bracelets, a couple of brooches, an earring, a couple of rings (including his wedding ring, which is a particularly nice piece of art, but that's another story).

Among the items is a bangle style bracelet, which is shaped like a bicycle tire. I'm always really glad when someone sends me a  half decent photo of Ivaan's work.  Here it is:

At about the same time, a magazine in Alberta which is featuring an article about Ivaan wrote to ask me for some high-resolution photographs of Ivaan to accompany their article.  Since the article is about both Ivaan's Alberta connection  and his art, I thought it would be good if I could find some photos that showed him at work.  I frequently say that the word "paranoid" is often thrown around loosely, but that in Ivaan's case, it's probably not strong enough to describe his hypersensitivity to people watching him at work.  So, unless the KGB really was doing surveillance, there likely are no photos of him at work.

So I sent them a photo of Ivaan in the late 1980s in his workshop, posing beside a piece of equipment. Was he working at the time?  Definitely not. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and most of Ivaan's work involved flames, hot wax and flying pieces of metal. But in looking at the photograph, I  noticed that the wax of Klaus' bicycle tire bracelet, in embryonic form, was lying beside him.   It was a long, long way from completion, and it's almost chilling, realizing how much work went into making it into an elaborately embellished sterling silver bracelet.  But, as you can tell from the photograph of Ivaan below, he was young and perhaps thought he had a long life ahead of him.

Today is our  21st anniversary, and now whatever work gets done is done by me.  It is a lot of work (says she through gritted teeth.)  Sure hope you don't want a nice bracelet like Klaus has.  If so, you may be waiting a while.   Happy Anniversary, Ivaan.  I miss you for much more than your art, but when I look at this bracelet, I miss you profoundly for your intense devotion to creating beautiful things.

ALL THAT GLISTERS

Lots and lots of exciting things have been going on at Atelier Ivaan lately, not the least of which is new lighting. For years, I've had a grudge against the recessed lighting in the shop window. Those pot lights illuminate absolutely nothing. And, although I'm an impulsive person, it was taking me a long time to decide on a replacement.

There is a terrific store on Queen Street West called Old Faithful Shop, which sells really well-made things for the home. That's why it's called Old Faithful: because the items it sells are going to be around and working well, for a long time. They have some very interesting and well made light fixtures. One day it hit me: their pendant lights are the exact length to be perfect in my window. They're not exactly cheap, but I rationalized that they are in Canadian dollars, and I like supporting Canadian small businesses.  So I did.

After the pendant lights were installed in the window, I turned my attention to the lighting inside the store.  I love my store. The only thing I disliked about my store was the horrible Ikea track lighting overhead. It flickered like strobe lighting when I first turned on the lights and made everything look nasty.  (I didn't buy the track lights; they came with the store.)

So one day I was trolling around on Kijiji and I saw an ad for a pair of very sculptural new schoolhouse-type pendants. I corresponded back and forth with the owner for a while, and realized these were high-quality light fixtures that would probably look perfect in the store ..... if only I had four of them.  So I went to pick them up. When I arrived at the seller's home, she invited me into her kitchen, and there she had a whole row of these light fixtures overhead. I was just bowled over by how perfect they looked.

Sold!  I scuttled off home with them, intending to search for more of them, and by a miracle I was able to find another two.  The third arrived by courier yesterday, minutes before the electrician arrived. The fourth one won't be delivered till next month, but I love anticipation.

And then yesterday afternoon, while the electrician was installing them, I received a phone call from the gold platers to tell me that all the altar pieces I'm having repaired and replated for St. Volodymyr Cathedral were completed. I picked them up this morning and they look beautiful. You can see the ones made by Ivaan; they're the ones with the gemstones on them.  This is my gift to the Cathedral this year, in honour of Ivaan.



All that glisters is not gold, said Shakespeare.  The Bard was wrong, of course. Generally speaking, if it glisters, it's gold. I can already feel Ivaan beaming down on me, saying "Not bad!"

EGYPT CALLING

Inspired by a book on the 1979 Treasures of Tutankhamun exhibition at the Art Gallery of Ontario, I had an overpowering urge to recreate the colours of that exhibit in Atelier Ivaan.  You have no idea how hard it is to find exactly the right blue.  Luckily, there's Helder, who works at the hardware store across the street. Helder did a little computer artistry and came up with an exact paint match for me.

I intended to do the painting a little at a time, but a burst of energy overtook me today and I decided to have a painting marathon.  Well, maybe it was looking at my social calendar for the next week and realizing that if it didn't get done today, that back wall wasn't going to paint itself while I slept.

It reminds me of a smart remark of Ivaan's:  "They said it couldn't be done. So I didn't do it."




The photograph on the wall is, in itself, a total treasure.  It's a 2006 limited edition called Miracle of Order, by our good friend John Bladen Bentley.

THE CHALICE CHALLENGE: Never Be Caught Holding A Broom

So I finished the chalice last night.  Here's how it looks now.

It was a lot of work, but I think it was worth it, and I'm pretty sure Ivaan would be pleased with the result and proud that I had completed it on his behalf.

However, as I quickly discovered, there's more where that came from, and I wonder how old I'll be before I finish restoring all the other items Ivaan's favourite priest had hidden away in  the dark corners of the Cathedral.  I often think it's ironic that the least creative mortal on earth has ended up carrying on Ivaan's legacy, so it's almost unfathomable that I could be restoring liturgical vessels in my spare time.

As Ivaan said, "Never be caught holding a broom."

SEVEN YEARS

Today it's been seven years since Ivaan's death, and before I head to the cemetery to cover his grave with evergreen boughs and tuck him in for the winter, I thought I'd share a photo of him lounging on the pool deck at a hotel in Havana, shortly after a hurricane.  The wind hadn't completely died down, but he was determined to enjoy every ray of sun available to him.

This was the last time I let Ivaan choose a vacation destination. That's all I have to say on the subject.

Miss you lots, Ivaan. And I bet you miss me too.

THE CHALICE CHALLENGE: Where To Begin?

I've been working up the nerve to start on the chalice restoration project. It was hard to know where to begin, but once I'd disassembled it, I knew there was no turning back.  Five different elements made up the chalice: the cup, the stem, the base, the underside and the connector, and it was clear that only one of those five parts - the stem - was incapable of ruining my life, because it would be hidden inside the base. The other four?  There were infinite things that could go wrong as I restored them, and most of them would be visible from a mile away.

I've often found that starting a complex project at the beginning is not a great idea, because it's too easy from that vantage point to make excuses not to continue.  In situations like this,  the best place to start is in the middle.  Then, as you view the boatload of work you have ahead of you, there is one island of peace and tranquillity in the distance: the part you've already done.

Now, Ivaan would not agree with me on this approach.  Being an artist, Ivaan actually loved the first steps of a new project.  All he saw was potential.  I am not an artist; all I see is the potential for disaster.

I started in the middle.  At the connecting point between the cup and the base was a wooden section that looked as though it might originally have been part of a lamp.  I'm embarrassed to admit when I first saw that wooden connecting piece, I was less than gracious about it. In fact, it was quite an inventive solution to the problem of how to connect the base to the cup portion, especially since Ivaan made the base of the chalice in 1973, when he was 29, new to metal arts, and broke.  (He used to describe his status as self-unemployed).  Here it is:

And clearly it stood the test of time, because 42 years later, it's still there and it still works.  So mea culpa for my sarcasm, Ivaan.  And since I am neither 29, new to metal arts, nor broke, I decided that I would replace the wooden connector with something more sumptuous.  I settled on a two-inch ball of lapis lazuli, a semi-precious stone.

Today I took the chalice to a shop owned by Claude, a man who cuts and polishes stones.  Claude persuaded me that an egg-shaped piece of lapis would work best, and that seemed to make good sense, because it would weigh less than a round ball, and because eggs are an important theme in Ivaan's work and in the Ukrainian Orthodox religion.

With some trepidation, I left the entire chalice with Claude for the afternoon, forced myself to go shopping while he worked on it, and when I returned three hours later - voilà. Claude had drilled out the centre of the lapis egg just wide enough that the stem slid through it, and flattened the top and bottom of the egg so it fit perfectly against both the cup and the base.

Thank you, Claude.  This was a really satisfying day. And Ivaan, I bet you're proud of me.