Manolis

excerpt

…that grow naturally and would make great ground cover. But Harris
wanted a lawn—and I learned long ago that just because people ask
for your advice doesn’t mean they want your advice!
The first few days nearly killed me, but we’d start the day with a
plan and then work like hell. It got easier and eventually we had breath
left over to chat with. This led to some of the most interesting and
challenging conversations I’d enjoyed in a long time. As we talked,
we moved the mountain of blocks several times, hauled tons of sand,
shoveled and raked and dug and leveled in pursuit of Jeanine’s lawn.
Weeks passed. I sweat torrents, grew nut brown in the summer sun,
and took my belt in notch by notch. I began to feel the magic take over
again.
Ken Harris had been an investment manager, and money—both the
means of making it and the peril of spending it—loomed large in his
conversations. Kirkby, on the other hand, has never believed in money
as anything more important than as a means to an end. He honestly does
not understand the human obsession with profit. Over the years he has
made several fortunes, the majority of which have been fed back into the
community to keep his various projects afloat.
He is happiest bartering his paintings in return for equipment or labour
necessary to complete a job, or occasionally for the few material things
he requires personally. He is a fortunate man in that he has a talent that
produces an attractive and sought after product. In years past, his use of
‘Ken dollars’ (paintings) was legendary.
Art has proven itself an effective means of raising funds for causes
Kirkby deems worthwhile. Donations of paintings as raffle prizes in support
of the BC Steelhead Society, World Fisheries Trust, the Pacific Salmon
Foundation, and a dozen other worthy organizations throughout the nearly
sixty years he has lived in Canada would equate with contributions of
many thousands of dollars. The Isumataq painting and its accompanying
twenty-five foot model have been used to promote everything from fledging
aquariums, to stream restoration, to scholarships and more.
I’m completely engrossed in what I want to do, but truly disinterested
in money unless I can shovel it where it does some actual good.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB8W4CG

excerpt

He had to paint wet on wet. How was he
going to do that? Come summer, the paint was going to dry fast, and he
had to paint the sky in one complete episode. There would be no stopping.
One hundred fifty-two feet of sky! He had a maximum of two hours
that he could let the paint sit until it became too tacky. He had two hours
before he had to keep adding paint, so that in the end there would be no
seam. If he added wet paint to dry, he would end up with a shiny line
where the two paints had joined, and he would have countless seams,
knitted together like a Frankenstein’s monster. Those seams would destroy
the painting.
There was only one solution. Above the gallery, where his original studio
had been, Ken placed a cot and two large alarm clocks and then had a
shower installed that he would need to use frequently. The paint he used
was full of lead, zinc, and other heavy metals and although he washed frequently
throughout the day, it wouldn’t eliminate all risk. Heavy metals
settled in the fatty tissues and once there could not be eradicated from the
body. In fact, Marsha convinced him to visit a doctor for a full checkup
and a battery of tests. The doctor gave him a clean bill of health – so clean,
she was frankly surprised when he told her he was not only a smoker, but
also a man with an uncommon fondness for good Scotch and red wine.
While the plumber installed a shower, Ken enlisted the help of the window
manufacturing company next door to design a moveable scaffold
for painting Isumataq. They built it out of aluminum and made it height
adjustable as well as portable.
Diane had instructions to bring in one media person a day and, except
for rare occasions, he made sure the interviews took place at the studio,
where he would perch on a stool in front of his canvas while the reporter
sat in one of two comfortable easy chairs beside him.
When he appeared on talk shows, he made sure he caught the cameraman’s
eye. He had noticed that the cameramen determined airtime and
since they seemed irresistibly drawn to dark graphics, he began wearing
black pants and turtleneck sweaters. In panel discussions, he took
over almost by default – what could people who had never been there say
about the Arctic? He remembered the lessons he had learned early in his
life about creating drama: don’t be directed. You are the director. It’s your
story – you run the movie.
Finally, Salvador told him that Mr. Albert Reichmann was prepared to
meet him on the following Tuesday, at his home, after work.
“What did you tell him?” Ken asked.
“I haven’t told him very much,” Salvador said. “I said ‘There is a messenger.
There is a man that has been sent: he needs to see you, and you
need to see him.’”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

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