Provider's Son (21 page)

“For who?” Sinead said.

“Linda Shoresh. Shes a distant cousin but I knew her. A really nice lady. I didnt even know she had cancer.”

“What happened? Was it another rare form?”

“Breast cancer, but what difference does it make? It doesnt have to be rare to be caused by that fuckin lake of poison they live next to.”

“Breast cancer is very common though,” Sinead said.

“I dont care! Everyone knows damn well theres too many people dying in Provider. And nothing is being done about it. Then youve got Janice MacNiel on the news last week saying that theres no definite connection between the cancer and the tar sands. Unbelievable.”

“Lake of poison?” Levi said.

“Yes, Pimatan Lake. Cant even fish from it anymore.”

“Dont bring this negative energy into the interview,” Sinead said. “Just clear your mind. This is a great day for you.”

“How do people like her sleep at night?,” Jon said. “It doesnt even make sense for us to be here. Like I said before, the chair is good but it isnt that good. Not for this gallery. Strings were pulled. I guarantee you that.”

“Strings gets pulled in everything,” Levi said. “Anywhere where theres money theres politics.”

Levi gawked at the gallery through the window. Jon was still brooding.

“Is that it?”

“Thats it.”

“Looks like glass boxes with big sheets of tinfoil slung over it.”

“Its supposed to represent the borealis, the northern lights.”

“I knows what borealis is.”

Once inside the gallery the curator, Seamus Timmons, took them on a tour. There seemed to be no main ceiling, only rooms that were tucked into the folds of the “borealis.” On the second floor they entered a Jackson Pollock exhibit.

“Amazing,” Sinead said, staring up at a piece.

“You got that right,” Levi said. “Someone paid for that.”

Seamus smiled. “Abstract art is ironic in that it appears almost childlike, but in a way its the most complex.”

“Complex?” Levi said. “What was he trying to paint?”

“This kind of art is not about flawlessly reproducing something you can see. The old masters already took that about as far as it could go. So in the late nineteenth century, artists started to go against that. It bored them. They wanted to create something more pure, more connected to emotion, than imitation.” “Sort of like music,” Sinead said.

“Yes. Like music.”

“Ill take your word for it,” Levi said.

Three of them moved on, but Levi stood there, dwarfed by 8 by 13 foot painting hung on the wall. He stared up at it, the wiry splatters of black paint that twisted about the canvas, mixed with yellow and orange and the occasional squiggle of blue. It made him feel anxious.

“Maybe thats what my mind looks like lately,” he mumbled to himself.

Sinead came back to get him.

“You like this one.”

“No. Theres nothing to like. Making me dizzy just looking at it.”

“It doesnt make you feel good, but it grabs your attention. Thats a compliment, even if you dont mean to.”

“Can you pick any sense to it?”

“I dont think youre supposed to look at it that way.”

“I suppose he got rich off slinging paint did he?”

“He died in a car accident in the fifties I think. He was an alcoholic. I dont know if that had anything to do with it.”

“That painting or the car accident?”

Levi moved on to the next room, an exhibit by Francisco Goya called The Black Paintings.

“It is believed he had been deaf when he painted these,” Seamus said.

“Id say he was gone off hes head,” Levi said, but in truth he was transfixed. Faces of torment stared wide-eyed out of the paintings.

“The interesting thing about these in particular,” Seamus said, “is that Goya painted them for an audience of one. Himself.” There was one painting in particular that captured Levi's attention. It was
Yard With Lunatics
. A sun was setting behind a prison wall, in front of which filth-ridden men wrestled naked, shouted at invisible tormentors, or sat staring out of the painting, into nothing.

Seamus stood next to him. “The eighteenth century was not a good time to have a mental illness, was it.”

“Not by the looks of this.”

“Although by the time this was painted, reforms in England had begun and mentally ill patients were starting to be treated more humanely. They called them lunatics at the time, hence the title, but it wasnt meant to be as derogatory as it is now.”

“Wheres the washroom?” Levi said.

Passing one of the many security guards Levi went to the washroom and splashed water on his face and took long, deep breaths. He focused intently on his every physical movement as a distraction. He was glad Anita had dealt with anxiety because he had accidentally learned a few things from how she had coped. If those rituals didn't work she would reach for her
Ativan
. Levi reached for the old-fashioned anxiety medication, the flask in his pocket.

He felt better already as he stepped out into the hallway.

After a tour of the whole gallery they arrived at their exhibit, Canadian Wood. Chairs of every nature were placed on the floor and on pedestals. Some appeared almost Victorian while others were so abstract one would have to be a contortionist to sit on it. But it was the chairs carved out of a single piece of wood that caught Levi's eye. He stood in front of one in particular, entranced. It was more of a couch than a chair in that it had three individual seats, as if suspended in air by the front view, hovering over the legs that flowed into a stand that resembled a whale's tail. The chair did not contain a single seam or straight line. It involved no assembly, only a chisel and sandpaper. If wood could be softened and moulded like clay then that is what it would look like.

“You were lucky,” Seamus said. “The Premier called just as we were setting up our exhibit, and we happened to have room for it. She wouldnt stop talking about this wonderful piece she had found.”

“Is that how it really went?” Jon asked, speaking for the first time since he entered the gallery.

“I dont understand,” Seamus answered.

A middle-aged woman and her cameraman entered the exhibit. Levi had occasionally watched the news show, but did not recognize her until she introduced herself, Maureen Williams. In person she looked at least ten years older and six inches shorter. She gave the basic rundown of how the interview would proceed, along with the kinds of questions she would be asking.

“So this is the first time youve seen the chair?” Jon asked.

“Yes, its gorgeous.”

“Do you think it fits into this exhibit?”

“Lets wait for the camera,” Maureen said.

Sinead stood back as Seamus, Levi, Jon, and Maureen crowded in around the rocking chair. It was going to be a live remote and the reporter made sure everyone was ready. She told Jon she would start with him, and then looked at the camera. Her otherwise serious face immediately turned into a bright smile as she fidgeted with the mike in her ear.

“Good Day, Rory,” she suddenly said to the camera. “Im standing here at The Art Gallery of Alberta, or the AGA as it better known, with the curator, Seamus Timmons, and our collaborating artists, Jon Smith and Levi Conley. Today is the first day of National Arts Week, and our Honourable Premier, Janice MacNeil, has donated this fine work of art to the gallery. It is one of many chairs here at the Canadian Wood Exhibit. And also one of the most beautiful. Im sure you can explain this piece better than I can, Seamus.”

“Sure,” Seamus said. “As you can see it is an exquisitely hand crafted rocking chair made from stained white oak. I dont know how much your camera can see from that distance, but it is also intricately worked with these beautiful carvings from the runner to the crest rail.”

“Wow, isnt that something? How did you find out about Jon and Levis work?”

“As you said, it was donated by the Honourable Janice MacNiel, and coincidentally it fit in perfectly with our Canadian Wood Exhibit. Ive heard of Jons work before, but this is the first piece that I actually saw. I wasnt as familiar with Levi, but if Im not mistaken he was originally an artisan before he worked with Jon.”

“MacNiel is a fan of the arts scene?”

“Absolutely. This is not the first piece shes donated.”

“You must be proud to have it here.”

“Of course. Im proud of all the pieces in this exhibit.”

“So you put this chair together in Alberta?” she said, turning the mike to Levi.

“Yes my dear, but I brought it up in a hockey bag, right?”

“Really? Oh thats awesome. What a great Canadian story.”

“The only thing was I had to leave half me clothes home.”

“Lets you hope you brought underwear!” Maureen said.

Sinead could be heard laughing off camera.

“How did you and Jon meet each other?”

“He and me daughter is together.”

“Oh really? Interesting.”

“Why?” Jon said, his voice muffled a little from being far away from the mike.

“Excuse me?” she said, turning the mike to him.

“Why is it interesting that I would be seeing his daughter?”

“No reason. I didnt mean it like that. Was it a mutual decision, or did you ask Levi if you could work on his chair only after you had seen it? Whose idea was it?

“I cant remember.”

“Ive seen some of your other work and most of it was much smaller in comparison. No less beautiful, but not to this scale. Is this the largest piece youve worked on?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay...keeping a tight lip on your process eh? I can understand. What about the meaning? Can you, or Levi, tell us what it represents? Its not hard to see that the message involves at least a certain reference to the residential schools. Or is that a church carved in the top?”

“Its no church.”

“So it is a residential school?”

“Can I ask a question?” Jon said.

“You seem upset. I didnt mean —”

“Its not a question for you, Maureen,” Jon said, taking the mike with his hand. “Its a question for the Premier. Why, Janice, would you, a politician who recently publically stated there is no definite connection between the cancer in Provider and Lake Pimitan, care anything about this work of art Levi and myself have created? Do you really get its message? Do you think Im going to let the truth of this rocking chair that we worked so hard on be caught up in your politics? The curator might have been pushed into accepting our chair into his exhibit, after all, he needs his funding, but us, the creators of this chair, will not be pawns in your agenda. And for everyone else out there, just because a white guy and a red guy happened to collaborate on a piece of art that references the residential schools, does not mean all is forgiven here in the Energy Province. So if you come down to visit this fine gallery and want to see this chair, and many other chairs here that are just as beautiful, please do so, but dont be fooled into thinking that Janice MacNeil has any intention of changing her governments ideology of capitalistic greed. In fact, if I thought this chair would in any way help Janice MacNeils next election campaign, I would burn it.”

“Okay,” Maureen said, taking back the mike. “Strong words from Mr. Smith. This is Maureen Williams at the AGA for National Arts Week. Back to you Rory.”

“You could have told me your plans,” Maureen said when they were off the air. “I would have been more prepared.”

“If I had told you my plans you wouldnt have let me speak.”

“Why not?”

“I suppose youre going to play innocent like the curator there.”

“I dont care about Janice MacNeil. Shes a nice lady but Im not out to promote her politics. Neither is
Alberta Now
. You need to get over yourself young man.”

“Well why did you sign out so quick after I was finished?”

“Quick? Its a live evening news show. Our segment wasnt supposed to be that long. Ill have to take a blast of it from my director for not cutting you off quicker than I did.”

“You never did say what was so ‘interesting' about me and Sinead being together.”

“You never gave her a chance,” Sinead said.

“I meant its interesting that youre seeing the daughter of the man youre working with. Whats wrong with that?”

Jon was about to reply when he stopped and looked around. “Where did Seamus go?”

“He skinned out right after the interview,” Levi said.

Four security guards were standing around them. Neither of them was telling anyone to leave, but they looked as if they wanted to.

“Did you agree with what I said?” Jon asked Maureen.

“Some of it.”

The Media

Jon's
Alberta Now
rant became a sensation on YouTube, activist websites, and eventually the mainstream media. The oil sands already being a controversial issue in general, news shows and newspapers from all over Canada, and even some in the United States, began contacting Jon. He never wavered with his opinion of MacNeil, and in some interviews he went even further, quoting Greenpeace, calling her “the best premier oil money can buy.”

MacNeil publically responded, “I certainly understand Jons emotional involvement with this issue, considering his father and grandparents are from Provider. And I have the greatest sympathy for the untimely passing of Providers residents from cancer, that horrible disease which affects young and old across Canada. But I cannot lay blame for this disease on Erbacor Energy when the science does not point in that direction. Yet, if there is some kind of disproportionate rate of cancer in Provider then we certainly should get to the bottom of it. For that I am certain.”

When asked if she regretted buying the chair she said, “Thats ludicrous. Of course not. It is a beautiful work of art. And Im glad Jon and Leroy are getting the recognition they deserve.” No one corrected her that it was actually Levi.