I backed into my decision to leave Cuenca and be homeless. As anyone who has read the previous post knows, it was an idea that kept intruding since John died five and a half years ago, despite my best efforts to quell all such thoughts.
At the end of September I had no thoughts of leaving Cuenca (well, no more than the usual). Then on October 2nd, I rejoined Trusted Housesitters. I was not even conscious of making that decision. I just found myself doing it. Having fulfilled my promise to myself when I returned after my last travels, to stay put for a year, the dam burst less than two weeks after that anniversary passed.
As I accepted more and more housesits, it became clear that I would be gone for at least five months, at least initially. Last time I traveled, I was away eight months out of twelve. I had housesitters in for each leg of those trips. I no longer have pets, but I didn’t feel comfortable leaving the apartment empty for that long. In addition, I had bills that needed to be paid in person, and plants to water.
I was conscious the whole time I was away, of a vague dissatisfaction that I was paying rent and expenses on an apartment I occupied for less time than my house sitters.
The idea of selling everything and leaving for good was by no means a new one. But I think this was the first time I began to seriously consider it. For the next ten days, I waffled back and forth. On Oct. 12th, I spoke with my sons, who both encouraged me to sell up and leave. John is gone, but his unfailing support of my crazier ideas, lives on in our boys.
Going forward, I still woke up in the mornings pretty freaked out and telling myself, “It’s still not too late to change my mind; I haven’t given notice on the apartment yet!”
In retrospect, I think my art collection and to a lesser extent, my beautiful rugs and a few of the handmade pieces of furniture I had commissioned, were a big part of what was keeping me in Cuenca.
“Sell your possessions and give to the poor…. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6: 19, 21
Christ was exhorting his followers to get rid of their stuff so their hearts and their thoughts would bend towards heaven. My thoughts were on getting away from this haunted place; this graveyard of my dreams and hopes. But every time I would think about selling up and leaving, when I got to the part where I had to consider how to dispose of my beautiful things, my train of thought would derail, crash and burn. My heart seemed to be torn between being loathe to part with some of my possessions, and shuffling off these mortal things to get to a place where I might be free of my grief. The principle was the same though.
My carpets!
My sentimental attachment to the nine foot long desk I had had built to accommodate cat beds at either end. Of course they wanted to sleep beside me while I was at the computer. And when the desk we owned was only long enough for one bed, there was always a quarrel over who would get it. After John died and it was just me, Augusta and Tiberius, I made this happen so they would each have a place.
The cats are gone and the desk is sadly bare, but the memory still lingers.
And the armoire. No memories there, but I consider it to be one of the most beautiful pieces of furniture I have ever owned.
I could sell the rugs and furniture. Probably at a fraction of what I had paid, but I could bring myself to contemplate doing that – just. But when my thoughts would turn to the art, things came to a screeching halt. Yes, again, I could sell them at a fraction of their cost. I could donate them to charities to be auctioned off.
I gave all this to the poor, as exhorted by Christ, but my real treasures, yeah, those were going to be hard.
I loved all my art, but some in particular bore the added baggage of being a silent witness to my story here.
The horses especially. John and I saw this version at an art show by Olmedo Quimbita a week or two after we first came to Cuenca, .
I fell in love with the friendly/fierce expression on the horses’ faces and the jaunty ‘bring it on’ poses. John urged me to buy it, but we had only been in Cuenca a short time, and had agreed we wouldn’t make any big purchases until we figured out if we were staying. He even photoshopped it onto the wall of the house we were renting so I could see what it would look like. I resisted though.
After he died, I wished so much that I had bought it.
After Covid, Quimbita opened a gallery in Cuenca (his main gallery is on the coast in Olon). As soon as I heard that he now had a presence in Cuenca, I went down there to see if by chance that painting was still for sale. Nope. It had been sold. The artist happened to be there that day. I related to him the story about John and me seeing the horses, me wanting it, John encouraging me to have it, and then John dying. Quimbita told me that I could commission him to paint another version of it. He warned me it would not be the same, because of course, as an artist, he never does a copy. But he would be informed by, or at least mindful of the story I told him. I paid $5000 US for the one he painted for me.
I was taken aback when he unveiled it.
As you can see, it is much darker and the horses have more intense colours. I was however, much struck by it, and grew to love it. It’s even fiercer. It seems to me it does speak to the inferno and rage of loss. The moon is now full, not three-quarters as in the earlier version. A circle has been completed. I feel even stronger about that message now.
I was given the privilege of naming it, so I christened it “Luna Llena”/”Full Moon”.
Perhaps it is a testament to the strength of the force that was driving me to leave, that this time, I finally, actually, started making serious inquiries about shipping the art to Canada.
First, I sent photos of some of the pieces to my family to see if anyone was interested in any of them, as this would be an argument in favour of them going. The more stories I told to my family about the art, the more resolved I became that, whatever the cost, I would get it to Canada. I had fantasies of it becoming ‘an Heirloom of my House’ and a hundred years from now, some piece of mine would be on the news or Antiques Roadshow.
Or, in 2100, a Dawi or Quimbito some far off descendant found in an attic or a basement and now it’s worth millions? A girl can dream.
I sent an inquiry to a shipping agent in Cuenca who I had consulted when I was thinking of moving to France last year. The quote he gave me to move my stuff to France, was in excess of $12,000. So I wasn’t too optimistic. He told me about something called a ‘lift’ that looked like a wooden cabin. Cheaper than a whole shipping container, so a possibility for a few things. I also asked for a price for a half a container, thinking that maybe if I was shipping the art in a large space, I would ship carpets and furniture too. After the initial flurry of messages, I heard nothing more.
Then I had a brainwave. I decided to speak with Ariel Dawi, the artist who had created half a dozen of my most beloved paintings. He and his wife, Lethy Vernaza, had come to my place to hang the art I had bought from them four years ago.
I thought that, as he ships art all over the world, he might be willing to give me advice on what to do. Or could refer me to someone who would. Or, if I was really lucky, maybe he and Lethy provide shipping services as part of the business side of their gallery.
These lovely people invited me over to the gallery to talk over tea. It was the best idea ever. Ariel and Lethy were experts in this. They were pleased to take on this job, and it was a good thing, because there were aspects of it I had no idea about. For example, no art can be shipped from Ecuador without a certificate from the Ministry of Patrimony and Culture, stating that the art in question has not been designated as part of the country’s patrimony.
For example, the works of Oswaldo Guayasamin, which I saw in Quito, are so designated. And he only died in 1999.
Over the next couple of weeks, despite being busy with big shows in Guayaquil and in Cuenca, Lethy and Ariel found time to come and get my art. I wrestled it down to the lobby, trying hard not to cry.
They took it to their gallery. They got necessary certificates from Quimbita and from Alberto Soriano, the painter of several other works I was shipping.
I was so pleased when one of my grandchildren expressed an interest in this landscape.
Ariel and Lethy stripped all the pieces from their frames or stretchers and wrapped them in the proper materials.
Then they took them to the Ministry of Patrimonial and Cultural Affairs.
Once the art was properly certified for export, they re-wrapped it and placed it in the appropriate shipping container.
They took it to DHL where I got a discount because they are counted as a business there.
They even managed to get paperwork to my son Chris, who was visiting Cuenca with his family and who would be responsible for collecting the art when it arrived in Canada.
Phew.
The shipment arrived in Canada November 13.
I’d post photos of the art being taken to Wallack’s Gallery in Ottawa to be removed from the container, and placed again onto stretchers, but that hasn’t happened yet. Hopefully soon.
Thus, in the end, I managed to preserve my treasure, and my heart as well.