migration

Explorations of light

Into the Light – featuring the art of Gillian Richards, left, and Pilar Mehlis – is at the Zack Gallery until Jan. 5. (photo by Olga Livshin)

The current show at the Zack Gallery, Into the Light, introduces two artists: Pilar Mehlis and Gillian Richards. Both explore light and air in their paintings – though with very different approaches.

Mehlis was born in Bolivia. Her family moved to Canada when she was 12. Since then, she regularly travels between the two countries: for study or work. “I’ve lived in Vancouver since 2001, but I still visit Bolivia every year,” she told the Independent. She feels that she belongs to both cultures, the same way she belongs to art.

“I didn’t choose art as a profession,” she said. “It chose me. I always liked doing art, but, in Bolivia, art is not considered a serious profession. Not stable enough. In the beginning, I tried to deny it, found various jobs in other fields, but I couldn’t stay away from art. When I was young, I had a romantic view of the artistic life – you know, an artist in her studio. I know better now, but it is too late for me.” She smiled.

Richards is local. She studied fine art in British Columbia and Alberta, starting in high school. “After I graduated from a fine arts program, I worked for years in the film industry here, in Vancouver,” she said. “I was a scenic artist. It was a good job, with a steady income, and I learned a lot, but it wasn’t creative enough for me. I was always working on someone else’s concept. About 10 years ago, I decided to step back from film and pursue my own artistic ideas. I wanted to express myself, my vision.”

Both artists have known each other slightly for a long time, as their studios are in Parker Street Studios and both have participated in the Eastside Culture Crawl for years, but the shared exhibit is due to the efforts of Zack manager and curator Sarah Dobbs.

“Sarah brought us together,” Mehlis explained. “I applied for the show at the JCC, but I didn’t have enough new works to fill the gallery. Sarah visited several other studios in our building to find the second artist.” Richards picked up the story: “Sarah approached me with the idea of a two-artist show, and here we are.”

For Mehlis, her Latin American roots inform her paintings and sculptures. “Magic Realism is very popular in Latin America,” she said. “It fascinates me: the idea of mystical and mysterious in everyday life. My grandmother’s stories were full of magic embedded in the ordinary. And we have many street festivals in Bolivia. The performers wear colourful costumes of fantastic beasts, with only their human legs showing.”

Similarly, the birds in Mehlis’s paintings all have human legs and bright plumage. They are flying in the same direction, through the luminous light, towards goals only they know. The artist calls this series the Ornithrope Collection.

“The idea of migration of humans and animals intrigues me,” she said. “For fish and birds, there are no borders, they follow a pattern in the world. But humans – we have borders. Borders complicate things, and still people migrate. My birds are modeled on a swallow, a migratory creature. Swallows fly between North and South America every year, like me. They are my travel companions.”

image - “Riding on the Wings” by Pilar Mehlis — “Riding on the Wings” by Pilar Mehlis.

Most of her pieces were inspired by Caroline Shaw’s music, set to the words of psalms, and the titles reflect those inspirational, poetic phrases: “The sparrow found a house…” or “They pass through the valley…” or “Riding on the wings…” All the pieces are focused on fantastic, anthropomorphic birds: at rest or in flight. They are the protagonists of Mehlis’s stories.

Meanwhile, Richards’ paintings are of scenery, with succinct titles: “Commute,” “Ferry Deck,” “Tree Fort.”

“Urban spaces always interested me,” she said. “We pass them. We touch them. We change them. I take lots of photos when I walk around, and my photos often serve as a base for my paintings, something I want to explore, a starting point. Light and shadows create a mood, an atmosphere. That’s why there are no people in my paintings. People change the mood, but I don’t know who they are. As it is, the viewers are the participants. They can walk into my paintings and make up their own stories.”

Light suffuses Richards’ cityscapes, be it the pink sunlight on a ferry deck, the lamplight at night on a street corner, or the yellow sunlight peeking through a tangle of boards of an abandoned tree fort. In Richards’ paintings, we are the people driving in the cars or traveling on the ferry through the lights of ocean and sky. We might have built the fort.

image - “Tree Fort” by Gillian Richards — “Tree Fort” by Gillian Richards.

“That tree fort is such an expressive structure,” she said. “I have several paintings of it. It is in that liminal space between a residential area and a forest. There is a mystery there: who built it? What for? It’s human architecture, fragile but enduring.”

Like Mehlis, Richards finds mystery.

Another similarity between the artists is that both are cautious about commissions.

“I have only one client – a poet,” Mehlis said.

“I have done some commissions,” Richards said, “but it wasn’t really for me. It resembled too much my work in film: executing someone else’s ideas.”

Mehlis and Richards represent a generation of creative people finding their way, one step at a time, between the old brick-and-mortar gallery system and the new internet marketing world.

“I don’t know how to promote myself anymore,” said Mehlis. “It used to be all galleries, but now it is all online, and I don’t understand those algorithms.”

Richards agreed: “The gallery system is in trouble now, competing with the online sales. But Eastside Culture Crawl is still going strong. Most of us make our yearly income during Culture Crawl. Hundreds of visitors come every year to our studios. It is a huge artistic event, the most democratic art sales in Vancouver. Nobody curates it. People buy what they like.… I remember in 2021, just after COVID, there were still restrictions in place of how many people could visit at a time. I looked out the window and there was a lineup of people in front of the door to our studios. It stretched out for blocks. They all wanted our art. It was very heartening.”

Into the Light opened Nov. 13 and will be up until Jan. 5. For more information, visit the artists’ websites, pilarmehlis.ca and gillianrichardsartist.com.

Olga Livshin is a Vancouver freelance writer. She can be reached at [email protected].

Pesach: a tale of two stories

“The Crossing of the Red Sea” by Nicolas Poussin, 1634. (photo from wikimedia)

We are a people with many memories, many stories, and who we are has been shaped by the stories we remember and tell.

More than any other holiday, Pesach is about remembering and passing that memory down to the next generation. Every Jew is commanded to see themselves as if they came out of Egypt, and to tell their Egypt story to their children. The telling of this story is not mediated by teachers or rabbis, nor is it told in a communal framework. The setting of the seder is one of family and immediate friends, and the responsibility is upon every one of us to decide how we convey the story.

What makes this particularly challenging is that, beyond the complicated family dynamics, a Haggadah that is deeply problematic and different sensibilities with regard to what needs to be done, we have inherited two different stories. The challenge is not merely how to tell the story, but which story to tell.

One story, which dominates much of the Haggadah, not to speak of the story as told in the Torah, focuses on Pesach as a story of exodus, of the Jewish people being freed by God from the slavery of Egypt. “I am the Lord. I will free you from the labours of the Egyptians and deliver you from their bondage. I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and through extraordinary chastisements. And I will take you to be my people, and I will be your God.” (Exodus 6:6-7)

More than freedom and salvation, Pesach is a story of the election of the Jewish people, as God pours down God’s wrath on those who enslave the chosen ones and redeems us out of the hands of Egypt to be God’s chosen people. Each plague, told and magnified, is an expression of love, a gift of betrothal of God to us, an offering that bonds us to one another. “I the Lord am your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage: you shall have no other gods besides me.” (Exodus 20:2-3)

One of the core consequences of this election narrative under Jewish law is the sanctioned discrimination between Jew and non-Jew, between the Children of Israel and the nations of the world. Because God saved us, all of us, from the slavery of Egypt, Jews are all equal, and no Jew can take another Jew as a slave. However, those who are not the recipients of the gift of exodus, the non-Jews, can become our slaves (Leviticus 25). When we go to war, even wars of aggression, the God who took us out of Egypt will always fight on our side, because the moment of election creates an us-them dichotomy in which God is always with us (Deuteronomy 20). Idolatry is neither false nor futile. It is the worship allotted by God to the non-elected. We, the chosen people, are alone commanded to worship God. The God who saved us in Egypt is our God alone (Deuteronomy 4).

This tale of the story of Egypt finds its culmination in our traditional Haggadah, in which one of its concluding prayers is a petition to God to “Pour out your wrath on the nations that do not know you…. Pursue them with anger and destroy them from beneath the heavens of the Lord.”

There is a second story of Pesach, a story in which neither the exodus nor its accompanying plagues takes central stage, but rather the hundreds of years of our subjugation in Egypt. It is to this memory that the core symbols of the holiday – matzah, the poor person’s bread, charoset, the paste that resembles mortar, and maror, the bitter herb, which cause us to relive the experience of pain – all direct us.

It is this memory that shapes the most-repeated commandment in the Torah: “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens: you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the Land of Egypt.” (Leviticus 19) The story of Egypt is not one of us-them, but of us being them, of us being members of the community of the downtrodden, and the subsequent obligation to treat all who are in need, Jew and non-Jew alike, as equal members of our society.

In an interesting twist on this story, the Ten Commandments obligate us to rest on the Sabbath, “so that your male and female slave may rest as you do. Remember that you were a slave in the Land of Egypt, and the Lord your God freed you from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm: therefore, the Lord your God has commanded you to observe the Sabbath day.” (Deuteronomy 5)

It is not merely that because we once were slaves we are bonded to all those in need. The redemption from Egypt is no longer exclusively the moment of election of us, but rather an expression of God’s care and compassion for all who are enslaved. Both our slavery and our salvation unite us with God, in a common mission to bring freedom and equality to our world.

It is with this idea that we begin to tell the story of Egypt in the traditional Haggadah. “This is the bread of affliction that our forefathers ate in the Land of Egypt. All who are hungry let them come and eat.” All, and not merely fellow Jews.

Pesach is a tale of two stories. Each has shaped who we are. As we tell our stories and pass them down to the next generation, it is our obligation to take responsibility for what will define us in the future and what will determine our religious and national identity. The choice is ours. As you tell the stories this year, choose wisely. Our future and the future of Israel depend on it.

Rabbi Dr. Donniel Hartman is president of the Shalom Hartman Institute and author of the 2016 book Putting God Second: How to Save Religion from Itself. Articles by Hartman and other institute scholars can be found at shalomhartman.org.

Envying South African Jews

During the Goldene Medina exhibit this past summer, the documentary Leah, Teddy and the Mandolin was screened. It will be shown again on Dec. 8 at Congregation Beth Israel. (photo from Steve Rom)

I have a bad case of South African Jewish envy. This condition developed when I moved to Vancouver from the North End of Winnipeg. I can’t remember meeting even one South African Jew while growing up in the Prairies – the majority of Jews in my hometown were from Eastern Europe. However, I met oodles of South African Jews when I moved here in the early 1990s and I was impressed by their knowledge of Judaism and their commitment to Jewish life. There seemed to be something unique about their community and it seemed exotic compared to Winnipeg’s. Many of them became my good friends, perhaps because, as a Litvak (my last name literally means a Jew from Lithuania), I share a common ancestry with my South African co-religionists, who predominately hail from Lithuania.

When I first moved here, my South African friend Geoff Sachs, z”l, two Montrealers and I organized Tschayniks, an evening of Jewish performing arts at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver. It was at the JCC that I met another South African friend, Steve Rom, who was working there at the time, and helped us set up our events. About a month ago, Steve brought a fascinating exhibit to Congregation Beth Israel. Prior to being mounted in Vancouver, the exhibit, Goldene Medina, a celebration of 175 years of Jewish life in South Africa, was displayed in South Africa, Israel and Australia. Thanks to Steve, Jews in Vancouver got a taste of South African Jewish life, as well.

A unique feature of the exhibit was that nobody was named or personally identified on any of the displays. This approach helped tell the story of all South African Jews, and made the exhibit simultaneously particular and universal.

Stories were depicted on a series of panels, and traced the South African Jewish community from its origins in 1841 – when Jews first settled in South Africa – to the present. On one of the panels, I recognized the son and daughter in-law of Cecil Hershler, who has South African roots and is well known in the Vancouver Jewish community as a storyteller. His son married a woman from Zimbabwe and the wedding in Vancouver, which I attended, was a joyous blend of South African and Zimbabwean cultures. Seeing the panel brought back memories of that happy occasion and gave me an unexpected personal connection to the exhibit (other than identifying with my Lithuanian landsmen).

Other panels depicted various aspects of Jewish life in South Africa. While I was fascinated by the differences between the South African Jewish community and my experience growing up in Winnipeg, the exhibit was really a microcosm of Jewish life in the Diaspora. For example, the panel on Muizenberg depicted the resort town located near Cape Town, where throngs of South African Jews flocked to during the summer. The photos of crowded beaches told a thousand stories. However, that panel also reminded me of the stories that my dad, z”l, told me about taking the train to Winnipeg Beach in the summer with other Jews from the city to escape the summer heat. Like at Muizenberg, there was a synagogue at Winnipeg Beach. I am sure that Jews from New York have similar stories of escaping the city heat by going to the Catskills. In addition, the Jews of America, like the Jews of South Africa, referred to their new home as “the Goldene Medina.” Ultimately, all three places – Canada, the United States and South Africa – represented a new start for Jews fleeing persecution in Eastern Europe.

The Goldene Medina exhibit gave me an opportunity to learn about Jews from the land of my ancestors in Lithuania, who were able to reinvent themselves on the African continent and create a thriving Jewish community, which, at one point, reached 120,000. This resiliency is a characteristic of Jews and Jewish communities all over the world. And this resilience was evident in the film Leah, Teddy and the Mandolin: Cape Town Embraces Yiddish Song, which screened at Beth Israel during the exhibit – and will be shown again at the synagogue on Dec. 8.

Using 10 years of archival footage, Leah, Teddy and the Mandolin showcases the Annual Leah Todres Yiddish Song Festival, which was held in Cape Town. The documentary features stirring renditions of classic Yiddish songs like “Romania Romania” and “Mayn Shtetele Belz,” as well as two original songs written for the festival by Hal Shaper, a renowned songwriter, which are sung with passion by talented South African Jews of all ages. The songs featured in the film evoke a yearning for a Jewish world that no longer exists in Lithuania and Eastern Europe and highlight the power of the Yiddish language and music.

While the South African Jewish community has shrunk since its heyday in the 1970s to approximately 50,000, it is still an important Diaspora community. In addition, South African Jews make important contributions to every Jewish community they move to, and bring their unique culture to their new homes.

Seeing the exhibit and the documentary cemented the kinship I feel with my South African brothers and sisters. A few of my South African friends even dubbed me an honourary South African Jew at the exhibit, an honour I gladly accepted. One day, I hope to make a pilgrimage to the land of the Litvaks to experience South African Jewish life firsthand. Until then, I will have to continue to learn about South Africa vicariously.

The Dec. 8 screening of Leah, Teddy and the Mandolin at Beth Israel takes place at 4 p.m. Admission is a suggested donation of $10. For more information, visit leahteddyandthemandolin.com.

David J. Litvak is a prairie refugee from the North End of Winnipeg who is a freelance writer, former Voice of Peace and Co-op Radio broadcaster and an “accidental publicist.” His articles have been published in the Forward, Globe and Mail and Seattle Post-Intelligencer. His website is cascadiapublicity.com.