A Pilgrimage to Polygon

A portrait format I have a lot of time for these days is not the selfie, nor the autofictive memoir, but that necessarily collaborative effort whose pages and paints and music and movements are brought together by those familiar with the person and their impact on those around them, and that is the memorial. Or as we call it today: the Celebration of Life. 

Like painting, the Celebration of Life comes out of religious rituals, from the first shamanistic cave painting/dances to church iconography to votive art. For some, the museum is today's church; its objects and gestures ends in themselves, but also props in the sacraments (baptism, confirmation, etc.). Yesterday I travelled to North Vancouver to attend a memorial for Diane Evans (1954-2023) -- photographer, educator, curator and long time employee of Presentation House Gallery. Or as we call it today: the Polygon Gallery.

Diane was as modest as she was principled, as quiet as she was forthright. She believed in service and valued hard work. Doing the work, not looking up to see who is watching you; just getting 'er done, earning your eye-rolls if it should come to that, the right to complain later. A complaint in Diane's case usually took the form of an aside, born of astute observation and delivered exquisitely -- a fewer-than-nine-word comment, like those hammered into bracelets for sale at Granville Island. Words to live by.

I worked with Diane on five fundraisers while I was on the board of PHG in the 2000s, not to mention PHG's Candahar Bar entry into the 2010 Cultural Olympiad. There were many of us who worked hard on those fundraisers, and then there was Diane, who, after having done enough of them, picked up as much as she could and ran with it, checking off boxes in half the time it would take the rest of us. Never to show us up, mind you, but to make sure it was done right. Exactly right. With the same care she took when making pictures, framing them, hanging them ...

If you had a problem with Diane's pace, it wasn't because Diane had a martyr complex or was a bad teacher, it was your problem. I never once heard her say No to anyone who asked if they could help her with a task, or for advice on how to do something. But you had to ask -- you had to let go of your ego. And if you didn't mean it, if you were in any way insincere -- yikes! You'd be lucky if she pretended not to hear you.