Inner treasures
February 27, 2010
Diane Flacks
SPECIAL TO THE STAR
Mark Stolarski is getting ready for his first art exhibition and, in his excitement, has been producing one painting a day.
Diagnosed with schizophrenia, developmental delay and obsessive-compulsive disorder, the 44-year-old Stolarski attends the art program at the MukiBaum Treatment Centre for Children and Adults with Complex Disabilities, in North Toronto, which is putting on the show.
The artists' conditions may impair their ability to communicate, but the exhibition, on March 4, aims to show them expressing themselves freely through their paintings – letting them share their "inner treasures and outer expressions."
I can't help but wonder: will Stolarski's output be matched by the quality of images he produces? Will his art, like all good art, let us in? Will it help us, and him, understand each other?
I am being introduced to Stolarski by Stacey Gemmill, the event coordinator for MukiBaum. The centre provides day programs and some residential facilities for people whose diagnoses often include a mental health issue combined with a neurological or medical condition. As we walk toward the art area, Gemmill points out that the walls are made of soft wood, to sustain any impact with clients' bodies. Other modifications include lights that do not hum and are pointed upward. Sound baffling lines the 24-foot ceilings to mute echoes that many clients would find overstimulating.
But the environment is lively nonetheless. Paintings and sculptures line the walls of the rooms that we weave past. A Valentine's Day party is going on in the art campus, and the Black Eyed Peas song, "I Got A Feeling," blasts through the halls.
In a gym, clients dance together, and a dark-eyed, strong-jawed man in a black sweat suit sees Gemmill and asks if I'm here to talk about his paintings. When she says yes, he darts away, calling for his direct-care worker, Barri Biederman, to hurry up and join us.
"That's Mark," Gemmill says. "He's excited to talk to you."
Gemmill and I wait in the office of the art campus supervisor, James Brown, for Stolarski to reappear. In a studio across the hall, on a low chair facing a busy canvas on the wall, sits Liu Chann, another participant in the art day program. He wears construction-quality earphones to block out oppressive noises. The earphones are covered in multi-hued splotches of paint.
He rocks with eyes closed facing a massive canvas filled with sharp lines and intense colours. Quick footsteps announce people arriving. Liu throws off his earphones, stands, yells, and sits back down, resuming rocking.
Later, Gemmill shows me some of Chann's paintings for the exhibition. Owing to autism, he speaks only one or two words at a time, she explains. But his work speaks volumes.
"He often paints from photographs," Gemmill says. "But as he sees it. If it's a red-and-green image, he might paint it yellow and blue. That's how his brain sees it."
She points me to a large, exquisite red-gold rendering of a man fishing on a river. It manages to be both yearning and dynamic.
Stolarski and Biederman arrive together and sit opposite me. Stolarski, fidgety and curious, is said to be the centre's social butterfly.
"I'm a Casanova," he confirms.
He tells me he paints what is on his mind – animals, photographs, scenes from movies. He also talks about whatever is on his mind – without a filter.
He starts with jokes about his age, how he eats like Homer Simpson. He also tells me about his parents and his friends, and some of the difficulties of social interactions at the new residence he has been living in.
Sometimes, he exaggerates, checking in with me to see if I notice. "I'm 44 and my mother is 62. Do you think that's true? That's only for fun."
Biederman steers our conversation toward Stolarski's artwork. He started painting when he attended a summer camp in the 1980s. He loved it and never stopped. "Painting is getting easier with practice," he says.
His long-lashed eyes dart around the room and fix on me when he explains why he paints. "It feels nice when I'm painting. It's relaxing."
Then he says, "When I get anxious, I paint."
Biederman seems surprised. "You've never told us that before."
"And," Stolarski continues, "the paint is non-toxic, which means I'm lucky."
He paints, he says, to impress his girlfriend, Leslie. That fact, it seems, is something that all his workers do know. They laugh and Stolarski smiles momentarily.
Biederman prompts Stolarski to talk more specifically about his work, "for your mom (who is Polish), you made a perogy painting."
Stolarski says he thinks that would be a nice surprise for his mother.
"I visit Mom once a week, in a Polish home. She's too old to stay with me." (Stolarski lived with his mother until very recently. Now, she is in an assisted-living retirement home and he is in a residential group home.)
Then Stolarski suddenly tells me about his father. How he is in heaven, how he was a nice dad, and they both have a bald patch on their heads, which Stolarski depicted in a painting once.
"My father wanted a son and he got me. Was he lucky?"
"Yes, he was," Biederman replies, her pale face pinking up to match the highlights in her hair "He was lucky to have you."
Soon, Stolarski has had enough, and is anxious to get back to the party, to find Leslie, to finish his work before the end of the day. The interview is at an end, but I have what I came for.
In talking about his painting, Stolarski made himself very clear. I have discovered that we do share a language – it lives in the bouncy choice of colours that he uses to paint a guy on a cellphone, with the word "hi" in blue letters overhead. Or the expression of a man sitting, hunched forward, head in hands, consumed by what thoughts?
Ultimately, art connects us to each other without the burden of social interaction. By simply viewing an artist's work, we receive something they agree to express.
Which is a gift, since it's us who may have the limitation to understanding.
Diane Flacks welcomes your "in the thick of it" story ideas and comments at dianeflacks@hotmail.com.
Toronto Star