There is a heightened awareness these days for digging into our family trauma. While it is a wonderful thing to be able to deeply understand where we have come from and what has made us who we are, it’s equally important to look back on our childhood in balance. Human beings, as we sometimes forget parents are, are complex. Looking at all of the ways in which we DIDN’T receive from them can sometimes create an underwhelming acknowledgement of what our parents DID offer us. The brilliant, capable, funny, heartwarming and appreciative aspects of who we are and what we now get to share with those around us. The best parts of our family lessons, values and childhood experiences.
For me, one of these things is an appreciation for original art and, while I didn’t know it at the time, is one of the greatest gifts my parents gave me.
As a kid, I remember spending many a Saturday heading down to 17th Avenue with my father to wander in and out of the row of art galleries that littered the storefronts across from Tomkins Park. While I likely went for the free cookies (Thank you Master’s Gallery for stepping up your Peek Frean’s game) what I didn’t realize is how much my parents were teaching me about something else.
Wandering through each gallery, actively grading them on their cookie selection while passively learning how art made me feel. From being confused by some pieces and wondering where the talent was, to witnessing art that made me smile or evoked a deep visceral response without any real awareness for why that was. Art can be a powerful tool in teaching us how to feel. To access those deeper parts of ours human self that can lay dormant until it speaks to an experience or emotion (good and bad) we might have filed away in our memory bank. As a kid who often felt confused by my emotions and in a family that didn’t talk a lot about them, I think it was a lesson in connecting back to myself as a deeply intuitive and feeling individual.
Growing up my home was filled with artwork. My father is an entrepreneur and in the quintessential ‘feast or famine’ lifestyle that came with it, we always knew when we were headed to the buffet based on wether they were attending auctions or the sudden appearance of art pieces to ‘try out’ on the wall for a week. To be clear, this was never about money and wasn’t something that came once my parents ‘made it’ or reached ‘success’ but rather a habit in appreciating artwork my whole life. From local community hall events to garage sales, my parents, and especially my father, were always on the hunt fort artwork they loved. It was a form of treasure hunting, the great search for art that resembled love. The conversation was never about money or price or value and only about how one or both of my parents felt about it, even more so, wether one of them hated it.
My father famously once brought home a painting of a transvestite arguing that it was simply a woman with a rather pronounced adams apple. My mother thought it was ‘okay’ and my father LOVED it. I was smitten with it and have offered on more than one occasion to take it off his hands (utilizing the old ‘family discount’ of course – after all, it’s going to a good home and will be well loved – isn’t that worth something?).
It is a painting that moves me. I literally experience the facial expression of the subject, the tilt of their head, the way their lips are just slightly parted, the movement, the colors (think Vaurnet France or 80’s neon) . . .
and while I struggle to put it into words, I feel it and experience the same emotions every time I see it. I love it. It resonates with me in ways I can’t explain.
But isn’t that the point of art? To move us? To connect with parts of ourself that we may not even know exist? To feel something, wether love, hate or even apathy?
Going into my friend’s houses I never understood where all the artwork was? I never understood why people chose to have bare walls or even worse, stock art !(in my opinion, as a very self righteous, fashionable 10 year old in acid wash jeans, a scrunchie and my favorite keds).
In the process, I garnered an unhealthy and absurd contempt for Robert Bateman prints and those mall ‘art galleries’ that sold them alongside the optical illusion art you would stare at while eating your overpriced yogen fruz. It wasn’t about Bateman himself, rather the lack of imagination or appreciation for how much artwork there is in the world to enjoy and appreciate that wasn’t being displayed on people’s walls – plus, his paintings evoked zero emotion for me, which I think, upon reflection, was more the issue.
Love it or hate it, artwork should speak to you. Forget how everyone else feels, what does it say to you?
As an adult, having moved past my wise 10 year old self’s judgement, I am the first to recognize that the Homesense or Renwil artwork of the world has a place. As someone who works in the Interior Design industry, I very much understand the need for ‘off the shelf’ options that are both accessible and affordable. However, it’s the dichotomy of ‘either original or big box’ that baffles me and the false belief that it is a function of price point above all else that dictates the outcome. Can you imagine if we bought local or original artwork at the pace with which we purchase off the shelf, mass produced, 100 times removed from any original artist version of art?
While I am sure you’ve seen that meme about small businesses owners doing a ‘happy dance’ when we purchase from them, I would wager a bet that it would literally transform lives if we applied our wallets as consciously to art. All you have to do is go to a local community hall art sale, or check out etsy or society 6 to recognize that original art is not reserved for a specific tax bracket or income level, but instead a form of appreciation for what someone gives back to the world. The ultimate form of appreciation in my opinion.
In keeping with the desire to heal our family trauma, bring awareness to what we did and didn’t receive from them, and connect back to ourselves, I suggest we start with the blank canvas of our home. Start with wandering around the digital or physical space to see what speaks to us and then do that. Buy that. Frame that. Hang that. Because if we want to learn to address our family trauma and acknowledge our foundational systems we should start with how we feel and lean into that. Artwork is a path to feeling and in investing in that, maybe it could help us by creating spaces that remind us we are human after all.
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Note: Listed below are some (not all) of my favorite artists and art galleries (in no particular order):
Art Interiors (Toronto) – Affordable Art gallery (ships across Canada and USA)
Zoe Pawlak (BC)
Hey Luisa (Portugal) – Digital Artist
Masters Gallery (Calgary) – Fine art
THE HILARY HENINGER 
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