William Kurelek 1927–1977

A short profile of the life and work of the artist William Kurelek 1927–1977 “One cannot make oneself believe. One can only open one’s arms to receive the gift.” Grace is a gift from God. But often it is not given until someone has fallen into utter darkness over and over again, until he is so humbled by life that there is nothing left to do but cry out for help. Canadian artist William Kurelek suffered chronic depression so severe that he tried to commit suicide. To help him, his doctors gave him shock treatments—14 of them. Kurelek said it was like being executed 14 times over, an experience so horrendous it made him realize how helpless he was. That’s when he started praying. This is the story of William Kurelek, one of Canada’s best-known and most beloved artists, and how his conversion to Roman Catholicism inspired him to create “The Passion of Christ,” a series of 160 paintings based on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, and one of the greatest religious works of the 20th century. The son of Ukrainian immigrants, he was born in 1927 and grew up during the Great Depression, on the Canadian prairies. He knew from an early age that he was an artist, but his father, Metro, a harsh disciplinarian who was contemptuous of his high-strung, imaginative son, wanted him to be a doctor. Metro expected him to run the family farm, something for which Kurelek had neither the interest nor the physique. Kurelek suffered because of his parents’ old-world attitude that children should be punished if they were afraid, or ill, or made mistakes, and should not be shown affection. Because of this treatment, Kurelek quickly learned to hide his feelings from other people. His terror of his father cut him adrift from his family. His mother never interfered with his father and as a result, when Kurelek left home, he became estranged from both his parents for several years. From this unhappy beginning, Kurelek set out to become a professional artist. He tried to satisfy his father by graduating from university. While there, he became what he called “intellectually proud” and, from being an agnostic, became an atheist. After university, he went off to study art at the Ontario College of Art in Toronto, then travelled down to Mexico where he hoped to work with the social realist artists then famous. But there was no one there of the calibre he needed. He then set his sights on England, with two purposes—to finish his schooling in art and to find a cure for his chronic depression. He worked in the bush in Ontario and Quebec as a lumberjack to earn the money for the journey by cargo ship. But once in England, the self-hatred and self-pity he had been suffering became so incapacitating that he checked himself into Maudsley Psychiatric Hospital in London. He was seen immediately by a doctor there, but soon a panel of doctors decided his case could best be handled as an out-patient. He reluctantly found lodgings near the hospital and saw a psychiatrist twice a week. But he could not communicate his feelings to them and lived in a painful emotional state he described as a stalemate: he desperately needed help but could not express what he needed, and so his doctors did not understand what he was telling them. In his spare time, he visited the Tate Gallery where he first saw William Blake’s paintings. He also travelled to Europe to discover the masterpieces of European art—he saw Jan Van Eyck’s altarpieces, Brueghel’s paintings of peasant life and the macabre allegories of Hieronymus Bosch, each of which had a huge influence on his own paintings. He returned to England after a few weeks and found lodgings in London, determined to paint for a living. He completed three paintings and felt he had arrived as a productive artist. But otherwise he was going downhill fast. He didn’t think his doctors realized how close to a breakdown he was and he wanted desperately to get their attention. He cut one of his arms, though only superficially, with a sharp razor blade. It worked. He was quickly re-admitted as an in-patient to Maudsley and began to use paintings as part of his therapy. It was here that he met Margaret Smith, an occupational therapist, who obtained art supplies for him. She also gave her own time, an hour at the end of every day, so Kurelek could talk over what was on his mind. He found himself looking forward to her visits. When he discovered she was a Catholic, he teased her about it, since he was still a staunch atheist. But he noted that there seemed to be an aura about her, something that secured his total confidence. Was it her Catholicism? He became curious about her faith and asked her questions about it. When she couldn’t answer his questions, she brought him pamphlets. In one of these he read about the Catholic practice of praying for others. He asked her if she was praying for him, and she answered simply, “Yes, I am.” Shortly after, he was transferred to Netherne Hospital, which took more serious cases. He and Margaret wrote to each other and she visited on her days off. He felt that he was in love with her but she could see what he really needed was motherly affection. By drawing the line at physical passion, she taught Kurelek that there was something stronger than human love—the love of God. Important as it was, this relationship also made him see that he wouldn’t find any relief burdening Margaret, or anyone, with his problems. He didn’t want to use anyone as a “wailing wall” any longer. Kurelek realized he had exhausted all human resources and he turned to the only possibility left—religion. This realization came after an extraordinary experience at Netherne. He awoke in the middle of the night and became aware of a sense of complete abandonment. For the first time he tried to pray to God. But no matter how he tried he couldn’t communicate. Soon after this experience, he painted “HELP ME PLEASE HELP ME PLEASE HELP ME—PLEASE HELP,” and “The Maze,” a depiction of his troubled mind, both obvious cries for help. Incredibly, his doctors still didn’t respond to his desperation. He was so miserable then that he decided there was no God. And if there was no God, there was therefore no after-life, and suicide was a reasonable thing to do. He decided to take matters into his own hands. This time, he took eight pills and cut his face and arms with a razor. He was found by an attendant. Over the next few months, he was given 14 treatments of electro-convulsive therapy, “shock” therapy. But it was the breakthrough he had craved. “Sometimes,” he said, “Sorrow remarries a person to God." These experiences were so horrendous that he resumed prayer and never stopped. But the shock treatments had worked—though he was physically dazed and shaky for a few weeks afterwards, they lifted his crushing depression and he became cheerful when they were over with. The paintings he had done before his shock treatments, culminating in “the Maze,” had been a way of emptying his mind of his fears, anxieties and horrors. Once he had done that, he went through a period of darkness, a sort of transitory state of mind. Now that he had emptied himself, he could receive. After a few months of the shock treatments, he was released from Netherne and felt confident enough to try living off the sale of his paintings. That this was possible was another proof that his new life in Christ was the right one. Now touched by grace, he determined, with excitement and enthusiasm, to give Christianity every chance to prove its points. He plunged into the study of religious and philosophical arguments for and against Christianity, so he could make sure “the wool wasn’t being pulled over my eyes.” But he also believed that “one cannot make oneself believe. One can only open one’s arms to receive the gift.” In 1957, he returned to Canada for a summer visit and to get away from Margaret so he could discover his true feelings about her. When he returned to England a few months later, he asked her to marry him. She said “No,” very firmly and explained he didn’t need her as a crutch any longer. Her rejection was the final step in his conversion—he was afraid he had only been interested in the faith to please her. He knew now it was for himself. Now the tug of war between his intellectual resistance and his spiritual needs finally bore fruit. Four years after his first talks with Margaret, he was received formally into the Catholic Church, remodelling his life on a day-to-day, God-centred pattern. His torment was over. He was a new person. His life was finally moving towards sanity and wholesomeness. After seven years in England, it was time to come home for good. Kurelek made his way back to Toronto in 1959 and within a few months had a one-man show at the Isaacs Gallery. But he also wanted to thank God for his new life and by the time he had come back to Canada, he had already decided what he was going to do.

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