Once Upon a Time there was an Artist Named Garry Sanipass…

I never really understood people. I saw other guys playing around, talking about sports rough housing and I never thought it was very interesting. I remember seeing a group of kids talk about a hockey game, how a certain player was the greatest. They would talk the amazing score or assist the player made. I remember also, that game being on tv the night before and it bored the hell out of me. I fell asleep trying to watch it. I wanted to join in on their conversation, to be accepted, to be one of the guys. I just couldn’t. Also, I couldn’t speak french and also I am indigenous. So I was always an outsider. I spent most of my time alone so I always felt lonely even in a crowded room. I started looking at the ground in front of me, it was much better than being reminded how everyone has friends and how much they were having. Plus, every once in a while I’d find some change someone dropped on the ground.

I loved drawing. I suppose it was a type of escape. So from grade 1 I just escaped into my own head and just drew. I thought someday, I’ll be a great artist.

I felt very different in my own family as well. Being the only boy, a dreamer I just never really fit in. I guess the forest was the best place to be for me. I learned to compromise, pretend to share the same interest as someone else to feel less lonely. That compromise was always surface level, very shallow. I could never convey my own interests, my own thoughts I had to fit in.

I think copying art is kind of the same thing. I can somewhat draw what I see, but I longed for something deeper. A meaningful connection. There had to be more. Talking about sports going on rollercoasters it all seemed superficial, a distraction. Surface level stuff no substance. It’s like being in a room full of people and still feeling alone.

So, I remember when I sold my first painting. I had put a lot of my ideas and thoughts into it. I carefully put some symbolic meaning into it. Certain colours I felt. Added some elements from my favourite artists. It was no where near a masterpiece or anything. Just a simple portrait. But to me, it had a lot of meaning. I put all of these things inside the painting. I brought the painting to a local restaurant. They said they loved it and would put it on their wall for me to try and sell it. I was so excited. I had fought my fears. I had made myself vulnerable and I was accepted. WOW. At least that. I thought. This was a brave thing you did Garry, so this was a win for you even if no one buys it. You won because you tried. Every day I would drive by the restaurant and it was still on the wall. Oh, no one wanted to buy it. Oh well. I drove by that restaurant several times a week and peer into the window. “Still there, oh well.”

I would drive by the restaurant less and less, but every time I passed it I would glance over. Still there. Oh well. I guess no one wants it. It’s ok. One day I drove past the restaurant and it wasn’t on the wall. “How in the hell is anyone gonna buy it if the restaurant took it down.” I was so angry. If they didn’t want it on the wall, they could have at least called me. So I went to the restaurant and before I could say anything they told me that someone bought it. So they gave me some cash and I was so amazed. I was like, “WHAT?” “Someone fucking bought it?” I couldn’t stop smiling. Wow. “Yeah, the person who bought it said it reminded them of their grandfather or uncle or something and they bought it.” The manager said. I was happy and disappointed at the same time. They never saw the reference to renaissance art, they never mentioned the colour, it was all about their memories of a person I never met. It had nothing to do with me. There was no human connection there at all. “Still, though” I thought, “someone liked it enough to pay money, I would have given it to them if they wanted it.” I’ve sold many paintings after that always hoping for some kind of connection and time and time again, no. It was always about a connection the buyer had with an experience they had or a memory. It’s not a complete connection with another human being, but there was some sort of connection. The loneliness continues. m