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I was skyping with a friend and showing my first level of my house to him. The art on my wall caught his attention and in particular a painting by my friend Robbert. The piece is called L'Ange (angel).

I met Robbert more than twenty years ago. I was curating an exhibition examining the social issues as the decade turned. AID's was one of the issues identified along with other social issues. I was doing studio visits in a different city. The "Call" went out nationally and the exhibition toured nationally. The project that I co curated took five years of my life.

I did a studio visit with Robbert in Windsor, ON. We went out and he told me of his interesting life. He was a poet and then died on the operating table. He told me how he floated above and could see himself as well as the doctors working on his body. He saw the tunnel leading to a light. He partially entered the tunnel but returned to his body.

That event changed Robbert and even though he had not painted before, he began to paint. Robbert was a Quebecois Separatist. After a referendum to separate Quebec from Canada failed, he decided to go and live with the "enemy". ... Les Anglais. He worked for the CBC in Windsor, ON on the French station. Robbert became well known in the Windsor Arts community and public at large.

I felt an instant bond with Robbert. What I didn't recognize is that Robbert was probably hitting on me sexually. He was charming. He would smile or become animated over this cause or that.

I encouraged him to submit to the Call for the project. I could not guarantee that he would be accepted as I had a co curator.

Robbert's work was accepted. I admit that I pushed for his acceptance. The first opening was held in the city where I lived. Robbert came for the opening and stayed at my house. While we were out for dinner, he kept saying that "if he were alive". I finally asked him why he put those words in front of his statements about the future. He told me that he was HIV. This was during the era when the fear was so great that you might get HIV from a handshake. Robbert was given a disability pension and health benefits which was very generous of the CBC at the time.

I was stunned as I sat there in the restaurant. I told him of course he would live beyond five years. People were not though. I kept his status a secret. His art was not about HIV/AIDs but there were other works that dealt with AID's. Even to have an exhibition about AID's was controversial at the time. I did eventually tell my co curator. As two leftist leaning artist curators we presented an accepting facade. I let Robbert tell of his status when he wanted to.

Robbert wrote in a French art magazine about his discovery of his condition and how despondent he initially had become. He mailed me a copy of the article in the magazine. Through my attempt to translate there was no denying that my name was in the article. I had lifted his spirits when I called to tell him that his work was accepted. I had not known that he had just discovered his status a few days before my call. I was honoured that he had mentioned me in such a positive manner.

However, I did visit him back in Windsor and stayed at his apartment. I went to use the washroom. I was uncomfortable as I lifted the toilet seat to urinate. Would I get "it"? I showed no fear to Robbert fortunately. Robbert told me of friends who had walked away from him.

A few years later, Robbert went to live in Paris. I visited him there and stayed at his apartment in a building which was called Canada House (in French) and part of a university. I discovered that I was the only Anglophone and most Canadians living there were Quebecois radical separatists. Robbert told me to be a bit quiet but most accepted me staying there. Apparently, there was a "meeting" though about L'Anglais. (me) I used Robbert's apartment as a pit stop as I toured Europe for a few months. I returned several times. Robbert bought a berat and we would go each day to get bagget. I teased him about being a stereotype. He laughed. I saw the Japanese group Sanku Juku in a sub burb of Paris with Robbert. Robbert seemed fine health wise and happy. AID's smades...didn't matter.

When Robbert returned to Canada, he went to live in Toronto. He called me one day and invited me to an opening just one day ahead of the opening? The gallery owner had displayed his work in New York with great pride and a hefty price tag on his work. L'Ange was one of the works and it nearly sold. Back in Toronto, Robbert told the gallery owner of his HIV status. The gallery owner shunned him and made no publicity or even labels stating the price of his work. I felt anger at the gallery owner. How dare he treat Robbert that way. We went out for dinner afterwards. He felt down and I tried to console him.

I had seen L'Ange in Robbert's studio months before and liked the new work. We spoke of how it was made. We spoke about its symbolism. The floating shirt was Robbert's spirit. It floated over the burnt forest as he had floated over his body and the doctors when he first died. It is an environmental piece about the destruction of our environment but touched on the life and death issues that also were in his poetry and art.

A few months later we had planned to get together. When I dropped by his place, he was ill. He looked bad. Again, I had to use his toilet and I saw the remains of his vomiting and diarrhea. I felt unnerved again.

I spoke with Robbert and he told me that he was experiencing financial difficulty. He offered me L'Ange for much less than what it was for sale in New York. I wanted to help him and I bought the piece. I could barely afford it but I could afford it.

A year later, he asked me to take an image of the work as he was considering using it on the cover of a book of poetry that he was publishing. It ended up that another work from that series was on the cover. I bought the book of poetry and have it signed by Robbert. The brother of my painting is on the cover of the book.

Robbert decided to return to Quebec after the second referendum for separation was lost. He moved to Montreal. He was returning to Toronto for a reading of one of his latest books of poetry. I was looking forward to seeing him. By this time, he had lived twice as long as he expected to live. He called me and told me that his doctor decided it would be best that he not travel.

We said that we would keep in touch. We didn't.

Today, I googled him. I've wondered about him but lost email and phone numbers. Written on Wiki, in French, it states that he died April 8, 2008. That is about nineteen years since he told me that he wouldn't be here five years from that date.

I'm saddened. Maybe, I should feel shame for losing contact. I knew that his day would come. It is today for me but four years ago for Robbert.

I will try to upload L'Ange. It is not a good quality reproduction. Maybe, I will try to re shoot it later.

Bon Voyage mon ami. L'autre cote de la vie.

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Attached Images

• L'Ange by R. Fortin .jpg (62.1 KB, 93 views)