Cups of tea in a bombed-out building

“I could not, not see the image of a table set with tea in the midst of rubble. It had been in my mind for years,” explains Karen Tamminga-Paton, the Alberta artist whose art installation, Peacetalks, recently exhibited at Revelstoke Visual Arts Centre in British Columbia.

Tamminga-Paton was beginning an artist’s residency in France with close to two dozen artists from around the world when war broke out in the Middle East. With an ache in her voice, Tamminga-Paton described how “the scale of destruction,” the support and silence of Western governments, “and the baffling silence of the church on justice for Palestine” was unlike anything she had imagined. She felt its repercussions right to her bones.

Tamminga-Paton began painting the image stamped on her mind, a table set for tea in the midst of rubble – a “terrible beauty,” as one of her Instagram followers commented.

“So here I was, working long hours at this canvas in my beautiful French atelier, autumn leaves occasionally drifting in through my open window, bound to a deeply troubling image that did not offer me the luxury of turning away. I was compelled to read, to unlearn, to interrogate my assumptions. Painting this piece changed me.”

Karen posed her focus question to the other artists in the residency, “In the face of ruin, what are your words of repair?” The artists wrote their responses on canvas strips. This was how the second part of the installation, the curtain of Words of Repair, began.

Canadian words

Upon returning to Canada, Karen invited others to send her “words of repair.” She hoped to collect 100 canvas strips, but that proved to be more difficult than she had anticipated.

In her home community of Crowsnest Pass (in the Southern Alberta Rockies), conversations around the conflict were scarce. She extended the invitation to social media and her project found its way to a global audience. And yet, people were generally reluctant to participate. Tamminga-Paton understands; “The issues in the Middle East are complex and news reports are both conflicting and overwhelming. We have deep loyalties to our ways of thinking. Many had travelling experiences in Israel and held a genuine affection for that land; few, it seemed, had spent time in Palestine.”

“Who am I to answer such a big question?” asks one canvas strip. In each exchange that did happen, Tamminga-Paton felt honoured and humbled to be the recipient of vulnerability and trust. Each canvas strip holds a story and sincere personal reflection.

Curiously, of the many Christians from whom Tamminga-Paton sought responses, only around twenty completed a canvas strip. I lament with Tamminga-Paton over this general lack of engagement from the faith community, perplexed by the silence.

Some Christians referred to the “wars and rumours of wars” (Matt. 24) as an inevitable sign of end times. Tamminga-Paton’s question, “In the face of ruin, what are your words of repair?” led others to take a closer look at their personal theological narratives, often for the first time.

A few wondered whether “some things shouldn’t be repaired,” but Tamminga-Paton feels strongly that we are all called to be peacemakers. It is not a matter of taking sides; we are called to reparation for the sake of the next generation, for the sake of God’s shalom. And while she realizes that repair is God’s work, she feels the weight of this calling upon God’s people.

“These collected words on the canvas strips are not naive. Neither are they simplistic,” writes Tamminga-Paton. “They speak truth. These are prophetic voices. . . And it is my prayer that the words written down would sear themselves in our memories, that the weight of them would compel us to work toward justice and peace in ways we never thought to do before.”

What are your ‘words of repair’?

In the end, Karen received 131 canvas strips. They hang together like a curtain from a long wooden dowel suspended about a metre in front of the painting.

Tamminga-Paton wrote out words of repair that she received in messages, but many canvas strips were mailed to her already written in pen, paint, marker and one in beautifully embroidered thread. Many came from across the world in at least a dozen different languages including Swedish, Estonian, French, Mandarin, Farsi, Arabic and Hebrew. No single canvas strip holds the mainstage. Rather, it is the collection of many voices from a wide range of nationalities, faiths and demographics, all expressing the singular dream of hope and healing that makes such an impact on the viewer. “The world gives us so many reasons to hate,” wrote one person on a canvas strip. “Every moment of my waking hours I check my heart to ask it, is hate here? And then I talk about Love to it.”

Visitors to Tamminga-Paton’s exhibition were invited to add their own “words of repair” to the curtain of canvas. Tamminga-Paton is still receiving submissions through her social media. “Peacetalks may be an ever-evolving project that grows with time as we set ourselves to actively work for peace and justice in a world of growing unrest.”

“To have the courage to be in relationship with those who have harmed: to forgive, even if the behaviour has not changed,” wrote another person on a canvas strip, “to trust that love will always, always, always be the way. And it is always within reach.”