Lawrence LangCourtesy of family
Lawrence Ewald Lang: Adventurer. Artist. Reader. Treasure hunter. Born Sept. 13, 1948, in Claresholm, Alta; died April 12, 2023, in North Bay, Ont., after a sudden illness; aged 74.
Lawrence (Larry) Ewald Lang was a thing-finder, someone who saw potential in the mundane and beauty in the oft-overlooked.
Larry was an artist. He painted high realism works that leaned toward the surreal – his portrait of David Letterman was painted onto a delicate plywood pyramid, its base hung flat against the wall. Viewed straight on, the image is perfect, but a slight shift to one side of the pyramid or another distorts Mr. Letterman, a reminder that perspective is malleable.
My stepfather wasn’t much of a talker. But those who knew him admired his keen appreciation of the world around him. He would spot the shadow of a tiny owl tucked in our lilac bush at night, or notice a burl in a birch branch and then carve it into a smooth hand clutching an orb, atop a walking stick. He was precise and measured in his work, and he was particular. From the way he wore his wispy ponytail, to how he oiled his work boots, there was nothing slapdash about the way he lived.
Larry grew up in rural Alberta, one of three children raised by a rough-edge Polish/Russian father and a wiry no-nonsense Pennsylvania Dutch mother. When he was in his early 20s, Larry jumped on a freighter and ended up in Israel working on a kibbutz, an experience that left him a staunch champion of the Palestinian cause and a savvy traveller.
Back in Canada, he went to drafting school, which complemented the clean precise lines of his life, and later his art. He moved to Northern Ontario, got a farm by the train tracks and ended up with 75 goats and even more rabbits. I was six when my mom, June Keevil, met this man who cooked lemony rabbit and made pungent goat cheese.
We later moved to Vancouver and my stepfather started teaching me how to draw, which I remember being not just about the object but also the attitude – a sense that each task needed absolute attention and focus.
Mr. Lang travelled to Siwa Oasis in Egypt in 2008, during the first of what became many family trips overseas.Courtesy of family
On the West Coast, my parents bought a run-down old rooming house and transformed it into a home that won first place on the heritage circuit for its intricate attention to detail inside and out. The house was restored using salvaged materials gleaned by my stepfather who would steal into demolition sites with a crowbar rescuing stained-glass windows, carved mouldings and brass fixtures. He’d head out on what we jokingly called “the nightshift” driven by much the same passion – jumping into dumpsters behind our local Value Village and returning with Inuit soapstone carvings, 1920s’ jewellery or hand-tanned leather pouches fringed with fur – salvaging beauty from our refuse.
My stepfather was a thing-finder and an unassuming teacher. When he trained dogs, he always gave them a moment after each lesson to sit quietly and take in what they’d learned. He never rushed, didn’t balk at pressure, and didn’t suffer fools, or those he referred to as “grinning skulls,” though an honest moment of hilarity could get his whole body shaking with near-silent laughter.
His granddaughter Imogene called him Bappy. She gave him uninhibited love, oblivious to the fact that Bappy was not much of a cuddler. He was more of a stickler; things had to be done right and carefully. He was also unassumingly supportive, always willing to wait for us or help us no matter how trivial our cause. He would spend hours hunting for one of Imogene’s lost rings, and then find it, and he’d spend hours in used bookshops picking up titles that furthered our passions.
My stepfather was a thing-finder. He died, at home in the Northern Ontario bush he loved, just weeks after we learned he was sick. Now, as we sort through many of the things he found and treasured, I’ve realized his greatest find of all – the beauty and potential in everything.
Genesee Keevil is Larry’s stepdaughter.
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