William Kurelek ~~ 1927-1977~~ Naturam Expelas Furca, Tamen Usque Recurret

Portrait of William Kurelek (click or tap to see larger)

William Kurelek was born on a farm in rural Alberta, Canada to a father who was a Ukrainian immigrant and a mother who was the daughter of Ukrainian immigrants. Their hardscrabble, old-world farming life was difficult for him. “My father wanted a manly son...I knew I couldn’t be, so I withdrew into myself.” Kurelek was sensitive, gentle and took things to heart. He was intensely effected by his surroundings—what he saw and experienced. Early on he was viewed as a dreamer, even as something of a black sheep. His younger brother, whom he was close to, was practical and bright— they were allies, but also rivals.

Kurelek’s parents were hard-working and somewhat coarse. They didn’t understand their eldest son’s fears and sensitivity. He and his siblings were often punished physically for minor infractions. School was a torment for him and his brother. They spoke only Ukrainian in the beginning and were quickly ostracized as outcasts. Kurelek was bullied mercilessly throughout school because of his small size and lack of assertiveness. When he began to experience problems with mental illness later in life, he blamed it in part on this early brutality and lack of sympathy both at school and at home.

In an unhappy childhood with no respite from torment, Kurelek found a natural outlet and comfort in drawing. He clung to this ability as something that made him special. He also used art as an outlet for intense, pent-up rage that burned in him. He drew out his impotent anger in vengeful scenes of brutality that he later found appalling. One example was a classroom tormentor getting his head blown off by a canon ball. Later, as a young adult, he depicted his parents being eviscerated. It was a way for a gentle person to harmlessly play out his anger against those who had harmed him. He found little relief in this kind of therapy, however— perhaps only a fleeting feeling of revenge. Much of the subject matter in his early art was dark and brutal. These themes would always stay with him, his outlook was full of fear and pessimism. He showed artistic talent early, but not surprisingly, his parents were unsupportive. They could see no value for art in their narrow, provincial world.

In 1949 Kurelek decided he would go to art school. He paid for college with a summer job painting signs. He attended the University of Manitoba for three years, studying Latin, English and history. Still very shy, he had a lot of social anxiety and was never relaxed or at ease with other people. Quiet and introspective, he didn’t like making pointless small talk about sports and women, so he had trouble fitting in with other young men. He longed for female companionship, but the chronically shy Kurelek was barely able to speak to girls. In his autobiography, he chronicles a painful quasi-courtship he conducted via letters with a girl he longed for from afar. He was always alone, on the outside, quietly observing. 

Aside from shyness and anxiety, Kurelek also suffered from serious depression and a condition called depersonalization disorder. This disorder made him feel unreal, like he was outside of life just observing it. It’s a condition that can be terrifying, alienating and causes endless philosophical rumination. Kurelek made a painting about the condition called “Pre Maze” which shows a man running around a circular room, hands and face covered, all senses sealed shut. With few people to confide in, and  paralyzing shyness to contend with, Kurelek used his art to pour forth his innermost thoughts. Personal, intense and sometimes bitter, his paintings reveal a mastery of technique and imagination. His work has a highly honed illustrative quality, but the thoughts and ideas he illustrated were often raw, unflinching. An adult pours boiling water on a child’s snow sculpture, boys brutally battle to be “king of the hill,” a pampered poodle lounges in luxury on one side of a wall, while an African child starves to death on the other. Kurelek looked at the world, and himself, and used his mostly self-taught prowess and modest mediums like gouache (Kurelek seldom used oils, the “king” of paints) to express his dismay and delight.

In the 50’s, Kurelek decided to go to England to receive better psychiatric treatment. He also hoped for more sophisticated art training. While in the hospital there, Kurelek painted “The Maze," a disturbing picture of a cracked-open skull revealing chambers containing sad and bitter scenes. He made it to show his doctors how he felt. In one chamber, a boy is brutally beaten while girls point and laugh, in another a young man cuts the flesh off his own arm. They were memories and ideas Kurelek couldn't let go of. In the 60’s, the painting was featured in a Time-Life book “The Mind” in a segment about how art is used in psychiatric treatment. Kurelek’s name was not mentioned—he was spoken of anonymously as a psychiatric patient. As always, Kurelek’s attempt to exorcise his demons with art was not fully successful. He may have shown others how he was feeling, but the feelings did not go away. Eventually, after a suicide attempt, Kurelek was given electroshock treatments and his deep depression lifted. In spite of the hard-won relief from his depression, Kurelek felt the psychiatrists had failed to help him. He didn’t grasp that mental illness was a lifelong struggle he would never fully conquer. 

After he left the hospital, Kurelek went to work as a picture framer. He couldn’t make enough money selling his own art: beautiful, intricate trompe l’oeil paintings of money and knick knacks. He only made five pounds for each painting, which took many hours to make. In addition, hypochondria made him fear he was ruining his eyes doing such painstaking work for so little money. Around this time, influenced by a sympathetic female friend, Kurelek converted to Catholicism. Psychiatry had failed him, but his faith seemed to be a solid source of comfort to him for the rest of his life. Believing in a force that controlled fate relieved Kurelek of some of his anxiety. 

Kurelek spent seven years in England. He went back to Canada in 1960 hoping to start his own frame shop. He was unable to raise funds and ended up getting a job at a local gallery/frame shop owned by Av Isaacs. It was a fortuitous encounter; Isaacs appreciated Kurelek’s talent and offered him his own show. Their association set in motion well-deserved success for Kurelek, emotionally and professionally: he was able to live off of his art, a goal he had always strived for. He was stable enough emotionally to get married and start a family. He was a kind and sensitive father and was able to get closer to his parents and siblings as well. It was a much happier time for Kurelek, though his art still reflected ingrained pessimism and darkness. He believed the world wallowed in sin and would eventually destroy itself. He also painted scenes that celebrated beauty and life, hope and joy. Always in awe of nature, some of his best work are scenes of the Canadian countryside—lovely, lonely, and solemn. He produced charming children’s books which depict a happier, less pessimistic world. But he remained very rigid, particularly about religion. If he felt a book he was illustrating was in disagreement with his religious beliefs, he would stall or demand that the text be changed. He was hard on himself, and hard on others; when he found that marriage wasn’t perfect and didn’t solve all of his problems, he was disappointed. He had been disappointed when he found that his mental illness couldn't just be cured and eliminated with treatment. His parents had probably emphasized hard work as a way to solve all problems, and there wasn’t enough hard work one could do to cure mental illness or make a marriage perfect.

Kurelek had a direct and unflinching desire to express his inner mind, to show it to the world. He scoffed later about “The Maze,” saying he had wanted to be seen as an “interesting specimen” for psychiatrists. However, the clarity and power of his work is undeniable. On one hand there is the dark and sometimes bitter results of a sad and lonely early life, on the other an amazing testament to endurance and determination to feel better and live well. In a later painting of a glimmering aurora pulsing above the Canadian countryside, Kurelek showed that out of seemingly bottomless depths, the spirit can emerge and feel joy once again. He died of cancer in 1977, at the age of 50.

© 2016 Alice DuBois


For More Information See:

• "Someone With Me" By William Kurelek
• "William Kurelek: The Messanger" Published By Winnipeg Art Gallery, 2011 
• William Kurelek: The Messenger