Opinion | Art and peace

He saw the beginnings of the ferocious and violent dilemma in Ukraine but had taken his leave before the tragedy of Gaza began to unfold.

His life was one of art and peace; in fact, they were so intertwined that the two passions were inseparable.

Of this, I have no evidence, and maybe it’s purely my imagination, but I suspect the heartlessness of what was and is happening in Ukraine accelerated his departure.

My friend travelled the world, encouraging and working with others to make peace a reality in our time.

He was the epitome of what he looked for in others — he was a beautiful man, and in the few decades I knew him, never did he utter an angry, confrontational or resentful word or even show a hint of emotion that could be interpreted as isolationist in any sense.

He taught me about collaboration, co-operation, collusion and consorting — all those human values that pulled people together and drew upon the better angels of their nature.

It was through his art that he best pointed to the need for peace and tenderness; the blatant pacifism, which had existed since he was a young man, was ignited and cemented in his soul by an event shortly before World War II.

Unannounced, the Luftwaffe launched an attack on the small market town of Guernica in 1937, killing many, uprooting the lives of an equal number and desecrating the town itself.

That attack was the catalyst for many things, among them the creation of the iconic large oil painting Guernica by the Spanish artist Pablo Picasso; upon seeing the artwork, it was the beginning of a relationship for my friend with the town and people of Guernica that continued throughout his life.

The Picasso painting told of the violence, brutality and mindlessness of war, but within it was a message of peace, a message that inhabited my friend’s life and was evident in much of his subsequent art.

Also, he played a key role in helping the people of Guernica to remember and acknowledge that savage day in 1937.

What is presently happening in Gaza is beyond my understanding, just as I suspect it is for most. However, I’m certain that in playing to personal ideologies, some people could easily and succinctly explain why thousands are dying, buildings are being razed, the whole area is in disarray, and the broader stability of the world is a little shaky.

Peace has taken its leave, and I’m so pleased my friend is not here to see this, as the madness in Gaza would have brought on, for him, a deep and near unbearable sadness.

My friend alerted me to, well, taught me about inequality, and I thought about what he had pointed out to me when listening to an online event from the UK-based War on Want.

The group’s executive director, Asad Rehman, talked about how the world’s richest one per cent are causing the present climate crisis, seeking refuge in their wealth and leaving the poor to burn and drown.

My friend was from the United States, and although he had been here for decades, his home country was evident every time he spoke, and I couldn’t avoid thinking of him when reading an opinion piece by David Brooks in The New York Times.

Brooks wrote: “We’re living in a brutalising time: Scenes of mass savagery pervade the media. Americans have become vicious toward one another amid our disagreements. Everywhere I go, people are coping with an avalanche of negative emotions: shock, pain, contempt, anger, anxiety, fear.”

For Brooks, what he saw and wrote about was no doubt real, and I’m sure my friend could have understood that, too. Still, he always remained philosophically, emotionally and practically above or beyond such things.

Sitting and talking with him often felt like engaging with someone from another world, a world not coloured or tainted by the brutal competitiveness, individuality, sadness, selfishness or heartlessness of a neo-liberal-like market-driven world.

He always encouraged people to see the good in others and, through that, brought hope and joy and encouraged a way of thinking that was about peace, co-operation, decency and friendship.

Only months have passed since Bill Kelly took his leave, and the space he once filled is simply a vacuum, but it is now as he would like — for where he is at now is a peaceful place, although for me, and I am sure many others, damnably lonely.

However, “Kelly”, as many others refer to him, is with me every day as I have an original Kelly artwork on my dining room wall — it’s a large piece, primarily white, with a red rose on a roughly drawn black background, just one of the many symbols he incorporated into his artwork about peace.