Larry's Corner

Hamilton Mourns Conrad Furey

By Larry Di Ianni
(posted January 24, 2008)  

My tenure as Mayor of the City of Hamilton brought me many challenges and opportunities. I also had the pleasure of meeting all of the city’s shakers and movers: individuals who made and continue to make a difference in the way the community evolves. I met politicians of all stripes. I rubbed shoulders with statesmen, visiting dignitaries and visionaries. I also met many ‘real’ Hamiltonians: those humble individuals who would stop you on the street or come in to the office during my “Coffee with the Mayor” days and just tell you how they felt about the city, or what you should be doing to improve it. I enjoyed all of these encounters and never saw them as ‘trappings’ of the office, but as opportunities to meet folks from all walks of life.

On occasion, however, I also met people whose influence went way beyond the boundaries of our city. I met individuals whose talents were recognized by the outside world and who espoused such a pride of their hometown that their very presence and prominence broke the stereotype that our city has to sometimes endure. Such a person was Conrad Furey.

I met Conrad Furey quite by accident. Each year, the Dundas School of Art has an art auction to raise money to cover its operating costs. Part of this auction includes art works created by Hamilton’s celebrities. The Chief of Police always does a piece, as does the President of the University and other such luminaries. They also ask the Mayor to contribute his artistic piece. As I was escorted into the sculpting room, there was another guest artist seated at the table next to me: Conrad Furey. I recognized him, of course, and he me. We greeted each other politely and spoke about the worthiness of the Dundas School of Art. I did wonder to myself, however, how an accomplished artist such as Conrad Furey could possibly be put next to an artistic neophyte such as myself. He saw the puzzled look in my eyes and quickly explained that painting on the clay plates we were given was not his medium. He and I would be experimenting together. Okay, I bought that. However, the masterful way he twirled the brush, and his sense of comfort with paints and design belied his insistence that we were both novices. He was just trying to make me feel better. For some reason, each of the years I was invited to ‘create’ for the Dundas School of Art, I found myself sharing my time with Conrad Furey. It was great.

And today, I learn that he has just died from cancer. In fact, he mentioned to me, just in passing, that he had had a ‘health issue’ to deal with but it wasn’t slowing him down at all. As I spoke with him, we talked about his art work that I saw displayed around the city. I confessed to him my passion for public art and my interest in seeing what we could do to encourage public art in the community. We spoke of the commissions of public art in our waterfront and in Stoney Creek’s downtown, and he was pleased with any support artists could be given.

I also did a little research into Conrad’s work. He was a proud Newfoundlander whose childhood memories of his fishing village were a recurring theme in his paintings. I read a bit about the naïf style of painting and was amazed at the tilted heads of his protagonists and the small boats adrift in the blue seas he often depicted. I saw the strength of purpose in his characters: vulnerable, but toiling on and making the best of it. I saw his characters as a metaphor not only of the fishermen of Newfoundland, but of our city and its citizens, struggling to regain itself after decades of hardship and turmoil. I never told him of these impressions when we ‘created’ together. He might have chuckled. Or he might have confirmed my impressions. Conrad Furey gave much to the world of art. He will live on in the simple but great works he has done which are on display across the city: our library, the university, some of the hospitals and in many private collections. It was great to have been touched by such a humble and talented Hamiltonian.

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