Retracing Our Steps

The plot of land which is home to Sunnybrook Hospital and neighbouring Sunnybrook Park was donated to the City of Toronto in 1928 by Alice M. Kilgour. It was left to Alice by her husband, Joseph Kilgour, once a successful Toronto factory owner. In 1944 Sunnybrook Farm, as it was known, was converted in to a field hospital for soldiers returning from World War II. To this day the Sunnybrook Veterans Centre is the largest veterans care centre in Canada and home to over 300 veterans of WWII and the Korean War. Over the course of the pandemic Sunnybrook would again open a field hospital, this time to treat Covid-19 patients.  
 
In the vicinity of the Veterans Centre and hospital, on streets with names like Wellness Way and Lifesaving Drive, one can find a number of public sculptures and gardens. In a quaint sculpture garden dedicated to the late Dr. Elizabeth Beattie, there is a plaque that reads “Are you sick?…then I will make you a garden.” An affirmation of the powerful, holistic nature of the surrounding area. Something I can personally attest to.  
 
Several years ago my mother suffered a massive stroke while exercising at the gym. It was caused by an “arteriovenous malformation” in her brain. Apparently she was born with it. Although not closest in proximity to where the accident happened, responding paramedics took her immediately to Sunnybrook which also happens to be home of Canada’s first ever stroke care unit. There she underwent emergency brain surgery and came within minutes of losing her life.                                                                                                                                                                

On that day everything became so surreal. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. The days passed quickly but somehow time seemed to stand still. I spent a lot of time wandering the halls, looking at all the paintings and sculptures. 
 
Like the antiquated selection of magazines found in most doctors offices I think the art that tends to adorn hospital corridors and waiting rooms has a reputation for being outdated or dare I say - kitschy. Hospitals are certainly not places where people want to be reminded of the polarizing dialogue(s) that contemporary art often engages with. Public space exists for everybody and so too should its art. It does not seek to disrupt daily life with divisive ‘shock-and-awe’ tactics. Public art tends to blend in with the scenery. We see it in our daily lives but rarely engage with it. Until of course, as the pace of modern life so seldom allows, we’re forced to slow down and reflect. We gain a new perspective. Focus on the details. Things we once took for granted become exalted.  
 
It’s unfortunate that immensely tragic events, like a war or a global pandemic, are sometimes the catalysts for immense transformation. I think about how I felt sitting in that waiting room. How I know many have felt during the lockdown. Knowing that life will be forever changed. Priorities will be forever changed. Perhaps we can no longer afford to undermine the importance of the imaginative in relation to our healing.