Tribute Speech

Good afternoon everyone, thank you so much for taking the time to attend this very special Celebration of a very special person, Chris Bacon.  My name is Ashley, I’m Chris’ wife, and I’m so grateful to have you all here. I know Chris would be, too. Chris deeply cherishes his friends and family. I’ve never personally known anyone who had such an impact on so many people, who was so beloved, and it shows. 

Before I begin my tribute speech to Chris, I want to acknowledge everyone who helped make this day happen, it’s been months in the making: my family, for all their incredible support. Chris’ friends, for theirs as well. The floral arrangements have been done by Clearview Design, our friend Deb Seeley and her husband Dave, and the balloon garland display by Ettridges Studio, Susan Clark, a high school friend of Chris’.

I’ve brought photos from our home that Chris had already had framed, and added a few myself from his youth. I also brought two photo albums, which were made for this event. They are in the library for your perusal, as well as a few items to read. I had difficulty in finding photographs from Chris’ personal collection that represented a wider range of his life for the photo books (besides the thousands of bird reference photos he kept, of course). I would have liked to find more than the odd photo of his life as a younger man, but I did my best to represent him over the years.

There is a memory book on the hutch in the front hallway, please share any greetings, thoughts, or memories. 

Seven of Chris’ original paintings are on display today, a few of which were graciously lent by collectors, including David and Andrea Shemilt, Joe Donnell and Michelle Kachur, Lisa and Peri Kolivaris, and my parents, Paul and Hilde Singer. Each painting has a title card and description for you to read.

Chris’ final, technically unfinished painting that he was working on is also on display. It will be shipped after this event to the Leigh Yawkey Woodson Art Museum for their group exhibition, Birds in Art, which Chris has been participating in since 1987 and was named Master Artist in 2004. 

I want to talk a little about why I chose Paletta for today. Finding a location that had special meaning for Chris was a process. I did my best to make this event reflective of Chris and the classy gentleman he is, and also worthy of him. He deserves all this and so much more. Short of flying to Bermuda, his favourite place on Earth, or hosting it on the beach in Long Point or Point Pelee, I also wanted a comfortable place central to where most guests would be coming from.

When Chris was in the hospital, I would mention to him that I couldn’t wait to sit out the back of our condo on the lake together in the warmer months. His face lit up every time, and he would whisper, “Yeah, yeah.” Once, he managed to say, “That’ll be out of this world.” So I had chosen our condo property as the location, a spot that is so special to him, he even made several paintings of the lake view from there. Sitting out watching the water and waterfowl, little brown bats, bald eagles, weasels, coyotes and even beaver, was something we did often and he dearly looked forward to again. The condo board kindly approved the event, but with the logistics of hosting on a private residential condo property, and having to relay those limitations to guests, it became clear that it couldn’t be the open, welcoming event that I wished for.

So I thought of Paletta, still fulfilling that dream of being on the lake, just minutes down the road from our spot. This is a place where Chris and I would sit on the terrace sharing a cup of coffee, and bird-watch through the slice of Carolinian forest. I remember the first time he brought me here. We were dating and I didn’t know my Starlings from Grackles, and showed up in a bright red T-shirt dress. Chris took one look at me with his binoculars around his neck, and commented with a grin, “At least you blend in, Ash.” I’ve happily learned a bit more about birds and bird-watching since then.

So here we are, Chris, out at the lake in our neighbourhood, as promised, all of us here to honour you. 

Before this Celebration today, I did have an impromptu memorial of sorts in Florida on April 9th with some dear friends. Far from a vacation, my sister Lisa and her husband Peri had invited me to their home there so that I wouldn’t be alone in the first weeks afterward. We happened to be in the same area at the same time as some friends of Chris’, it felt like fate. I know Chris would have approved, it was right up his alley: toasting with a glass of wine on the ocean, shore birds soaring overhead. And I hope this Celebration today is one that he will also look down on with love and appreciation.

While I have been writing this tribute, I was self-conscious of hitting the right tone, the right length, etc. Then I realized that I just need to share my thoughts on Chris, from the heart. That is what he would want and this is for him. So this will be much more than a few words. I could talk about Chris all day. And I probably do.

To the love of my life and my best friend:

I usually refer to Chris in the present tense because I believe he lives on, and he is more alive and well than ever, just not here. It is both a comforting thought, and a truth that keeps me going.

Chris Bacon. So many words come to mind when I think of him. “Gentle and kind,” are the words I hear most often from people. A true gentleman, and a true artist. I can wholeheartedly vouch for that character, after more than 15 years together. I’ll add some more: Boyish and child-like. Endearing. Proper. Sensitive, but not easy to offend. Patient and calm. Responsible, almost to a fault. Humble. Introspective. Faithful and doting. Particular. Sophisticated. And dare I add: goofy. Not a side he showed to many. And of course he decided to wait until after we married to show me the extent of that side, and slowly. Fortunately I have the same side to me. We laughed every day together. We would ask each other, “Do you think So and So act like this at home?” “Nah!” we’d say. “Probably not.” There are so many ways to describe Chris, but I’ll add just one more: irreplaceable.

The beautiful man we are celebrating was born Christopher Bacon III in 1960, in England. His father Chris was an Englishman, his mother Norma a native of Hamilton, Ontario. Chris II was employed by Cable & Wireless, and consequently the young Bacon family, including Chris and his sister Karen, travelled the world.

Chris’ earliest years were spent on Ascension Island in the South Atlantic Ocean. Every four years, the Bacons were stationed at the next exotic location, which included Fiji, Bermuda, and England, before settling in Burlington in the mid-1970s. The tropical locales of Chris’ childhood had an immense influence on him, and his earliest memories are punctuated with intense visuals, sounds, and experiences. These no doubt only fueled his creative leanings.

Chris’ artistic gift was apparent from a young age, drawing the notice of his parents who always ensured that Chris had enough materials with which to draw. Several of these sketches still exist and I have included copies in the photo books, which I feel are compelling evidence of a prodigy. 

As an 11-year-old in England, Chris entered an art competition at a local fair, only to be disqualified two years in a row. It turns out the judges didn’t believe a child of that age could create drawings of that sophistication. It took Chris drawing directly in front of the judges to convince them, winning himself his first set of watercolours. Chris called this one of those “pivotal” moments in life. As a result, watercolour was Chris’ first medium as a painter, and one he handled so uniquely that it can be difficult to distinguish his later acrylics from his watercolours.  

Chris painted at home incessantly as a teenager here in Burlington, avoiding his high school studies enough that he failed several classes, including art, ironically. He graduated a year late. Chris’ art teacher, Finn Mackenzie, nevertheless was a great support, introducing him at age 16 to Robert Bateman. Bateman had a few tips for Chris: more research, more fieldwork, and to “paint from the elbow,” as he did. Chris only took the first two to heart, refusing to depart from his own self-taught style.  

By age 18, Chris lugged his portfolio into the Alice Peck Gallery on Old Lakeshore Road, convincing the owner to set up his first solo show. Several months later, 22 of Chris’ paintings hung on the gallery walls on opening night. Chris sat in his 1968 Triumph GT6+ across the street, wondering where all the people were coming from as they poured into the gallery. He entered the line-up, only to hear “There’s one painting left!” The man behind Chris shouted back, “I’ll take it!” A sell-out show in three minutes at the age of 19 may have had some influence on Chris respectfully declining his offer of admission to the Ontario College of Art & Design, forever cementing his self-taught status. 

Following this success, Chris became involved with Beckett Fine Art in Hamilton. Tom Beckett Sr. handled Chris’ work exclusively, and a special relationship has continued with Tom Beckett, Jr over all these years. The connection with the gallery goes even deeper, because that’s where I first met Chris, 20 years ago, when I was 20. 

Chris’ work through the ‘80s and early ‘90s was exquisitely fine, diminutive in size and characterized by intense detail, him often painting with a magnifying glass and one-hair paintbrush. Chris would occasionally go to the extreme of even painting the reflection in a bird’s eye. Even more amazing is that Chris accomplished this with being born blind in his left eye. Please enjoy an example from this era lent here today from David and Andrea Shemilt, and do use the magnifying glass to fully appreciate it. Though Chris later moved away from this intense level of detail, he explained in Wildlife Art magazine in 1997 that, “My work will always have this fineness. I’m not doing it to grab anyone’s attention. I hope that the original idea and the way I portray that idea is the lasting impression as opposed to how I did the reflection in the eye.” 

Chris’ thirties marked a significant evolution in his work. In 1996, he painted a portrait of a sandhill crane. He realized for the first time in his career that this was actually a self-portrait. In a magazine article, Chris reflected that “it wasn’t until I reached the age of thirty and only after serious introspection, that I discovered the true meaning […] in these works. I reached a point in the evolution as an artist, when I realized that my very life was beginning to reflect in my art…” (PT Explorers, 2017).

Chris began to create more ethereal paintings that at times did not reflect naturalistically-accurate scenes. He also introduced acrylics and bolder colour palettes. It has been noted that Chris’ art is often “unphotographable,” meaning it portrays something that cannot simply be represented by a photograph. “I never paint anything the way I see it; it’s always about the way I respond to it,” he explained (Wildlife Art magazine 2004). The painting “Moon Lights” on the wall behind me is an example of this, and one of the reasons I borrowed it for today. It was also the painting that Chris and I discussed at length together in the early days over a family dinner, before we started dating, so it’s special to me.

During this time, Chris also became fascinated with the concept of capturing what he called, “the space in between sounds, between movement…moments of stillness.” (Alight booklet 2010). He referred to it as the moment “when you toss a ball in the air and it says still for just an instant before it falls back to earth.” This fascination with the moment-in-between has endured for decades for Chris.

A slew of accolades have followed. Chris’ art has been displayed across North America, Europe and even Japan. He is a Master Signature Member of the Society of Animal Artists with seven Awards of Excellence; he was the youngest artist at age 43 to be named “Master Artist” in the 2004 Birds in Art exhibition at LYWAM; in 2010 he held his retrospective exhibition, “Alight,” showcasing thirty years’ work at the Art Gallery of Burlington (the booklet he created for that event is in the library); and in 2012 he was awarded the Queen Elizabeth II Diamond Jubilee Medal for excellence in the arts. These are just highlights. 

So what is it about birds, for Chris? To me, they are an ideal vehicle to artistically express Chris’ subtlety, his sensitivity, his vulnerability yet resilience. He loves the challenge of capturing what he calls their “birdness.” He explained, “I just like painting birds. I seem to have some kind of connection with them. The more I learn about them and watch them, the more fascinated I become. I […] can’t imagine what this place would be like without them.” 

Even so, Chris shied away from being “pigeonholed,” pardon the pun. He painted in a way that no one has before. Is he a wildlife artist, or avian artist, or naturalist artist? None of them truly fit. Chris at times even avoided the term “artist” because he felt that it was presumptuous. From his own Instagram account, he describes himself simply as “Painter…Subject matter drawn from nature, with an emphasis on birds.” He was beginning to venture into landscapes, nary a bird in sight, and looser watercolours of Bermuda scenes. An example from his Bermuda series is on display in the barroom here. Many of the paintings of Chris’ final years also emphasize negative space, birds in the skies, soaring in flight with light enveloping them, while others almost border into an abstract quality. 

Why am I discussing Chris’ art at such length? Because being an artist is not what Chris does, it’s who he is. It’s how he looks at the world. If he’s not painting, he’s thinking about painting: about colour, form, composition, and light. I just found out that the first person in the Bible that God anointed with the Holy Spirit was an artist, which shows just how much God values artistic beauty. Because Chris is an artist at the deepest part of him, his work has been incredibly important to me. I have loved sharing my life with an artist, and being invited “in” to his work. He always wanted my input, even when I was reluctant for fear of interfering with his vision. I loved the evenings when I’d check on what he was doing, and we’d sit at the easel and talk about his work. It was priceless and still means so much to me. 

I never anticipated, however, how much Chris would mean to me on the deepest personal level, when I first met him in 2006 at Beckett Fine Art. My Mom was managing an Oakville location, and I walked in one afternoon, not realizing that Chris was standing nearby. Chris saw me and followed me immediately up the stairs. I remember vividly standing in front of “Sarus Crane,” suddenly finding myself in a deep discussion about it with Chris. I was astounded by this piece, and as I spoke with him about it, I sensed a kindred spirit in him. To say he appeared interested is an understatement, but it took him four years to gather the courage, as he later put it, to ask me out. It was not a good time in his personal life when we met, and he didn’t want to scare me away with the significant age gap. He later told me that the passing of his father in 2009 made him realize that he needed to make the most of life, and “just go for it.” He also wanted something to invite me to, and carefully planned his 2010 exhibition at the AGB to be that event. 

Besides bumping into each other a handful of times before that at art events, the most significant interaction we had during that time was also in 2006. A few months after meeting Chris, I was writing an article for my Dad’s wine and culture blog, and thought of Chris for the subject. Chris was very willing to be interviewed, and we had an incredible conversation that stayed with both of us for the next four years. I was able to find the original article and printed out a copy for this day, it’s in the library as well.

When Chris personally invited me to his 2010 exhibition, I had been living in Vienna and just returned to Canada. My family and I attended his beautiful exhibition, and when we walked in, I still remember the way he exclaimed, “Ashley!” My Mom suggested we have him over for dinner sometime, and he replied, “When?”

He emailed me immediately after the show, telling me how much he thought I was a “lady.” Another email shortly followed, with apologies and explanations of what he meant by “lady,” only in the very best way, of course. Soon after, carefully planned, he asked me out on a date. “Would you do me the honour of joining me at the ballet?” he inquired. “Nothing heavy,” he felt he needed to say, determined not to scare me off.

We dated three years, Chris wining and dining me, introducing me to camping, canoeing, bird-watching, and taking me to his beloved Bermuda many times. Both of us still had sweaty palms a year into our relationship, I remember that as we held hands on one of our dates. On our third anniversary, he knelt down and asked me if I would do him the honour of marrying him, and saying “yes” was the best decision I ever made. We married in Bermuda in 2014, in the 400-year-old church he envisioned as a boy he might marry in one day. This May 15^th would have marked our 12^th wedding anniversary.

Thank God we inspired each other to overcome our mutual fear of marriage. We had no idea that it would turn out to be the greatest blessing of all. The connection Chris and I share was apparent from the moment we met, and we noticed it increasingly over the years. We marveled at how harmonious we are together, seeing life and the world often through the same lens. Chris would say to me, “Connected!”  I remember in the early days of dating, we were bird-watching when we spotted some chickadees. We both blurted out, “Look, they’re like little flying candies!”  An unusual thing to say, in the same way, at the same time. We both had childhood dreams of becoming pilots or National Geographic photographers. We found connections like this every day. He’d say, “Ash, what word am I thinking of?” and I’d tell him. Another time, despite our decision not to have children, I asked him out of curiosity what he would have named a girl if we had had a daughter. I had always envisioned the name, “Emma” but never told him. His answer, without skipping a beat, was “Emma.” I don’t think Chris or I really believed in the idea of soul mates until we met, but our experiences together proved otherwise to us.

That glow of nervous excitement for the first few years gave way to something even better for both of us as time went on: a deeper love, harmony and devotion. An unshakeable trust. We could confide in each other what we had never confided before. Our relationship was our safe space in which we could be our true selves with each other. He told me till the end that he loved me more everyday, and the deep waters of health challenges we both experienced were those proving grounds. 

A few years into our marriage, I developed Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, which forced me to be bed-bound and then housebound for some time. Chris cared for me like no one else. He spoon-fed me, carried me in his arms from room to room, and nursed me back to the health I am in (still a ways to go, but far from where I was). He read books about my condition and had long talks with my doctor on the phone. When the tables turned and Chris was in need, it was the greatest honour and privilege of my life to care for him, whatever his needs were. I was in it for the long haul, and I’d do it a thousand times over for him.

We’ve had many adventures together even through the past few years, like camping for weeks in the Maritimes, Florida, and more. And we still had many adventures planned, like buying a cedar shingle cottage on the ocean where we could paddle out in the evenings. Life challenges have prevented us from achieving some of those goals, but every step of the way, Chris always shared with me, “there’s no place I’d rather be than right here with you, Ash.”

I don’t want to say much about Chris’ final, difficult year when his mysterious symptoms started, and especially the final four months after his first stroke. He suffered at least four debilitating strokes, due to what we finally realized (too late) was a rare and aggressive cancer. It was a harrowing four months. Thank you to my amazing family who rallied with me around Chris with all their might, to do everything in our power to make him comfortable and meet his needs. They simply adore Chris. Special honour to my sister Steffi, who helped me care for Chris with a sisterly and almost motherly love nearly every day in those last few months. Chris loves being a part of this family, as a proud uncle, son, brother, and husband. And thank you so much to all of his loved ones here who offered visits and support through that time.

I am so thankful that Chris is not suffering anymore. He is thriving, up there. I so look forward to seeing the paintings he is working on and can’t wait to show me. The thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that I will see Chris again, that our life together is not over, simply on hold. My sister Lisa reminded me of that. That special relationship we have does not end here, we still belong to each other and I eagerly look forward to carrying on where we left off.

Amid all these comforting truths, Chris was simply gone far too soon. It’s not fair. I fully expected another 30 years together. It is beyond painful to spend any time apart whatsoever. This journey of grief ahead might change or get easier down the road – so they tell me – but it will not end until I see him again. 

Chris is easy to love, he is one fascinating and beautiful soul. He loves music, with diverse taste, from Mozart to Radiohead, his favourite being, of course, Peter Gabriel. Favourite painter? Spanish impressionist Joaquin Sorolla, whose expressive work he called, “yummy.” He has a penchant for English humour, loves travel, the tropics, watching nature documentaries, going for a paddle in his canoe. Camping is one of our favourite things to do together, or country drives sharing a Timmies coffee, him always reaching for the binoculars before we left. Road trips with paper maps, in which the journey is as important as the destination, which is probably why it took us two days to drive from here to Point Pelee once (it should be two hours, by the way).

Chris is a man of faith. He shared with me many years ago that, after a lifelong, general belief in the existence of God, he believed in Christ as his Lord and Saviour. It has been a very personal part of him. He may not have always talked openly about it, but it was increasingly visible in the way he lived. It is natural and child-like, not religious or dogmatic. One of his ways of loving and worshipping God is painting beautiful pictures of His creation. One of his ways of being Christ-like is not a spiritual check-list, but by reflecting His nature through kindness, gentleness, and faithfulness.

Equally handsome through all the years, with that soft-spoken voice that compels you to lean in and listen. Some of you from his earlier years have known him as “Chrispy,” as in, “Chrispy Bacon.” My family and I know him as “Christoff,” another nickname that he took on happily when he joined our family. He always signed his sweet notes to me that way, including the last one, which I saved and have here.

Chris lived by a beautifully old fashioned code. The kind of old-fashioned that kept a photo of me in his wallet to show people. The kind of man who showed up in a full suit to a casual get-together because he was doing laundry. He’d  always make a point of using people’s names. “Well, Bernhardt told me this…” he’d say. Sorry, who is Bernhardt again? “The cashier at Fortinos.” It’s like he is old friends with everyone. He is a listener rather than a talker. Except when you ask about his work. Then, pull up a chair, you’re in for an experience. A painting of words.

There is a saying that you don’t know what you have until it is gone. Well, every day for over 15 years, I have known what I have in Chris, and I will cherish it forever. I have appreciated and loved him every day. I sometimes wondered if Chris asked himself what he had gotten himself into, when I developed CFS. But he never stopped expressing his “agape love” (as one of his friends put it), in both word and deed. Many of you have also told me that he is waiting for me, and that helps me put one foot in front of the other.

Chris, you always told me that I am your dream, that you waited your whole life for me.
I can truly say to you that you are my dream, and I will wait the rest of my life for you. You are the only one for me!

Thank you all for coming to celebrate this incredible person, Chris Bacon, and for staying to the end of my speech. Believe it or not, this is the short version, because I just have so much to say about Chris.

Finally, I would like to conclude this speech with a special moment. Let’s all close our eyes together, each of us imagining our favourite memory of Chris, as a thank-you for everything he is. Let’s take that moment now, for just a minute.

To you my Darling, always and forever.