It’s never easy losing a loved one. Coming to terms with the loss can take years. Even then, when one grasps the true significance of the loss, a persistent compulsion may become undeniable. Waking in the morning to continue making coffee for two.
Holding conversation about the day that lay ahead with only a memory. Planting garden arrangements as she had for decades. Or, in this case, continuously painting the tree that stood outside her hospice room window. For years. Focusing. Searching. Thinking. Reflecting. Richard has been making mark after mark, day after day. Sheets of paper pile higher. Tree after Tree after Tree. Like clockwork. Yellows, browns, blues, oranges. More ink. Less ink. More paint. Less paint. Variations upon a single object. Drawn out by a perpetual motion machine, daily, weekly, monthly - for years.

When meeting with Richard to discuss the significance of his latest works, he seemed quite hesitant to go into detail. He would gloss subtly over the idea that it was connected to his late wife Beverley. Never would he fully sink into the moment and dive into his emotions. And why should he? That’s a lot to expect of him. It is hard enough to fully understand one’s own feeling, never mind discuss them plainly and concisely with the world.

Healthy grieving is not about severing attachment but transforming it. Why would anyone want to lose someone that was so profoundly good. Perfect, faults and all. Richard’s relationship with Beverley continues through memory and ritual. Richard’s act of painting Tree is a continuing bond. This act helps Richard sustain a connection and it is woven into the fabric of his life - like Beverley.

While sitting at Richard’s coffee table, we were able to speak at length about his latest body of work, Tree. With a paused moment between brush strokes, Richard looked blankly into space, “When Bev died at the hospital there was a tree outside her room. That somehow got implanted in my mind. And I didn’t realize it until two years later when I went back to visit the sight.” This repository of attachment helped awaken decades of shared experience. It also helped Richard look at the world through the lens of a younger Beverley. A young girl who grew up in the drought-stricken prairies of Saskatchewan in the 1930’s. “She said she never saw anything green for the first ten years of her life. Except for the tiny garden. And she couldn’t even find enough water to water that garden.”

I suppose the tree is as good as any object to symbolize relationship and the passage of time. It is after all a living organism that records time. In this, it also acts as a bridge between worlds. Roots reaching deeply into the unseen, a trunk standing firmly in the present, and branches extending out toward the future. 

The tree has long embodied the continuity of  life across generations. Whether expressed through the Norse Yggdrasil, the Bodhi Tree of Buddhism, the sacred trees of Mesopotamia, or the family tree that continues to shape our language of shared experience. Richard’s life continues to unfold in both the shadow and light of profound absence. He walks his path with new bonds that form while still revisiting his memories of Beverley. The key is that he moves onward. Upward. Becoming even wiser. Like the annual rings within a tree, grief leaves its marks. Proceeding years do not erase the loss. They surround it with new experiences. Joy returns with an added side of humility. Laughter returns with extra gratitude.

Letting go is found in the fabric of life itself. Beneath the surface, roots continue their work, gathering strength through winter so that new growth may emerge when spring returns.

With time, the act of grieving brings a sense of maturity. It offers a heightened awareness of life’s impermanence. Small moments such as a beam of morning light, the sound of rain against a window, the movement of leaves in the wind. They take on
unexpected significance.

Love is not measured only by the years shared, but by the ways it continues to shape the years that follow. Death ends a life, but it does not end influence. The departed becomes woven into the story of the one who remains.

In the end, the tree outside the window teaches perhaps its oldest lesson. Every season carries both endings and beginnings. Leaves fall so that buds may emerge. Branches weather storms yet continue to reach toward light. Though one life has passed beyond sight, Beverley’s roots remain intertwined within Richard. And in that connection, love continues its work, allowing Richard to endure and to grow toward a wisdom that only profound love and profound loss can reveal.

About the Artist

Richard Reid is a distinguished Canadian artist. As a founding figure of the Grand Forks Art Gallery he served as its Director for many years, helping establish it as an important centre for visual art and community engagement.

Raised in Winnipeg, he travelled extensively throughout his life, with time spent in London, Spain, Mexico, and Austria. These experiences helped shape a rich artistic practice for which he became widely known, particularly for his abstract figurative landscapes.

This journey was shared with his late wife, Beverley Reid. Both artists of note, Richard and Beverley worked alongside one another for decades, building lives devoted to art, education, and community. Beverley played a critical role in the formation of the Grand Forks Art Gallery, as well, her efforts remain an important part of its history.

Richard taught at the University of British Columbia before moving to the Boundary, where he built a home, along with Beverley on Stewart Road in Christina Lake.

Richard continues to be recognized for both his artistic achievements and his lasting contribution to the region. As a member of the Royal Canadian Academy of Arts (RCA), his career reflects a lifelong commitment to painting.

Richard, Beverley and many others helped lay the foundation for a cultural institution that has served artists and audiences throughout the Boundary for well over forty years.