Mourning a beloved cousin is hard enough, but it’s even harder when he happens to be an accomplished artist who deserves a proper biography.

Last week the Egyptian art and culture community lost one of its most talented members, the Egyptian-Armenian artist Vahan Telpian whose golden heart stopped beating. Born in 1963, he never left the Downtown Cairo street of his birth, Mohamed Mahmoud Street. He attended the Kalousdian Armenian School, then graduated from Helwan University’s Faculty of Art Pedagogy with a BA in sculpture. He practised painting, sculpture and decorative design. Vahan was influenced by his art teacher Chant Avedissian and his mentor Ahmed Fouad Selim. For several years he also taught art at the Armenian school.

Vahan’s talent may have been inherited from his uncle Vahan Amadouni, after whom his mother named him, though he met him only very few times, as Amadouni used to live between Aleppo, Beirut and Los Angeles, and visited Egypt only twice. In time, family members noted the incredible resemblance between the two of them: in appearance, character, lifestyle and beliefs, even the style of drawing.

Friends and acquaintances were all in disbelief when news of Vahan’s passing away gradually spread. Initially many were unsure of the news, with some posting on his Facebook wall: “Vahan, are you alright?” But even after the family made an official announcement, others were so shocked continued to doubt the veracity of the news.

The Egyptian Ministry of Culture published a statement in which Minister Ahmed Henno mourned Vahan: “The Egyptian and Arab plastic arts lost a distinguished artist who left a clear mark in the field of sculpture. Artist Vahan Telpian was a symbol of creativity and distinction, and he presented many sculptural works of art that enriched the Egyptian and Arab cultural scene.”

In 2007, when I was called to join the Heikal Foundation for Arab Journalism, I went to meet the renowned Mohamed Hassanein Heikal at his Barkash resthouse on his request. He was effectively interviewing me while taking me on a tour around his place. In the course of it I saw a piece of sculpture that seemed very familiar to me in its unique style. I didn’t hesitate to ask Heikal about the artist. “He’s an Egyptian-Armenian sculptor, but I can’t really remember his name at this moment,” he said. “Vahan Telpian,” I provided immediately, and Heikal answered, “Yes, you’re right, but how did you know?” I explained, “He’s my cousin.”

Most of Vahan’s sculptures are iron installations, sometimes huge and shaped like human bodies. They tend to suggest skyward gestures, praying or flying. He was a man of freedom Vahan constructed a huge environmentally friendly project, 70 metres long and 30 metres wide, near Marsa Alam. In that landscape he erected dozens of tree trunks and stems, some of which were covered with aluminium sheets.

Art critic Fatma Ali says that, since Vahan never talks about his works, “some may see what I saw, while others may feel them as wedges and bones of the moving earth. In both visions, it is a work related to the school of ‘Earth Art.’” And yes, Vahan always says that he belongs to Earth.

The prominent gynaecologist, intellectual and art collector Mohamed Abul-Ghar couldn’t make it to Vahan’s atelier. He expressed his sorrow: “Perhaps our destinies will bring us together one day after the lost moment of our meeting,” he wrote, quoting the poet Ibrahim Nagui in the famous  Umm Kulthum song, Al-Atlal (The Ruins).

The US-based Egyptian-Armenian journalist Thomas Gorguissian, who visits Egypt every year, mourns his lifelong friend: “I lived with young artist Vahan as he watched with interest and passion the movement of ants searching for food. I saw him tirelessly putting lines and colours together to produce a painting. I saw him collecting tree branches, pieces of neglected broken glass and metal in order to put them together in a form that his imagination sees as expressive and beautiful. I saw him building a small cottage on top of a tree next to his grandfather’s house in Maadi. And with these words I try to overcome my tears and deep sadness as I celebrate the artist, his art, the human being and his impact and distinguished presence he has had in my life as well as the lives of his friends and loved ones.”

Vahan’s  life experience does not correspond to his age. It must be at least double his age. He was an eccentric character, a unique phenomenon. Once in a lifetime you meet someone who makes that kind of impression. He loved to sit in front of firewood and meditate for hours on end.

When you forgive you heal, when you let go you grow; To love is to stop comparing: those were some of his last posts on his page a few days before his sad departure. He also shared a painting that most of us could read as a broken portrait that evidences much suffering. I don’t know when exactly this painting was made but he cites its production year, 2024. “Vahan’s departure has left me terrified, with a sick feeling of alienation. Vahan Telpian is a creative talent, a pure heart, with good and genuine features. Your departure from this world is the worst thing kind people can do,” one of his friends wrote, sharing that same painting.

Vahan’s father was a photographer, his studio was a dark room inside their apartment on Mohamed Mahmoud Street. Our childhood photos were all taken by Vahan’s father, Vahakn, the owner of Studio Aram, named after their youngest brother. His father was ballerina Magda Saleh’s main photographer and a good friend of the family. She used to be in constant contact with them, paying them a visit from time to time when in Egypt, even after their father’s death, until she left this world.

He was convinced that a person is born with a certain talent even if it is revealed after many years. “Your photographic talent was born with you, it’s you who weren’t ready to practise it because of the busy life you were leading,” he said, and since 2019 had been my greatest supporter. “It runs in the family,” he would frequently tell me.

Artist Hossam Sakr, a university classmate who used to share with Vahan their working spaces and painting colours, posted a blurry red photo of Vahan on his Facebook page with the following words: “My passerby friend. How was the trip? A few days ago, we were walking around pharmacies, looking for painkillers, not to kill your pain, but to relieve the pain of your loved ones. You were happy to find it and you set off rejoicing, quickly overcoming your pain to reach your great, loving mother. You shared with us many details of your trip, my friend. And I learned to give, that giving is the condition of safe passage. I will miss you very much. I will miss the moments of that game of capturing a photo of your great soul, that has outstripped your meagre body... O great... Loving person.”

A few years back, Vahan lived and worked between Sharm El-Sheikh and Dahab, indulging his passion for nature and meditating. But then he would always come back to settle in Mohamed Mahmoud Street where he was born and raised, and where that rooftop atelier a couple of blocks apart always called him for new creations. Rebellious, he was: Vahan was lover of the sacred land where he was born, always fought for its freedom and justice, risking his life several times during uprisings.

The artist took part in the International Symposium of Sculpture in Aswan in 1998 and 1999. Among the venues at which he gave solo exhibitions were the Cairo-Berlin Gallery in 1992, the Arts Complex in Zamalek in 1995 and 1999, Darb1718 (Roots exhibition) in 2008, and Gallery Noot in 2018. A father-and-son exhibition in 2021 showcased works by the artist and his son Kayan, revealing the special relationship between them. Among the group exhibitions Vahan took part in were Twice at Lamasat Gallery, Something Else at the Citadel, the First Forum for Rock Salt Sculpture in Siwa, the Fifth Cairo International Ceramic Biennale, and the Second Sculpture Salon at the Palace of Arts. He was awarded at the 6th and 9th Youth Salon in 1994 and 1997.

Vahan was always passionate, his love of life and people, his adventurous spirit and the audacity to take risks guided him and influenced those around him, no matter the frustrations and disappointments. We still had a lot to do together. I will cherish our conversations on art and life, I will miss his voice, our laughter, his enthusiasm, his crazy beliefs, his bohemian style which I didn’t get until I found it in myself too. “You’re on the right track,” he used to tell me. I even appreciated his stubbornness. He was clear, pure, as clear and pure as a newborn soul. Vahan was the rebel I admired. For his humility, he became the unknown artist but also the well-known one. His legacy, his thoughts and beliefs, his extraordinary works will stay with us forever. Vahan’s last appearance with family members was on his brother’s 60th birthday, four days before his departure. He rarely joined such occasions, since he lived in his own world. That day he came to say goodbye to us all, though.

Vahan is survived by his mother, his wife and 13-year-old son Kayan, and five siblings.

* A version of this article appears in print in the 24 October, 2024 edition of Al-Ahram Weekly