Imagine instead that your life is a painting that remains on the easel, perpetually unfinished. Each day, you approach it with fresh eyes and a brush in hand, ready to add new strokes of color, refine its details or sometimes paint over entire sections to create something entirely new. This metaphor has helped me see life as a process — a canvas on which we continuously create and recreate ourselves.

Embracing imperfection

Experience in life — and in art — teaches us that perfection is not the goal. A masterpiece rarely results from flawless execution. Instead, it is born from the artist’s willingness to experiment, make mistakes and embrace the unexpected. The same is true of living a fulfilling life. Each misstep, each moment of uncertainty, is not a failure but a brushstroke — a necessary part of the larger composition.

When we view life as an ongoing painting, we learn to accept imperfection as part of the journey. We begin to understand that what may seem like an error today can become the foundation for transformation tomorrow. The layers of paint — some vibrant, others muted; some chaotic, others deliberate — tell the story of who we are and who we are becoming.

The courage to revisit the canvas

To keep our life’s painting on the easel requires courage. It means revisiting the canvas often, even when we are unsure what to add or afraid of what we might see. I have often returned to my own canvas after feeling stuck or disappointed, unsure whether to add a new color or scrape away what no longer felt true. We must be willing to ask ourselves: What needs to change? What can I improve? What do I want this painting to say about me?

As we grow and evolve, regardless of age, new experiences, relationships and insights become the colors on our palette. Sometimes life offers bright and joyful hues — moments of love, success and celebration that brighten the canvas. At other times, it brings darker shades — grief, loss and struggle that add depth and contrast to the painting. Both are essential. Without darkness, light has no context; without contrast, the painting lacks dimension.

An endless work in progress

I value the moments when I stand before my “unfinished painting” — to look, think, reflect and discover a new color. The beauty of life is that it is never truly finished. We continue adding to the canvas until the very end. The desire to leave behind a legacy of color and texture for others to admire and draw inspiration from can become one of life’s pleasant motivations.

Perhaps the greatest gift of all is the knowledge that our painting, though uniquely ours, is part of a larger gallery — a shared human experience that connects us to one another.

So I have learned to be comfortable keeping my life’s painting on the easel and returning to it often. Approach your own painting in progress with fresh inspiration from daily life, courage and an open heart. Remember that the most extraordinary works of art are not those that are perfect, but those that are alive with the spirit of their creator.

The post Keeping the painting on the easel appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

Baloyan’s roots are in the village of Shirakavan in Shirak Province, which borders Turkey and lies adjacent to Gyumri. Here, the past and the present collide along the Akhuryan River. Baloyan grew up in that borderland environment, listening to her father’s stories about his old childhood village, where her ancestors once lived almost side-by-side with the Turks, until it went underwater due to the expansion of the Akhuryan Reservoir.

Becoming an Artist

Baloyan entered the world of painting under her father’s guidance. Her father had an artist friend and admired the work of that friend’s son. Those artistic influences inspired him to take her to painting classes at age 17. Today marks only the fourth year of her creative journey. As she admits, the choice might not have been conscious at first, but was rather filled with great love for her father and a warm desire to please him, to do something for him through art.

She took her first professional steps under the guidance of artist and mentor Samvel Galstyan. She then continued her education at the Gyumri Branch of the State Academy of Fine Arts of Armenia.

Her primary medium is oil on canvas, though she also sketches on paper. Although she loves watercolor, she says she has not attempted to master it. Baloyan’s works are born while walking in the city, watching people, or from intense emotions relating to her native village. For this reason, she often titles her works “Impression” — as they are reflections of lived emotions.

Baloyan does not have a separate studio; her studio is her room. She paints in one corner and sleeps in another. After the chaos of the city, this is her place of tranquility, where thoughts are expressed freely.

In addition to studies (etudes), Baloyan dedicates a significant place to character-driven works. She studies human psychology at length, and when someone interests her deeply, they become the subject of her work. Her father has been a frequent model; she knows his facial features by heart. Recently, she created a conceptual series titled “Mama” (Mother), which expresses a mother’s memories, experiences and the generational gap in mindset.

From Vanished Homeland to Violence and Silenced Pain

The painting “15 Past 19” holds a special place in Baloyan’s art. It was born from an immediate impression when, at a specific hour every morning and evening at the border, she heard Turkish music (mugham) while having the ruins of Ani before her eyes. Only after creating the painting did she comprehend her work even more deeply: her father’s ancestral home lies beneath the Akhuryan Reservoir, and beyond the border are their lost territories.

Baloyan’s art is also a form of social protest. She addresses themes that are widely discussed yet simultaneously silenced in society, particularly violence against women. The catalyst for addressing this theme was an exhibition showcasing the garments of abused women and children, which left an oppressive impact on her.

The three large and three small works of her “Mama” series, as well as her installations, address the role of women, their silence and its consequences. The artist does not depict violence literally or graphically. For one painting, she spoke with a victim of violence and depicted the person’s memories through black and white abstract forms, while her own perspective came in the colors on top. Each symbol — whether in the form of a fish or a woman’s body shaped like a fish — is connected to those memories. “Violence is not an action taking place in the present moment; violence resides in upbringing,” she said with apparent grief.

A Debut Exhibition and Future Plans

Speaking about her faith, Baloyan says she grew up in a Christian family, but approached the Bible and faith more consciously as she grew older. In her work, faith appears not as religious dogma, but as a phenomenon — a faith that through her art, she can change something in society.

The result of this faith and dedication was her first solo exhibition, titled “Antes” (Unseen). It was organized at the Pyunik Development Center at 3/1 Buzand Street, where Baloyan’s 25 works were exhibited from April 12 to 19. Now, the artist is preparing for a new presentation. A three-person exhibition is currently underway in Gyumri, which she also considers a personal creative report. She will present herself to her hometown not only with paintings but also with installations and works created using the photographic cyanotype technique. Her strictest and most decisive critic remains her father, based on whose constructive remarks she always tries to improve her work.

Baloyan’s work transforms personal memory, societal pain and loss into color and symbol. Her canvases compel the viewer to look at history submerged underwater, listen to the silenced voices of women and consider that art still holds the power to change something in the world.

Senia Baloyan shares her art on her Instagram.

The post An underwater village and silenced pain in Senia Baloyan’s art appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

The realization that my grandmother Gayane’s language is becoming more of a museum piece with each passing day is painful. That voice is steadily drifting away from our daily lives. What for her is life and direct communication is becoming “heritage” for my generation, and for the next, it may become nothing more than an incomprehensible echo. When she utters a word filled with humor, sorrow and local color, I realize that word will never sound the same on my lips. I can write it down and record it, but I cannot “live” that word the way she does.

That voice is the last bridge to a world where language had not yet succumbed to standardization. There, every village and every canyon had its own color. Now, listening to my grandmother, I feel that bridge slowly vanishing into the mist. This is not merely a linguistic difference; it is the final chord of an entire essence that still resonates in our home, but whose echo grows fainter in the relentless current of time.

We have learned to think that language is what we see in textbooks or hear on the news — polished, edited and molded. But in reality, dialect is the “natural,” primal state of our language — the wild and mighty force that for centuries has been nourished by soil, water and raw human experience. My grandmother Gayane’s speech is that untainted source. It was not shaped at the desks of linguists; it was forged in the fields, born while baking bread, refined on mountain peaks and passed down in whispers from cradle to cradle. It is a living organism that has survived calamities for centuries, yet today, strangely, it finds itself at the edge of an abyss.

Today, we stand at a dangerous threshold where dialect is viewed as a relic of the past or “unrefined” speech. Yet it is within those layers considered “unrefined” that the true flexibility and richness of Armenian are hidden. Dialect is the immune system of a language; it has preserved nuances that the literary language long ago sacrificed for the sake of simplicity and universal clarity. When my grandmother speaks, I see how language “breathes” without artificial boundaries.

Unfortunately, the abyss at whose edge our natural language stands today has been dug by our own indifference and obsession with appearing “modern.” We are slowly losing the wild beauty that connected us to our ancestors’ worldview. Grandmother Gayane’s dialect is one of the last green islands above that abyss. If it falls, we will be left with a language that might be convenient for practical communication, but one in which the wondrous sounds from the depths of our roots — the sounds that made us unique and irreplaceable — will no longer ring out.

Sometimes, I close my eyes and try to imagine the world a few decades from now — a generation that has never heard the living breath of a dialect. It is a future where everyone speaks only “textbook” Armenian — flawless but cold. That generation will master grammar, know the spelling of words and perhaps even read the classics with clear and smooth pronunciation, but a kind of transparent emptiness will reign in their linguistic world. They will know the words, but they will not recognize their “soul.”

The soul of a word is that invisible energy born only within a dialectal accent, local humor or that unique idiom that has no translation. When my grandmother says a word, I see behind it the life she lived and the anxieties and joys of her ancestors. The future generation will be deprived of that feeling. For them, Armenian will become merely a tool for communication — similar to all the languages we learn through computer programs. It will be a language that has lost its “birth certificate.”

From this arises the most painful question: What will happen when a local idiom no longer echoes in any village? When dialects as powerful as the mountains of Lori, as sturdy as the rocks of Artsakh and as warm as the Ararat Valley fall silent, we will lose our inner diversity. Are we not, by this, severing our connection with the land and our history? After all, a dialect is the thread that binds us to a specific piece of land, a spring and the memory of a lineage. Without that connection, we will become linguistic “landlords” who own a house but lack the smoke of the hearth that warms it.

This linguistic void is terrifying in its monotony. Future generations might not even notice what they have lost because their ears have never learned to hear the multilayered music of a dialect. They will live in a monochrome linguistic environment where words are only information, not experience.

What are we losing?

Without dialects, Armenian is slowly turning into a monotonous and monochrome environment. The unique cadence that binds a person to their birthplace with invisible threads is replaced by standardized sounds. We lose the “flexibility” of the language; it becomes straight and flat, deprived of its multilayered shades.

Linguistic diversity is our cultural wealth. When we all begin to speak the same way, with the same vocabulary and the same intonation, we — wittingly or unwittingly — lose our inner diversity. My grandmother’s language is not just a means of communication; it is the final barrier against this universal “uniformity” and globalization. Within each of her “incorrectly” pronounced words or ancient idioms lies an entire genetic code that prevents us from becoming a faceless crowd. When that barrier collapses, we lose our “local” self, dissolving into a general, faceless reality.

Sometimes I ask myself: What will our grandchildren understand of the heritage left by Grandmother Gayane? Will they be able to feel the emotion hidden behind her every sound and accent? We can create dialectal dictionaries, we can digitize her voice, but a dictionary cannot translate the experience one has only when that language is a part of one’s blood and daily life. If our grandchildren cannot “translate” my grandmother’s emotion, they will remain linguistic orphans — possessing rich libraries but empty spiritual memories.

Conclusion

The loss of dialect is not progress, but an extreme impoverishment of our inner world. With every dialect that falls silent, we lose a color, a layer of our identity.

My grandmother’s language is the bridge that keeps us connected to our land and our history. We are obligated not to allow our language to become monochrome, because our grandchildren must have the opportunity to speak not only with words, but with the soul of their ancestors.

The post If Armenian becomes monochrome: What language will our grandchildren speak? appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

Guarding all their dreams in between
Boyle Heights; a second sea’s embrace
A familiar arrival yet yearning for home
Their path illuminated for enduring survival
A journey honoring a divine safeguard

God’s presence truly embroidered within their souls
To honor them, I quietly pray
Grant them eternal rest with you, oh Lord

And while on this sacred path, I will stay
Within my sentimental soul, their legacy
                    Changes me
In my admiration, their valor I deeply crave

Dearest ancestors, we will gather one day again
                  On this road back to
                             Hollenbeck Park 

The post Poem: Hollenbeck Park appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

As the vote-counting process began, Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan declared victory from Civil Contract headquarters at 2:10 a.m., when only 15% of votes had been counted. Asked about his premature declaration of victory, Pashinyan said, “I want to emphasize that the Civil Contract party has received more votes than it did in 2021,” reporting that party representatives at all polling stations had provided figures showing Civil Contract’s victory. In the same address, Pashinyan continued his campaign attacks against Samvel Karapetyan, Robert Kocharyan and Gagik Tsarukyan, accused them of vote-buying and called for their imprisonment. 

Strong Armenia Alliance leader Samvel Karapetyan and Wings of Unity party leader Arman Tatoyan accused Pashinyan of declaring victory to influence the outcome of the elections before the completion of the vote-counting process. 

Karapetyan described Pashinyan’s announcement as “disgraceful” and said, “You all saw over the past month what kind of persecution and violence we have been subjected to.” Karapetyan also emphasized that numerous violations occurred at polling stations, citing the alleged entry of soldiers brought in to vote after midnight at a polling station in Meghri. 

Tatoyan, meanwhile, said: “The head of government has no authority to declare his sole victory when only slightly more than 10% of the voting results have been counted. We consider Nikol Pashinyan’s statement to be an open illegal influence on the Central Electoral Commission aimed at affecting the election results, which is criminally punishable.” 

In another instance, citizen Gayane Gabrielyan alerted the “Ishkhanutyun” news outlet and reported that, in addition to herself, seven other people were registered at her home address, though she does not know them. “We bought our house 30 years ago and know the previous owners, but we have no idea who these seven people registered at our address are,” she said. 

Meanwhile, some heads of state have begun congratulating Pashinyan on his victory. 

Russian presidential spokesperson Dmitry Peskov said, “The Kremlin is awaiting the publication of the final election results in Armenia and is taking note of all reports, including those of numerous violations.” Russian Foreign Ministry spokesperson Maria Zakharova said the parliamentary elections in Armenia were held under unprecedented pressure on the opposition and Western interference. 

Central Election Commission Chairman Vahagn Hovakimyan said at a news conference that it remains unclear whether three or four political forces will be represented in the upcoming parliament because of uncertainty over the results of the Prosperous Armenia Party, led by Gagik Tsarukyan. Prosperous Armenia spokesperson Ivet Donoyan said the party had begun the vote recount process in a number of polling stations. Donoyan detailed the party’s position by giving the following examples: “At polling station 27/7, the party received 77 votes, whereas the CEC website shows 1 vote. In polling station 12/20, 26 voters cast their ballots for the party, while the CEC website shows 1 vote. At polling station 27/26, the party received 19 votes, while the CEC website shows 3 votes. At polling station 37/53, the party received 7 votes, while the CEC website shows 4 votes.” 

As it stands, the ruling Civil Contract party will hold on to a parliamentary majority but will no longer benefit from a constitutional majority of two-thirds. 

Assuming the Prosperous Armenia Party, which has recorded 3.996% of the vote, does not meet the 4% threshold required to enter parliament, the upcoming parliament will be composed as follows:

• Civil Contract: 64 seats
• Strong Armenia Alliance: 29 seats
• Armenia Alliance: 12 seats

That would mean the ruling party would control three-fifths, or 60%, of seats, while the opposition would control two-fifths, or 40%.

In this scenario, according to the Constitution, at least three-fifths of the total number of deputies’ votes is required to pass laws, including the Rules of Procedure of the National Assembly, and to adopt or amend the Election Code, the Judicial Code, the law on the Constitutional Court, the law on referendums, the law on political parties and the law on the ombudsman. A three-fifths majority is needed to elect or dismiss judges of the Constitutional Court and the Supreme Court, or members of the High Judicial Council. Without a three-fifths majority, the ruling party cannot elect or dismiss the prosecutor general or the ombudsman. It cannot elect or dismiss members of the Central Election Commission, the Television and Radio Commission, the Audit Chamber or the governor of the Central Bank. 

While retaining these prerogatives, the ruling party can no longer amend the Constitution or put the Constitution’s fundamental articles to a referendum. This could mean that the goal voiced by Armenian authorities over the past year or two — to amend the Constitution through a referendum or adopt a new one — could be called into question. Amending the Constitution, especially its preamble, which refers to the Declaration of Independence, has been one of the ruling party’s commitments. 

ARF Armenia Supreme Body Chairman Ishkhan Saghatelyan, a lawmaker from the opposition Armenia Alliance, said: “Dear compatriots, thank you for every vote you gave us and for the trust you have placed in our team. We will continue our unwavering fight for our homeland until victory. We will speak more comprehensively about our future steps in the near future.” 

The post Pashinyan claims victory amid electoral violations and loss of two-thirds majority appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

Twenty years ago, June and I visited Armenia with a different agenda. We were on a church-sponsored sightseeing trip. At the time, John and my wife, Becky, weren’t up for the long flight from Boston yet. Being our first trip to Haiastan (Armenia), we were the only sibling couple traveling together on what our fellow bus riders thought was odd. We didn’t care. We wanted to experience Yerevan, visit ancient churches on the itinerary, and interact with Haiastan’s people on their own turf—or shall I say, concrete? 

We stayed in first-class quarters in Republic Square, not exactly typical for locals. We’d return to earth each day as we boarded our rickety bus with its broken-down bathroom. To further ground us in reality, the bus would proceed outward from Yerevan, and we’d inevitably see drivers of Soviet-era Ladas pulled over to the curb, hoods up and overheated radiators spewing steam. Sometimes, the disabled vehicles would be small, olive-green, round-ish buses, their commuters stranded on the sidewalk.

The extra-wide corner sidewalk of our hotel was the favorite evening haunt of the Der Hayr (priest) who guided our tour. We’d congregate there after our daily sightseeing, lick ice cream, people-watch and inevitably run into paregams (friends) from back home, also on a church tour. What we weren’t doing, however, was actually meeting locals on the street. We were simply following the tour’s script. 

During the communist years, long before the JJs and I made our trips, others went for their own reasons. Perhaps they imagined idyllic images of Mount Ararat. (Actually, the taller of its two peaks often hides in the clouds.) Or travelers may have sought bragging rights for visiting the village where their ancestors had lived. On a more mundane level, tourists could have had wishful thoughts of acquiring, at Yerevan’s Vernissage Market and its bargain prices, some tchotchkes. (My Mezmamas – grandmothers – using their mixed Turkish-Armenian dialect, would have called the items khver zver.) Earlier travelers might have had friends who begged them to bring back Armenian-made items that were hard to find in the U.S. — carved pomegranates or khatchkars (cross-stones), beaded jewelry, dried fruit or preserves, tiny tricolor flags or cognac. 

Times have changed. Armenia, despite its small size, is part of a global economy. There’s no more fretting about gifts labeled ‘Made in Armenia’: pillows, books or even 3-D printed churches. We can get them here in the States, online. Aeroflot no longer has its monopolistic grip. Even when June and I flew, it was on Air France via Paris. Now, thankfully, going to Armenia is as routine as flying within America, Europe or wherever. For their trip number six, the JJs had planned to fly through Dubai, their preferred route, but have rerouted due to the current political situation in the Middle East. 

As June, John and their cohorts prepare to return to Armenia, they have pressing issues on their minds. Building a house is providing a basic need. When June and I went to Haiastan, we dined with our fellow travelers in restaurants. Conversely, John, with his engineering background, and June, with her decades of teaching, will share their knowledge as they eat with locals and their team after a long day hoisting cement to the roof of the sixth home they’ll construct. 

June, John: hachoghootiun (good luck). Vartsgernid gadar (keep up the good work).

The post Build a home in Armenia appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

We don’t claim to speak for every Armenian in the Diaspora. No one can.

But we speak for those who still see Artsakh as Armenian land.

For the descendants of genocide survivors who carry memory not as a burden, but as a responsibility.

For those who believe justice is not a fantasy of our imagination, but rather a requirement of our survival.

For those who continue to fight for the release of Armenian prisoners, political detainees, and every captive still waiting to come home.

And to you, Nikol Pashinyan, our message is simple:

We reject you.

We reject you because when our homeland, Artsakh, faced existential danger, you promised resistance until the end. Today, you tell us it was never truly ours. The same Artsakh that generations of Armenians defended, built, prayed in, and sacrificed for. The same Artsakh that the Diaspora raised millions for while you served as commander-in-chief.

We reject you because you treat our history as negotiable. Because you speak of Armenian suffering in ways that invite doubt where there should be certainty. The Genocide is not a matter of interpretation; it is our lived reality. It is the story of our families. It is the reason millions of Armenians like us live outside our homeland today.

We reject you because you arrived with the promise of democracy, then dashed our hopes by arresting dissidents, targeting the opposition, berating your own citizens, and using every instrument at your disposal to sway the results.

We reject you because you have come after everything we hold sacred, from Ararat to the Armenian Church.

We reject you because you replaced Armenian unity with hate and division.

But most of all, we reject you because you have tried to teach Armenians to expect less from themselves: less justice, less sovereignty, less dignity, less hope. You have tried to convince us that our rights are unrealistic, that our aspirations are dangerous, and that unconditional surrender is sophistication.

We reject you today so that history records exactly where we stood at this moment.

You do not represent us. You do not represent Armenia’s national interests. And you do not represent the enduring will of the Armenian people.

We stand with every Artsakhtsi. Every political prisoner. Every family waiting for justice.

We stand with the displaced, the marginalized, the forgotten, and the betrayed.

We stand with everyone who dreams of a truly free, independent, strong, and democratic Armenia.

The future of the Armenian nation will not be decided by one politician, one government, or one election.

It will be decided by Armenians everywhere, every day—throughout the homeland and across the world.

The post Nikol Pashinyan, We Reject You appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

After extensive research and consultations with the organizers, Keith Lockhart, conductor of the Boston Pops Orchestra, conceived the idea of presenting one of the rare works of the Armenian American composer Alan Hovhaness: “Ode to Freedom.”

It is worth noting that Hovhaness was the son of Haroutiun Chakmakjian (1879–1973), who was born in Adana and later emigrated to Cyprus and eventually to the United States. From 1908 to 1918, Chakmakjian served as editor of the Armenian newspaper Hairenik and authored a comprehensive volume on Armenian history, as well as a well-known English-Armenian dictionary.

Among those present were Massachusetts Gov. Maura Healey and William Holst, son of Hinaqó Fujihara Hovhaness, Alan Hovhaness’ widow. Holst traveled from Seattle for the occasion.

After greeting the audience with a distinctive “Pari Yerego,” or ”Good evening,” Lockhart said Alan Hovhaness was one of the best-known American composers of the 20th century. Born in Somerville, Hovhaness spent many years in nearby Arlington, where he completed his schooling.

Lockhart described how the orchestra obtained the work, which Hovhaness composed at the request of Russian-born maestro Andre Kostelanetz for the bicentennial of the American Declaration of Independence. The piece was first performed by violin virtuoso Yehudi Menuhin in Virginia on July 3, 1976, under Kostelanetz’s direction. Additional historical details about the composition were obtained from the Yehudi Menuhin Foundation in London.

For this special occasion, violinist Sofia Vardanyan was invited from Yerevan. Accompanied by the Boston Pops Orchestra and guided by Lockhart’s experienced baton, she performed the composition. The work blended Eastern and Western musical traditions, creating an abstract and mystical atmosphere in which listeners could hear echoes of Armenian sacred music and Caucasian tonalities.

Before performing this piece, Vardanyan played “Hayr Mer,” or “Our Father,” with the orchestra.

Vardanyan began playing the violin at age 7 and has participated in master classes led by internationally renowned musicians, including Kim Kashkashian, Daishin Kashimoto, Boris Brovtsyn, Ani Kavafian, Ida Kavafian and others.

She studied at the Tchaikovsky Specialized Music School for Gifted Children in Yerevan under Professor Alexander Kosemyan from 2007 to 2014, and later under Professor Artashes Mkrtchyan from 2014 to 2017. Vardanyan has performed annual solo concerts in concert halls throughout Yerevan. In 2012, she participated in the Second International New Names Festival for Young Musicians and Performers, appearing with the Armenian National Philharmonic Orchestra and the Armenian State Chamber Orchestra. In 2015, she took part in a chamber concert during the Ninth International Music Festival of Yerevan, collaborating with violinists Ida Kavafian and Levon Chilingirian.

Since September 2022, Vardanyan has continued her studies at Vienna’s Musik und Kunst Privatuniversität der Stadt Wien through the Erasmus program.

The second half of the evening featured Pink Martini, the well-known group based in Portland, Oregon, which generated additional excitement, especially when the ensemble performed the beloved Armenian song “Ov Sirun, Sirun,” a frequent part of its repertoire.

The post A unique night marks the 250th anniversary of the United States appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

Born to Armenian Genocide survivors in California’s San Joaquin Valley, Hovannisian set out on a life’s journey to pioneer the field of Armenian studies in the United States and across the world. He founded and held the AEF Chair in Modern Armenian History, later renamed in his honor, at UCLA. He wrote the four-volume masterpiece, “The Republic of Armenia.” He preserved the history of the Armenian Genocide through several more books and a comprehensive oral history collection, which now resides at USC’s Shoah Foundation. His series of conferences on the historic Armenian cities and provinces also became books, in which the lost history, culture and spirit of Western Armenia are forever preserved. 

The Richard G. Hovannisian Library is envisioned as a world-class cultural and intellectual space. Work is already well underway on the ground in Yerevan, where specialists and catalogers are meticulously indexing the vast archival collection. By the end of this year, these volumes will be integrated into a beautifully designed facility featuring custom, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The space will serve as a dynamic center for the study and advancement of Armenian and regional studies, inspiring a new generation of scholars, thinkers and leaders through a year-round calendar of panels, symposia and educational programming. 

While the Hovannisian family, together with several allied Armenian institutions, has borne the lion’s share of the initial project and construction costs, a global campaign has been launched to bring this history-in-the-making across the finish line, funding the final outfitting of the space, ongoing archival work and future programming. 

 “We hope to build, in my grandfather’s name, a library that will not only perpetuate his legacy, but that will allow new generations of Armenians to discover the riches of our past and to be inspired and propelled toward our future,” said Garin Hovannisian, Founder of Creative Armenia, which is helping implement the project on the ground in Yerevan.

To make a tax-deductible contribution to the campaign, visit the official donation portal at https://www.creativearmenia.org/library. 

The post Fundraising campaign to establish Richard G. Hovannisian Library in Yerevan appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

When I was tasked with finding an Armenian American story to commemorate America250, my first thought was of Moses Gulesian, the Armenian who created the copper lion and unicorn statues on Boston’s Old State House. At the time, this was all I knew about him. As a relatively new resident of Massachusetts myself, and a non-Armenian at that, I did not yet realize that Moses Gulesian’s story reflected a deeper commitment to the preservation of history and a profound sense of humanity that encapsulates the American immigrant narrative.

His story is compelling from start to finish. Coming from a family of coppersmiths in Ottoman-ruled Marash and having made the pilgrimage to the Holy Land as a teenager — earning him the title “Hadji” — Moses had both the means and the desire to seek a more meaningful life that led him west. While on a business-related trip, he impulsively left his travel companions behind in Alexandretta with the sole idea of reaching America. Finding sporadic work, food and shelter in Smyrna while he awaited passage on any ship heading westward, Moses took enormous personal risks to fulfill his dream. His family strongly disagreed with his plans, going so far as to contact the only person they knew in Smyrna to take Moses’ money to prevent his departure. Still, Moses did not give up. He ultimately secured passage on a Sicilian ship out of the port of Smyrna, never to return.

Moses arrived in the United States in 1883, notably earlier than the waves of other Armenians to come, which proved to be very advantageous. In the ensuing decade, the Hamidian massacres of the 1890s would devastate the Armenians in his homeland, causing the first large exodus of Armenian refugees to relocate to the United States. Moses was not only able to reach the shores of America — a feat in itself, particularly as an oppressed person in his own country — but also learned English fluently and worked his way up from weaver to thriving businessman and philanthropist. He amassed a considerable fortune through his copper business and subsequent entrepreneurial ventures, substantial property and social standing in Boston society, enabling him to not only shelter and support hundreds of Armenian refugees in the face of devastation (including his family), but also to contribute to the artistic and historical life of the United States.

Moses Gulesian knew the value of acknowledging his adopted nation’s rich history, all the more since he was denied that right in his own homeland. His many ventures, from serving as the contractor commissioned to replicate the prominent historical statues on Boston’s Old State House, to writing his own plays, building his own theatre, and leading a campaign to save and preserve the Revolution-era warship “Old Ironsides” (the USS Constitution), Moses left a lasting imprint on American history. Harvard professor Albert Bushnell Hart described him as follows:

“Gulesian’s career was not all bank deposits, and hauling up the flag of Old Ironsides. It has been the good fortune, and the deserved reward of this “acquired American” to participate in patriotic groups, causes and triumphs, thus showing that not all Americans in spirit were born on American soil.”

Although now regarded as a more complex historical figure, Bushnell Hart’s opinion of Gulesian in 1938 offers a glimpse into the America they both inhabited. An Armenian immigrant who was described, also by Bushnell Hart, as “an Oriental who was, by nature, an Occidental” reflects the Eurocentric framework that shaped public life in the early 20th century, suggesting that despite his perceived “foreignness,” his ability to navigate the cultural norms that informed American policy and opinion was a skill that enabled his success both socially and financially. This allowed him to marry two white American women in his lifetime, inhabit predominantly white American spaces, and influence public opinion on politics and history in a country dominated by these social dynamics.

Despite his steady rise, he was brought to near ruin by the Great Depression. Dismayed by his situation, he suffered a breakdown and disappeared, frightening his family and prompting a nationwide search. He had ended up in New York City, unkempt and amnesic, unable to remember who he was or how he got there. He was brought back to his senses upon hearing a piece of music that his wife had composed and was sent back home to safety and comfort. He regained his health and began working toward rebuilding his former life. He died in 1951 at the age of 87 and is buried in Evergreen Cemetery in Boston. 

Irene H. Burnham, author of “Not By Accident: The Story of Moses H. Gulesian’s Career” (1938), wrote: “When Moses Gulesian is questioned about his experiences and achievements he unhesitatingly says that to the women who have been near and dear to him should be given all the credit for anything he has accomplished which is praiseworthy.”

Moses Gulesian bridged two worlds: immigrant and American. He lived within both through his love and compassion for his homeland and his people — his friends and family whom he left behind in Marash and those whose lives he saved in America — and through his forward-thinking determination to build a meaningful life for himself in his adopted country. In many ways, these qualities made him “more American” than many Americans themselves.

“Throughout his entire career,” wrote Burnham, “these Armenian traits of hope and bravery, the habits of working hard and waiting cheerfully” coalesced with his own sense of determination and self-confidence into a passionate and successful Armenian and a noble and devoted American patriot.

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