We were only a few days into our trip to Southwest China when we found ourselves, with team and translators, winding our way up a steep mountain three hours out of the city. As we held our breath, forcing ourselves not to look down at the huge drops on either side of us, we suddenly came upon what appeared to be the most idyllic of rural villages. Circled by a view of mountain tops and valleys, the village architecture spoke of rich tradition, white walls basked in the golden glow of freshly picked corn, interspersed with splashes of rich pink flowing from the hundreds of blooming flowers. It was like walking into a film set.

However this idyllic setting was the backdrop to a much more haunting tale. The village was designated as a place for those suffering with and recovering from leprosy. In this region of China, those found to have leprosy are forced to leave their family, friends and community and are sent, often many miles away, to isolated villages like the one we found ourselves in. Here, the twenty or so outcasts receive a minimum of medical care, and, despite their age and disabilities, they work in the fields under the glare of an intense mid-day sun. As we worked the fields with them, dressed their wounds, prayed and sang with them we began to catch a glimpse beyond their broken exteriors and with one man in particular a real friendship began to emerge.

With the language barrier seeming impenetrable, I decided to sit with my friend Pastor Y--- and draw his portrait. As I did this we sat in the beautiful comfort of companionable silence, sometimes broken by the melody of his tuneful humming. The act of drawing his portrait, spending 40 minutes devoted to him and giving him the drawing, cut deeply into the chains of shame and isolation spoken daily to him in the suffocating reality of being outcast from family, friends and community. I recognised the power in simply drawing someone’s portrait – it proved a powerful tool to place value and dignity on a broken individual.

As our friendship deepened after chatting through a translator I was affected deeply by the life of this incredible man. Having been in the village for 30 years, Pastor Y--- lived in a tiny dark room with almost no material possessions. He was one of the more disabled villagers, and having lost both of his feet he hobbles around on the stubs of his legs, back crooked, clutching a walking stick, with deformed hands blighted by the effects of the disease. Despite having next to nothing materially and suffering from such physical disability he still exuded an incredibly rich joy, his one-toothed grin echoing around the village.

After leaving the village I had Pastor Y---’s story pounding in me and decided to share it using my art. Back in the city, I created a 2-meter high drawing of my new friend. I placed it in the local university, and as students engaged with the work, I shared the story of a man who, having nothing possessed an incredible freedom and joy. He had recognised his life was part of something bigger than just himself; he was known by, and was friends with, the conductor of this greater reality. Free from the bonds of consumerism and materialism, his life was defined by being loved by and loving his Creator. In this freedom he had accessed a deep joy, one that could exist in the midst of isolation, disability and poverty.

As I shared his story with the students many were moved to give money to the villagers and in exchange for my artwork almost all the students gave a significant amount of money to go directly to help the villagers we had met. I found out the following week that in response to the artwork and the story, five of the students had also entered for the first time into this great reality of being known and loved by God.

Standing back from the experience, I began to see the incredible power my art had to communicate a story, to touch lives of both the poor and the rich and to build a bridge between the two.

Interested in exploring ways to use art to bless the poor? Contact Dave Nevard at : davenevard@googlemail.com