Untitled (Cancer Drawings), 2005

I didn’t want these works in the show, really. Please take something else, anything else.

They're just not representative of his work.
They were personal drawings, never meant for public exhibition.
I don’t think they’re really very resolved.

That’s not it.

I fucking hated these drawings.

Left to right: 1) With cancer, 2 + 3) getting better, making the cancer weaker, 4) without cancer.

Why?
They’re not successful.
How?
That fourth drawing. Maybe the cancer’s gone, but so are YOU. I can’t look at them.

He was doing meditation and visualization exercises. He conjured with line and color. He’s an artist, for chrissakes. And if this series worked? He would die. That fourth drawing doesn’t show a body any more. It’s a vapor, a wisp, a spirit. Perhaps something living, but nothing solid, not an ounce. And he was losing so much weight at the time. He was vaporizing in front of my eyes. At one point that winter he got below 100 lbs. He didn’t tell me till he’d gained it back, in the early spring. Sometime in January he’d lost the use of his right arm. AN ARTIST. He wasn’t writing me phone messages — he’d tell me, and usually forget to. I didn’t know that his actions were to prevent me seeing his handwriting. But that was it: tumors blocking nerves.

So I hated these drawings because they were a failure, they were supposed to show him getting better, but they showed him dying, and as art is always magic, they would work and I could at last blame him. I could relish my rage with him no longer around, but I couldn’t stand to see them. People saw them when they visited the studio those last few months, and at my Day of the Dead event. 

It was a year or two later when the curator mentioned he must include these moving, powerful pieces in this show, this big retrospective of the organization where we met — where I worked for five years, where Gavin had served on the board for six. I wasn't happy about his choice, but it was hopeless to persuade him to take something else. They gave him chills and he insisted they needed to be shown.

I had the better part of a year to get used to the idea of people seeing the four drawings, nearly the last ones Gavin touched. On the way to the loading dock I opened the portfolio and laid them out on my therapist's Aubusson. She looked them over with a gentle smile and a nod. “He knew he was dying,” she said.

The sky above the sea opened up. “Yes, I think he did.” The drawings had been a personal statement and his way of telling me, that I didn’t want to hear. The dance was over at that moment: the tension of what we couldn’t say, wouldn’t share, of his body departing. I’d been hoodwinked, but not really. He hadn’t LIED. He just didn’t say it directly. He didn’t push me. He didn’t want to leave. But he knew he’d lost power over staying.

I mean, why else a horizon line? There’s no horizon line if you’re going to live. It’s infinite, a glimpse of the divine, hope and hopelessness mixed up, but no joy, no physical body. The weather changes over this sea but there’s no sunlight. Gavin’s light always came from within. 

And he hadn’t said, I don’t think, that drawing four was himself, cured. It was the cancer, gone. He knew it before I knew it: of course he did. He had to. We couldn’t look straight at it. It was how we got by.

But knowing that he knew the end of his story, at least during the hours he worked on these drawings, makes it possible for me to see their loveliness and depth. Accepting what they were — how their failure was all in me, and not in his intention — enabled me to drop them off that afternoon, to look forward to showing them to you, to knowing I could tell this story without doom or pity, and that I could go back to admiring his eye and hand again, as it should be. The works were re-imbued with the normal mystery that it needs to hold your eye, once my rational distaste had left.

So I stood in front of them last night, in my Mexican shawl and good boots, and shared with strangers: “My husband the artist made these drawings when he knew he was dying. They were hard for me to look at for a long time, but four years later, I can accept them and understand what they were saying. I just didn’t want to hear it then, but denial helped me stay sane, and I’m okay now.

"Yes, I’m doing well, thank you.”

Wordless Wednesday: Our Day of the Dead ofrenda

The whole shebang

Gavin and his mother, Frances.

My Grandmother, who, at 103.5, outlived my husband.

My Day of the Dead: We’re not religious

If we aren’t religious, why did I sort through seven boxes labeled “holy objects” to get this smorgasbord? Looks like my faith vomited on the ofrenda. But it’s history and relic and color:

Top table, starting from 12:00:

• Stenciled virgin of Guadalupe on tin paneling, Christmas card from 80s by artist friend, Mark Clark
• Flanked by two ceramic virgins (local types) from the Aguilar sisters studio near Oaxaca, which we visited on our honeymoon

(Center) Otomi embroidered placemat (folded) from one of Gavin’s 70s trips to Mexico, which holds:

• Tiny lady of sorrows in black wood frame set up by Gavin for one of our home offerings
• Portrait of Gavin from my desk at my last job
• Gavin’s baby moccasins, Navajo, from when they lived in Albuquerque
• A special stone from his desk
• One of Frances’s many rosaries, this one in a neat little zippered leather pouch

Continuing from upper right corner:

• An important book
• Black Oaxaca vase, Gavin earlier trip to Mexico
• Tin fish which was our “kitchen god” from our first apartment together
• JFK pencil sharpener that used to live with the kitchen god on top of
• A cheat sheet with chords for all his old band’s songs
• A bronze award from a photo club in the 50s with red candles in it (used to be on kitchen shrine in our first house)
• Salt from Albuquerque salt-and-paper
• His yarrow sticks wrapped in some decorative Asian paper
• (Back to the left corner) Pepper
• Buddha
• Angel pin by Gavin, hand drawn on Shrinky Dink material
• Black Oaxaca pottery mug, earlier trip
• Shiva

Bottom table, from 12:00:

• Worry object I made in infertility treatment, red beads and milagro of baby
• Note I wrote to call baby
• Photo of him and his mother at one of her many October beach birthday parties
• Our enormous silver wedding rings we wore during the ceremony and reception, by artist friend Linda Hesh
• Two miscellaneous rubber duckies (Gavin had a “thing”)
• Male and female sake cups from Gavin’s desk
• Broken antique clock from Gavin’s desk
• Two lucky Chinese cats
• One of five paper mache skulls painted by little girl
• His daily wear wedding ring by Linda Hesh
• Another skull
• A lock of Short Stack’s baby hair
• My daily-wear ring
• A cup with a surprise duckie in it (art)
• Marigolds
• Another skull
• Another small black Oaxaca vase
• Arm milagro, one of scores of milagros from different countries
• Suede pouch (Frances) with a modest Navajo raw turquoise necklace in it

Arranged by my daughter, who believes in symmetry, even if it means the wedding rings are on opposite sides of the offering and the salt and pepper have divorced.

Still need to find something to represent my grandmother, something to represent Goldy (did I mention…?), and the skeleton crafts, two sorts, that we made over the weekend from Kim Go’s instructions. Something for Amy. Something for Don. And the Christmas lights from the attic.

Day of the Dead: Video, Making Paper Marigolds (Zempasuchil)

UPDATE: Ignore my instructions. Even though I've been making them this way for years, I found an easier way. Same materials.

Steps:

1. Fold your loop of crepe paper into a piece about 3 or 4 inches long. Snip through the loops at the ends so that you have a small stack of 3-4 inch long pieces of crepe paper, little rectangles that aren't connected to each other.
2. Cut through BOTH short ends several times, not all the way through. It should look like this picture at right.



Step 2, revised.

3. Holding the crepe paper bundle together, wrap the wire around the middle (the uncut area). Cinch it and push the paper upwards. If you like, you can also fold the bundle the long way.
4. Wrap around the base of the flower with masking tape and color it with your marker, or wrap with green tape.
5. Fluff the petals out and twist them around so it doesn't look like a folded rectangular clump of paper any more. It should look random and scrappy. If you want, use two bundles of paper, cut and folded the same way. Twist them in the wire stem just ONCE, together. 
6. You'll now have double wires for your stem, which is actually easier to handle when you make the bouquets, too.
Also? Sorry. I swear that's how we always made them, but maybe my hands have gotten old. This method is MUCH EASIER.

Thanks to the magic of video, you will need this extra information to make your own marigolds (zempasuchil) from crepe paper. Marigolds are traditional, and lovely, and orange – and the fragrance, which has been bred out of many varieties available here, is supposed to call souls especially well. But they can be hard to find if you didn’t plant them back in June.

But watch the little video and then refer here for un-clarification:

Supplies:

1. Petals: Roll of crepe paper streamer, yellow, orange, or (best) golden yellow-orange.
2. Stems: wire or pipecleaner (do not cut with scissors. Use an old nail clipper or buy a cheap one). Green is ideal, but color isn’t important. 
3. Tape, either masking tape or dark green floral tape. 
4. A magic marker (black or green) to color plain masking tape if you use that. 

Directions:

Step 2: the folded,                
cut strip of crepe paper.       

1. Pull out 3 or 4 feet of crepe paper.  Fold it 6 or 8 times. 
2. Cut into the strip (through the layers) as shown – don’t go much more than halfway through. Notch the ends similarly. Carefully, slowly, gently unfold the crepe paper. 
3. Bend a loop in the edge of your “stem” to create a flat area that’s easier to grip. Bend a loop at the other end to avoid poking your eye out. 
4. With the wire in one hand and the crepe paper strip in the other, wrap the SOLID (uncut) edge of crepe paper around the end of the stem. 
5. After 6 or 8 turns of crepe paper, start using tape to adhere the crepe paper to the stem. It’s okay to scrunch it up. 
6. Start scrunching up the crepe paper to add extra material in to the taped area – you want to be pleating or folding it as you go. You’ll find you can be pretty sloppy because the paper and the tape both scrunch easily. Do this until you’ve used up your strip of cut paper. -- finish up your tape, too, with extra twists around if necessary. 
7. If you used masking tape, now is your time to color it with the marker. 
8. Empuffen the flower: starting at the outside and working around and around, gently pull on the petals to add body to your marigold. It will not be completely regular: marigolds are scrappy little informal flowers. Kids are good at this and they have small fingers, but it can be delicate work. You won’t probably be able to go to the center – smoosh the tight center petals with your fingers if you like the effect. 

If you want fuller flowers, use two strips of cut paper. If you want super-marigolds-on-gamma-rays, use three.

Photo by Batty aka Photobat via Flickr

It’s traditional to make a trail to the ofrenda or a pattern on the floor with marigold petals, too. If you like, you can save the little bits you cut out (above), but it will get pretty messy, especially if you have pets or kids or a breeze. And remember, the fragrance will be missing. But if you are really committed to not wasting one bit, or just adore the effect... knock yourself out!

Day of the Dead 2010: My ofrenda, Day 1

It doesn't look like much, does it? This corner of the sun room is where we're going to build our ofrenda, or offering (commonly known as a "shrine"), for the Day of the Dead this year. I'll stack up some furniture or sturdy boxes, cover them with cloth, add holy objects, and at the last minute, on Nov. 2, put out some food and drink for the souls of loved ones who have passed.

I'm spending lots of time sorting through 6 boxes labeled "holy objects," for precious things to recall my life with Gavin and his life before me. As I do so, and as I spend time remembering, I recall other losses: should there be an area for my father, dead 17 years now? Or my sister's fiance, gone now for 13 years? For my grandmother, who passed less than a year after Gavin at age 103 and a half? How about for Frances, Gavin's mother, my burden, my savior?

And what deity will preside over this sacred assortment? The Lord Ganesh and our Lady of Guadalupe, at the very least. That's who I can bring - we'll see who else shows up.

This week, in preparation, I'm going to BREAK and CREATE. The break will be, to not do what's easy and what I'm used to - ensconced in my new world of widowed people and my new husband. I've decided to invite some people I haven't seen in years - who were close to Gavin, and who I've been bitter or conflicted about - to join us as I raise a Rolling Rock in Gavin's memory. I won't let the world move on and think it's all over when you die, when you break, when you find new love. I'll share, and I'll try to stay open and listen, and what is harder than that?

And I'm going to create, because being back in the time when we were together reminds me of some dreams I've dropped. How great it feels, how natural, to stretch my eyes on bright colors, to make things, to find parts and figure it out and work it through with my own fingers. I've twisted up marigolds, smushed Celluclay into skulls, and repurchased a basic palette of acrylics.

As the weather cools, I can feel my pulse warming up... exercising those old art muscles. But that's just what rocks my boat... anyone can join us in our virtual online Day of the Dead celebration: will you?

The Day of the dead is NOT Halloween

Día de muertos, originally uploaded by Misraim Alvarez.

A lot of widowed people get the creeps from Halloween decorations at this time of year. Who needs to see another graveyard, living skeleton, or worst of all, blood and gore, after getting truly intimate with death? It was hard for even me to see "RIP" on a lawn in the fall, although my husband rests in a jar on top of a bookshelf.

But the Day of the Dead is NOT Halloween, and actually, to my mind, it's EXACTLY what we -- you and I and our communities -- need. One of the most common and most torn complaints I hear from grieving people is that "our culture lacks a way to mourn." We don't have any prescribed way to share, to be sad together or even alone. While the problem extends beyond the U.S., it's easy to see how as a richly diverse society - sewn together from different national histories and languages, different regions, with religious freedom, and formed in a break from the old world (and after smashing the cultures of the world that we incorporated as we built) - our lack of unity has left some gaps. Yes, many of us have some way to celebrate, remember, to pass milestones - but not together. While many rituals can be helpful, healing, and connecting - Jewish friends often speak of how well their grieving traditions "work" - they can also isolate us by keeping us with those from the same culture, who may not be the ones we most need or want.

So what are some differences between these two autumn festivals, which are related both to pagan traditions like Samhain and Christian ones like All Souls Day? On both holidays the veil between the worlds grows thin: the dead can visit the living. But the similarities are superficial:

Halloween	Day of the Dead
Graveyards are creepy	Families go to the graveyards to clean up, spend the night there singing, playing, and remembering (usually with picnic).
Zombies claw their way out of the soil and they are coming to eat your brains.	The dead are coming back to tell you they love you, they miss you and they wish they hadn't had to leave.
You offer candy to kids you don't know so that they don't throw rotten eggs at your house.	You spend days preparing favorite foods for your deceased loved ones, and share it with your friends and family. May or may not include egg dishes.
Skeletons look "natural" but have light up red eyes and yell BOO.	Skeletons are stylized, colorful and flowered, with glittery eyeshadow. They dance and sing folk music.
No relation to actual death - mostly to horror movies and cartoons.	Death is a part of life, we remember those who have preceded us.
Kids act crazy and get all sugared up.	(Same)
Cheap plastic crap purchased at the drug store, battery powered candy bowls, cheap HFCS-filled candy by the boatload.	Festive handmade decorations, your finest pottery and best food.
Conformity: Kids dress up like branded characters.	Subversion: Toy skeletons mimic politicians and adulterous, drunkard mortals.

Doesn't this sound like what you've been asking for? Let's fill the gaps, people. Let's create a tradition that helps us move through life with love and memories, and connects us with each other. Join us!



Oaxaca 2009 079, originally uploaded by Pablo Aburto.

The Day of the Dead: Top Ten Items to Include in your Offering

Photo by Batty aka Photobat via Flickr

It's not difficult to create an offering for the Day of the Dead. While we have a habit of calling these dedicated religious areas "shrines," the Mexican artist, Felipe Ehrenberg, who taught me the Day of the Dead as an artistic and healing tradition in 1992, insisted: shrines and altars are for Gods, offerings are for the ancestors, and this tradition calls the ancestors. It looks the same, anyway.

Your offering can take any form. The elements that you must include are love and intention, everything else can vary, and you needn't buy anything new. Decide on an area of your home that would be appropriate, and think about what you would like to include, how this activity fits in with your religious beliefs and your ways of grieving. Where will you be able to see it? How childproof does it need to be?

Some suggestions for what you might be offering:

1. A picture or icon representing a deity (or more than one) as appropriate for your household or the deceased one.
2. A photo or other image of your deceased loved one. (No need to restrict it to one person - you remember them all).
3. Mementos of your loved one or of your life together.
4. Flowers (fresh or fake).
5. Crafts or images of saints, angels, hearts (You don't need to have Mexican stuff, or Day of the Dead stuff: whatever is true to you).
6. Things that will "call" the loved one: food, drink. You might also play music that they liked or that remind you of them on the event.
7. Fancy or colorful fabric or paper. A scarf, a scrap or special piece of clothing?
8. Source of light: candles or holiday lights. PLEASE be safe with paper, fabric, and hanging things around!
9. Something orange - you can select a few other colors if you like, or just go Mexican and mix it all together, choosing as bright as possible.
10. Something that smells good (incense, candles or fresh flowers, or the food or drink).

Join in our blog carnival as you prepare and celebrate. Share your thoughts and your pictures with others, online or offline. Sign up your blog on our Mr. Linky. Spread this idea: that you want others to share stories, and not just now.

Think about what you'd like to do for a small event on Nov. 2. Would you really prefer to do something private and have your warm thoughts to yourself? Can you invite someone you haven't spoken to in a long time? A family member who's hurting? Can you reach out to someone else who's scrambling through loss?

(One thing I've found lately is the importance of personal contact. If I send out a big group email, I usually end up feeling rejected - but a phone call (not even leaving a message) is very intimate after months of Facebooking and brings an earnestness and commitment to my request that makes people respond differently. Try it.)

Set your mind, above all, on a dream of what you'd like to eat and drink in the honor of your loved one. What would you share with them if they dropped by for a moment? What smells and tastes would call them, and what would they be holding to tell you?

Day of the Dead 2010: MASTER POST with Linky

This is the HOME POST for the Day of the Dead 2010. This post will be updated every day or two with new participants, new activities, photos, and other sharing as part of our individual rituals and memories.

We got started, you can catch up EASY

Join us! (Call to action)

This post (wait, you didn't miss it!) which includes the badge for your blog! Pick up the badge here: <a href=" http://freshwidow.blogspot.com/2010/10/day-of-dead-2010-master-post-with-linky.html"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2H-blWIbMvQbsEmQ7ogEhv3M8v5slIy8NUMqYe5we1HfACRdBDr_tLVx2cBEQ7nhq21jdkptpewXEELnjA57EiK14wCIcBm8mTHEgsvis4tfIPl2tNa4p6Ug2Sltt4ktq7D7sJGXaN4/s1600/FINALDOTD.jpg" width="150" /></a>

Example: Ofrenda for my daughter.... (Alive and Mortal blog)

Book review: Rosita and Conchita (for kids)(Alive and Mortal blog)

Top 10 items to include in an offering.

It’s not Halloween! (Cultural overview)

Craft project: create marigolds, the traditional Mexican flower, from crepe paper. No skills required!

NEW Craft project: Skeleton flags for kids (easy peasy!) (Alive and mortal blog)

What’s coming up

10/25 – Gather objects that will call all souls.

More examples of work in progress or thoughts...  including YOURS?

11/2 (Tuesday) – night of the festival – join us on chat or Twitter, or gather a few friends or family members to share memories of your loved one(s).

Sign up and visit the others who are participating! (If you aren't sure how to participate or don't have a blog, write to me at Supa DOT Dupa DOT Fresh AT gmail DOT com and we'll figure it out together. I GA-RON-TEE it!)

The Day of the Dead 2010: Join us!

Otilia y sus muertitos, originally uploaded by lacho.flores.

Join us as we remember those who’ve died. The Day of the Dead is a Mexican festival of remembrance that dates back thousands of years. Similar to All Soul’s Day, it is believed to be a special time when the veil between the worlds grows thin and our loved ones visit us. The week before the holiday is spent in a fury of gathering mementos, creating crafts, cooking and cleaning, and sharing memories with friends and family.

I believe that grieving people today need this ancient festival that brings together the living and the dead with love and joy. It’s a safe time to share memories and may turn into a new family tradition that is more harmonious with our real experiences of grief than any celebrations or rituals we share in the U.S. today. Day of the Dead rituals and crafts can be adapted to suit nearly any household’s skills, interests, and can include every generation.

How can you participate? Simple!:

• Follow along with us every few days as we walk you through creating an offering to your loved ones. You can pick and choose the activities that work for you.
• Plan an event (small or large) on Nov. 2, the night of the festival. We’ll also have a chat room open that evening for sharing.
• Display the badge (coming soon) for our shared virtual festival on your blog or website.
• Create a craft, cooking something your loved one enjoyed, or otherwise sharing traditions, new or old, with family and/or friends. Nothing will be difficult, everything will be adaptable, and it shouldn't be expensive, either.
• Share your experience, process, and memories on your own blog and Facebook and updating this post (coming soon) with links.

The next post here (coming soon) will be updated every day with new participants, new activities, photos, and other sharing as part of our individual rituals and memories.

This will be FUN, easy, and satisfying! Questions?

Three Cliches, Including "Till Death Do Us Part."

Leave it to me to question the truisms that everyone says without thinking. (For some reason, I am still fun at parties…)

“It didn’t work out.”
I never understood why people would say this about a relationship after it was over. What was supposed to be the endpoint, which didn’t end up fulfilled? Is it that they didn’t “close the deal” by getting married? Surely they could enjoy their time together without having an end in mind. Did it “not work out” because they didn’t stay married until one of them died? Is a marriage that ends in divorce like the sound of a tree that falls in the forest when no one hears it? Surely those years together were worth something in this world, at least in the small sphere of your time in it.

Is it just that it’s one of those nonsense phrases that everyone uses, of which I have so little understanding or tolerance? Or is “it didn’t work out” truly contemptuous of time? Whatever it is, I always take a step back from any friend who says it. (Did I mention that I still have friends? ‘Cause I do. I’m not even lying.)

“Happily ever after.”
Who cares what it’s “after?!” Yeah, I get that you’re closing the book, so “after” the cover’s shut. What is it until?

On the other hand, we cynics today, we sophisticates, make so much fun of “fairytale endings.” What would be wrong with just plain being happy until we each individually (don’t forget, we all do die alone) fade out, hopefully in our sleep and at a good ripe age. So much contempt. Don’t you deserve to have joy? Wouldn’t most of us be happy to remember one moment of bliss at the end as the chapters shoot past our fading eyes?

“Till death do us part.”
How much do any of us really contemplate this statement? Gavin and I thought we were pretty serious about our love in the face of Death. We married in defiance of his heart problems and several near-death experiences. We requested that our friend Pat, glamorous jazz singer, sing “One Hand, One Heart” from West Side Story (“even death won’t part us now”) at our vows (and, um, “Like a Prayer”). And then we went to Mexico for the Days of the Dead (including a cemetery tour) for our lunes miel.

But seriously, who wants to fulfill those vows? We love to picture ourselves on the porch, white haired or bald in last year’s hiked-up pants giving lollipops to sticky grandkids.

But being the caregiver to a dying love, whether old or young? Recovering alone from the shock of a car accident? Romantic? Pfah! Research shows it takes 10 years off your life.

We cherish the Norman Rockwell picture of “till death do us part,” but none of us is ready for the Norman Cousins one.

Should I be pleased that death parted me from Gavin? I’m not sure. I did enjoy entering dating with a “successful” relationship (ah! There’s that endpoint!) behind me, and I certainly hold it over your everyday divorcee. And look, widowhood is a big part of my identity. (Today.)

But surely a marriage in which my husband died didn’t “work out,” did it?

Mr. Fresh says he hopes I die first so that I don’t have to go through this kind of loss again. I’m not sure how much of a kindness this is. I joke back, “Yeah, um, no thanks. I love you too, but be my guest.”

* * * * * *

* (I’m not endorsing divorce. I think it’s a grand waste and injustice 90% of the time. But seriously? Marriage and death? Not really on the same page for any of us.)

** (Is that time only valuable if it’s permanent? If we are mortal, shouldn’t our feelings be mortal, too?).


* * * Comments * * *

Second of Many Shrines

There's clearly always a lot going on around here.

This niche was installed to heal Gavin and it was updated with his picture after he died. (The bottom shelf is worldly goods like stationery, not part of the invocation.)

Top shelf, far right: The card Gavin made for my birthday, which was the day after he was diagnosed, and which promised he'd be here for many years to enjoy together the hammock we'd just bought.

Center shelf, center: A virgin of Guadalupe I made of toasted pumpkin seeds, painted and glued to board, for a piece Gavin and I created together with a chef, who made a spicy nouvelle Mexican pepita soup, which was served as part of a Cuisine des Artistes evening around 1999. Maybe.

Flanking the virgin are: (pinned up) two Renaissance angel notecards, augmented with silly poorly fitting facial features by our dear friend, the greatest collage artist ever, (mid-height) angel by Gavin, devil by Mexico, (on shelf) Lord Ganesh in rosewood, one of the local Virgins, ceramic by the Aguilar sisters, purchased on our honeymoon. 

Strangely enough, I no longer have much to say about this assembly.


* * * Comments * * *

One of Many Shrines

I have a tendency to attack idols. Not too long ago Abel Keogh, the first widowed blogger I found on my first search just after my loss, advised a woman that her widower fiancee was "not ready to move on" because he had not yet dismantled the shrines to his late wife installed in his home. Ridiculous, I thought. There are good reasons for keeping visuals with the memories. And anyway, it’s rude to display family photos outside of intimate spaces in your home. I consulted important Miss Manners entries (Advice columns? Are those like blogs?) and drafted a forceful reply.

Then I looked around. Oy vey, are there shrines. Disrespectful as I am, I also pay obeisance to the vague spirit I’d like to have round me. Our old, tiny apartment had a milagro heart on every door frame in thanks for Gavin's surviving open heart surgery and its complications; those tin shapes are hung in this home too. And when he was very, very ill I did put together several shrines, even though none of them included his image until he died.

Here’s one that I set up next to the dresser mirror:
-- A thrift store porcelain saucer (in Japanese, cranes are often used on wedding kimono because they mate for life).
-- A blue and green glass heart paperweight, not my style, but heck, a heart.
-- One of Gavin’s many Ganeshes.
-- Two stones from our yard, which I saw as male and female: one, half grey, half white; the second, red and ochre, porous, with a hole in the top so you can see that it’s hollow.
-- A shrinky dink necklace I made for Gavin’s 55th birthday party: “55, still alive.” We gave these out, red or green cords assigned you to a team, and we planned to play “Survivor”-style games. More than 100 people showed up, the barbeque was about 8 pizzas worth of calories short, so we managed to judge the sculpture contest segment before we decided to just hang loose.

On the other of the mirror was a similar niche holding a virgin sculpture (from Oaxacan honeymoon), something paper, perhaps a ticket stub, and Milagros for whatever parts needed healing at the time (kidneys, heart, arm). After he died, I carefully stuck his boy scout compass there to help me find balance, or North or something. It's all packed up now for the move.

It makes you think about people's homes and faiths: how many shrinelets do folks really have in their homes? I'm always kind of spiritual, and as a UU I have room for pagan object faith, but if Abel Keogh addressed it, is it really that common -- not just a special spot for family pictures but a little haven for the household Gods?

* * * Comments * * *

November: From the Days of the Dead to the Distractions of the Living

I decided to participate in NaBloPoMo because I’m already so incredibly overbooked, I figured what’s one more damn thing? I mean, if you want something done, give it to a busy man. Right?

Note: I am not a man.

October 31 to November 2 marks the Days of the Dead, a particularly redolent time for me. I’ve blogged about Gavin and I taking our honeymoon in Oaxaca for the festival, about the outdoor dance performance I hosted in 2007 as a memorial to him, and about a tribute I handed out for the event. I don’t want to repeat too much of those earlier posts, but the Mexican tradition as I learned it from Felipe Ehrenberg treats making art (a learning process) and remembering those lost as central to continuing life -- which is as good a description of grieving as I’ve yet found.

We connected with the Days of the Dead a dozen years ago because we felt we’d beaten death once, when Gavin had some heart problems. Little did we know -- I wouldn’t have expected the end to be so nasty, brutish and short or for it to lead me, eventually, to so much more clear and forceful direction in my life.

Each November at the small funky bookstore I used to run, we built a community offering, in a different medium with a different theme. It was chaos and love combined, and always colorful. We’d burn copal and myriad candles (remember when they were not required to be scented?), welcoming everyone, even the bums, to get paint on their hands, drink beer and eat candy. The 2007 event was more advanced but less Mexican than all the ones while Gavin was alive, since it included a hot chick in metallic leather thong bikini and little children whispering to their Moms, “I can see her BUTT!”

Americans need a tradition like this – a solemn and hilarious way to celebrate the lives of those who’ve died, a way to live with mortality every year, even in good years. Grievers and non-grievers together without fear or silence. God knows this country would benefit from celebrating non-religious festivals, more ways to share creative energy, noise, and food and drink. We’d be creating occasions to talk about loss, to take it as the serious and weighty business it is, to share memories and laugh our butts off, too. And what a great way to meet with and learn from our unassimilated Latino neighbors.

Maybe next year I can do one through our church? If I have time. If I’m not moving, balancing paying work, and participating in, uh oh…. NaBloPoMo.

CRAP.

* * * Comments * * *

Dating Episode 7: A Climax of Sorts

The fire dance had inflamed my resolve but it was clear I needed some direction, if not some serious HELP. Marshall, a mutual friend of Wekka’s and mine from ye olde martial arts days, heard my tales of woe and offered to meet and chat about dating. It meant a dinner with a man; how could I say no?

He’d been traumatized, too. With the same zeal with which I was developing my “baseball scores” date into stand-up material, Marshall had polished a quirky story about bailing out his younger son. He worked a lot and was in a serious international relationship. Marshall was still flummoxed by his wife abandoning him, burnt by his sons’ difficult teenage years and discouraged that none of them were doing anything worthwhile.

Over margaritas, we shared stories and caught up on gossip about our circle. I was a more frustrated dater than he was, having not been a whiz back when I was single. We talked about men and what they’re looking for. I was finding that in their 40s, divorced men who responded to me were mostly looking for a second home. They’d been hurt, some felt financially exploited, they missed their kids, and they wanted someone to accept them. I liked these men. But I didn’t feel I could take it so slow any more.

“So what are you looking for?” he asked me.

Well. At first I figured I had to look for someone to join our household, someone to co-parent Short Stack with me. But now I know that I have to burn off a bunch of energy first before I start looking for anything serious. In some ways, I’m enjoying shopping for men, except that… Well. It has something to do with grieving, the hormones are overpowering. I’m so horny I can’t think straight.

I know what that’s like, he said. He stared at his enchiladas.

But I have to be careful and safe because I’m a Mom now.

You’re definitely in a tough situation.

I feel like I have a widow cherry. I just have to get rid of that second virginity, get past that barrier, before I can really deal with anything else. I’m hot and free but super responsible. I had to be to get through the past few years. And I’m skittish. I know it’s going to be intense the first time. Not anyone can handle that, and certainly not someone casual.

Marshall had ideas. I could look at “adult dating sites,” although they are probably not so good for safety. I could consider married guys in open relationships. They’re more common than you think.

We were drinking a lot and I took a break to powder my nose. As I walked back to the table I caught his eye. Marshall was at ease, leaning back and laughing a little.

What are you laughing at? I asked, feeling the sway in my hips as I sat back down.

Bad thoughts, he said.

Oh, good. That’s good. I like that. I need to hear things like that.

He ordered another round.

So, your turn… what are you looking for? Marshall was weary of adventure and drama. His current relationship was not going to last. This girlfriend wasn’t providing home or any peace. She was exciting but needy, destabilizing areas he’d built back up after divorce.

Hmmm. I’ve never understood women like that. I guess I’m low-maintenance -- is that the right word?

He liked his bachelor pad, even though it had zero personal touches. When there, he was self contained, with a world-class gym and a grocery store that sold beer in the building. After years of domestic chaos, he was comforted to come home from every trip and find everything just as he’d left it, no drunken teenagers lying around, nothing broken. It looked like a hotel, one without even any pictures hanging.

Oh. I don’t think I could live without my stuff … we have so much art and so many memories. But it does sound like it has been a relief to you.

His needs were simple. He’d eat at restaurants, or frozen meals, stock up on deli for lunches.

I said, we’ve been eating a lot of frozen food for a while, but I’m looking forward to starting to cook again. I can’t eat like this (pointing at plate) every night. My cholesterol has gotten kinda high, and I cook a lot of stir fries, so it should settle together nicely. That is, once I get this other thing out of the way.

Marshall said it was important for him to feel that someone had his back, was helping to keep him safe. He liked to take risks, and then return to something solid. Family life hadn’t been like that in a dozen years. Single life was better than being responsible for a bunch of slugs, but there wasn’t much upside.

Huh. I know how you feel. I keep my home life stable, but I’m super social: even with a kid I still like to go out dancing and have dinner parties and stuff. But it’s more rewarding to have a consistent companion no matter what’s going on.

We finished our meal with many awkward silences.

After I dropped him off at his door I turned on the radio. My first boyfriend greeted me singing “You can’t always get what you want…” Why, hello, Mick. You don’t sound like you mean that, I thought.

“But if you try sometimes, you just might find…" The classic words built to a crescendo, paced with percussion, and the angelic choir came in on a swell: "you just might find... you get what you need.”

* Read the next installment in this series! *

* * * Comments * * *

Dating Episode 6 [November 2007]: Dancing Around It

Each evening after story time, I’d slouch at the black Mac and shop for boys, or stretch out on the futon couch I’d always hated and screen them by phone. I get a bit manic when I’m busy and this entire autumn when I reentered the dating world, many areas were percolating.

I was restless to get into my studio, to cut, to stitch and glue: I was tantalized by materials left when my 103.5-year-old grandmother died (earlier that year). In my imagination, scraps of lace and ratty fur and costume jewelry would mingle brutality with mannerism, murder with vitality. My hands, my eyes, were hot with impatience.

Male attention was giving me power and energy. I had long held the idea of a Day of the Dead ritual for Gavin, a more personal memorial than the one we did at church, and that time of year was approaching. I was sure that doing something would help to bind and settle “things” for us. I love playing hostess, so, a party; the most stunning spectacle I could imagine was to have my old roommate, Wekka, perform one of her original low-tech supersexy fire dances.

Plans came together strangely but surely. I opened up Gavin’s studio and set up a big offering of his materials, relics of our life together, hospital bracelets, amulets, and his baby sweater. It was as big a party as our housewarming – 75 people and lots of kids. Wekka was electrifying in a brocade coat, stripping down to a metallic leather (thong) bikini in the freezing cold. She danced with candles, swords, and swirly flame things. A 5 year old repeatedly whispered on a lap: “Mom, I can see her BUTT!” I served only beer and water, the left loudspeaker died after the second piece, and at the end a guest pointed out I’d allowed dozens of candles to be lit a few feet away from a gallon of mineral spirits. Kids, artists, neighbors, and friends from support group took home the intellectual, Zen souvenirs (blank bits of drawing paper) I made. Friends burned offerings, close friends thanked me for the chance to say goodbye.

“That was something else, but what did it have to do with Gavin?” someone asked.

Wekka and I exchanged looks. We had no idea, really. Wekka had done several shows in our backyard and loved us both. I’d invoked Eros and invited people from all my communities. I made something and invited people. How to say? “It was a celebration of life.” It was insufficient. The blank piece of paper said it better.

* Read the next installment in this series! *


* * * Comments * * *

More About that Artwork (the Zen one)

Presenting one artwork, and the detritus from the Day of the Dead performance, makes me want to present everything I wrote about that blank piece of paper, which I cut up and distributed with this note, to all the guests. Forgive the repetition from a previous post. In real life, things weave, repeat, abbreviate, rephrase, expand, as they will here.

For Gavin O'Leonard

I have very few regrets, but I do wish I had said this at Gavin’s memorial service.

Gavin always believed the meaning of his work was in the eye of the beholder. He hated writing artists’ statements and trying to explain. “That’s just what I think the work means,” he’d say. “That has nothing to do with anything!” He believed that only your eyes at a particular time can see the work and give it meaning, a highly individual meaning each time you view any piece.

And God, Gavin hated the way his work looked on slides. When you have a slide, you have a feeble reproduction, with light shining through it, of what the camera saw on that day. Light is so much brighter than white cotton. It just gets flattened by the lights given the camera, which reflect back on the surface, and then the work would get washed out from the bright light of a slide projector. He said his work looks better in person because in his technique, the light comes from inside the paper.

I saw from watching him work how well he understood every fiber of the Arches he listened to every day from 10 to 10 with breaks for lunch, dinner, the news and a few beers. While it looked pale, in Gavin’s classic work he ground the pigments of the pencils deep into the paper, punishing the cotton fibers while he made them sing. (Ask me about the “original” Smithy drawing if you don’t believe me.) The paper was another skin. That Arches 100% rag paper was his partner more than anything.

He also pointed out how in the classic O'Leonard, the source of the light is never pictured. A device from Vermeer and others, very classical.

So this what I wish I had read at the memorial service on June 25, 2006 – when we showed his “Audubon of Lamps” drawings – this quote from the Buddha, whom Gavin respected more than any other teacher:

Therefore, be ye lamps unto yourselves, be a refuge to yourselves. Hold fast to Truth as a lamp; hold fast to the truth as a refuge. Look not for a refuge in anyone beside yourselves. And those, who shall be a lamp unto themselves, shall betake themselves to no external refuge, but holding fast to the Truth as their lamp, and holding fast to the Truth as their refuge, they shall reach the topmost height.

- - - - - - (p. 2) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This is a piece of the first drawing that Gavin did not start. It was hung and ready to go on the studio wall. It would have been used as the base for the fifth piece in The Mysteries, which I always considered the culmination of his life and life’s work. I only wished he had started it earlier.

(Wives!)

Please use this paper to write a note to someone you love right now, to write a note to Gavin which you can burn and thus send to him in the afterworld (if he’s in one of the seven Chinese hells still), or to make a drawing. Or just feel the cotton and remember his every day. Or all of the above.

It’s yours now.


* * * Be the first to comment * * *

Death is the Mother of Beauty.

It occurs to me how wordy I can be when there are wonderful visuals. Writing about the Days of the Dead reminded me that I have pictures of them.



































802, 801, 800. The top of the ofrenda. (Left) Fertility charms from friends, hospital bracelets. (Center) Gavin’s baby sweater, birthday greetings, our rings, a sex charm I made in a sardine can. (Right) Photos, wedding invitation, more hospital bracelets.







































806, 807, 808. The base of the ofrenda. (Left) Portrait of Gavin by a friend, milagro. (Center) Wooden flowers intended for our wedding, mums, painting from Oaxaca. (Right) Drawing of Gavin by a friend.

















2006_Cancer Drawings. I’m not actually sure when Gavin did these, possibly in the summer of 2005, before the spine surgery. Everyone is drawn to them. I despised them on first sight. “Look, honey, I’m drawing the cancer going away.” Grrrr. It looked to me like he drew himself fading away. Losing weight, holes in his bones, mets all over, one drug after another, it still looks like prophecy.

It saddens me that people respond well to them – that he thought they would work, as part of his “visualization” routine, making it real with his eyes and his hands. And perhaps it’s contempt that makes me tell visitors how I thought these pieces foretold how he would erode and then disappear from this world. People want to buy them, I am broke but I don’t care. (Though I don't really want to keep them, either).

It’s not what he would have done, before disease, during, or now.




























810. The blank piece of paper, hanging at the ready, which I cut up to make “party favors” for the 2007 Day of the Dead fire dance dedicated to Gavin.

I could talk more about how my Dad was a a photographer, and how careless I am about my history through images. I could talk about how a collective offering with Felipe Ehrenberg turned me back into an artist again, a long time ago. But for now, I’ll let the pictures do the talking.


* * * Be the first to comment * * *

Day of the Dead mini-sermon and afternote

I spoke at church today, as part of a "remembrance service."

When we had been together about a year the man I was dating, DH, had a heart valve replaced. Complications brought him a few near-death experiences. We felt that we had been confronted by a huge force and it hadn’t defeated us. In the face of eternity, love mattered. I proposed to him in a hospital bed.

For our honeymoon, we took a “hipsters’ holiday” to Mexico for the Day of the Dead. In Oaxaca, we visited ancient hillside graveyards, where families were spending the night, picnicking, playing music. Kids ran among the humble stones, joyous with sugar and chocolate. Color and crafts and flowers were everywhere.

The Mexican tradition treats death as an extension of life and something that is neither negative nor final. On the Day of the Dead, the veil between the worlds grows thin and spirits come back to visit their families.

This pagan/Catholic tradition is celebrated on Nov. 2, known around the world as “All Souls Day.” So today is perfect timing for this service of remembrance – your loved ones are listening.

Years after my honeymoon, in this home, I hosted a memorial service for LH. This church was a help to me in a thousand ways, great and small, in the two years preceding his death and in the more than two years since.

Two ways stand out, elements of the structure our church provides for mourners, two ways that helped me tremendously.

First, the quilt. After about a year I embroidered LH’s name on the “Summer” quilt at my young widow’s and widower’s grieving group. The next morning I brought the quilt in to daycare with our 4-year-old daughter.

Her friends were dazzled. “Wow! That’s your Daddy’s name?! Cool!” They were pretty blown away. Their tiny fingers explored LH’s name. They couldn’t meet SS’s Dad, but they could see evidence that he was loved and that he was something special.

I had had doubts about showing the kids, but it was right, so listen: Your children will show you the way.

I had more surprises over the year when I responded to the invitation to stand during the moment of silence.

At first it was so, so hard to stand. I was broken and broken up and I felt I was being stared at. There was something okay about being public with this injury. I stood as an emblem but was thankful most of you couldn’t see my face. My lips were clenched tight. Often I cried.

After a time it seemed self-indulgent to stand – there was so much going on outside this peaceful place. I cared for my mother-in-law and my young daughter. I had a financial emergency plan, but no bridge to a normal life. I got really low a couple of times.

One evening in grieving group, a Jewish friend spoke about the one-year unveiling at her husband’s grave. After the guests had left, she cried and went to bed… but the next morning when she woke up she started to work out. She said she felt a new chapter had begun. I was jealous…. but I DID have a religion with a meaningful ritual.

I hardly missed a service that year when I stood. I think every single time it was different. Always the relief and release of singing “When I breathe in…” afterwards.

As time went on I started to feel I was playing a social role as I stood – I was the church’s “official widow.” I considered creating cool black armbands and I was a little proud of my loss. My face relaxed gradually. Sometimes I looked forward to standing. Sometimes I did it to pay tribute to LH or to acknowledge to myself all the challenges we were surviving at the time.

And then it arrived -- one year -- the first Sunday when I didn’t have to stand up. I took it lightly at the time, but slowly or suddenly, things changed. Standing up marked that time in a way I couldn’t deny. The anniversary became a positive step instead of a negative one.

And it was through these simple things that I realized I had found not just a home but a whole family, with creative solutions, and rituals, traditions and a future. A family in which I could choose and play different roles.

Thank you, every one of you.

Afternote:
It was inevitable that watching others speaking of loss, and crying, together in that place reminded me of LH's memorial service. How big an impression Rev. L made when she said it would be perfectly okay for me to give the eulogy, and people would be fine seeing me cry. But I couldn’t do it; I didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have generalized to all his different audiences. It was an invitation to be part of the mourning at the service, not apart from it; but I did not want to be a mourner at all. I didn’t want to expose my injury; I didn’t want to have one.

Plus, some special words I wanted Rev. L to include in the service, I couldn’t find.

Almost a year and a half after LH died, on the Day of the Dead 2007, I hosted a big crazy artsy party and ritual to invoke and remember him. I wanted to make something and give something. In his studio, scrambling my ideas, I found the words.

Suddenly everything fit together. Over LH's 30 year art career he had drawn many lamps, but the paper was the source of the light in his artwork, that soft light which struck people so quietly. So I cut up the last piece of Arches, which he had hung and ready, and gave it out to all the guests, with an essay, and these words from the Buddha which I’d wanted to include in the service:

Therefore, be ye lamps unto yourselves, be a refuge to yourselves. Hold fast to Truth as a lamp; hold fast to the truth as a refuge. Look not for a refuge in anyone beside yourselves. And those, who shall be a lamp unto themselves, shall betake themselves to no external refuge, but holding fast to the Truth as their lamp, and holding fast to the Truth as their refuge, they shall reach the topmost height.

* * * 0 comments * * *