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Odilon Redon, "I plunged into solitude. I dwelt in the tree behind me." (plate 9, The Temptation of Saint Anthony), 1896.
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My last post was written in early April but I didn't finish it or post it until today. How have the last six months gone? There have been ups and downs. Lonely, boring times. Bursts of creativity and production. I've tried new art forms (block printing, making stuff with felt). I've made two new sets of couple friends, one clergy, one nearby neighbors, both moved here in the weirdest time. We (the city) have collectively survived a derecho and the massive amounts of destruction that caused. I've hosted sorta-regular art nights on Zoom. I've been helping our kid do school online. (It's going fine. Not great, but fine.) I've gained multiple pen pals and sent hundreds of postcards, including a few hundred for political causes or the election. I have lots of ideas but most days find it difficult to start much. But I'm also fine, you know? It's hard but I'm doing fine.
Something that kinda looms over it all, though:
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| Odilon Redon, "Death: My Irony Surpasses All Others!" 1889. |
Death, risk of death, from covid or other causes. Today is All Hallows Eve. Tomorrow is All Saint's Day in the church. We remember those who have died, from beloved dogs to children to elderly victims of covid, and those who've been gone for much longer but we never stop missing.
“Grief and love are sisters, woven together from the beginning. Their kinship reminds us that there is no love that does not contain loss and no loss that is not a reminder of the love we carry for what we once held close.”
--Francis Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief
I don't know how to conclude this. I don't have an inspiring message to share. I do believe that what follows death is new life. Look! I am doing a new thing. Don't you perceive it?
See?
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