Tags
death, Emily Page, Emily Page Art, Fractured Memories, garlic, paint, painter, painting, publish my book, writing a book
Here’s the problem with writing a book: it’s hard.
That is all.
Just kidding – I mean about that being all. I’m not kidding about it being hard. I spent most of Sunday and Monday working on Fractured Memories and have gotten a huge chunk of the first draft finished, but let me tell you, I spent about half of each day bawling my eyes out. Reliving this stuff sucks. It’s been three months since my dad died and for the first two and a half, I really was pretty damn okay. Then Satch The World’s Greatest Cat died and I crumbled. And pretty much since then, I’ve been the giantest and hottest of messes. So adding writing about my dad into the mix is, like, quadruple hard. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m raw, because this ain’t my first dance with death, but I think I’m definitely medium rare.
I took a break while writing to get a little painting done, which resulted in finishing up the two little garlic paintings I already posted, but I also did a painting of my dad on his death bed to include in the book. ‘Cause, you know, nothing cheers you up while dealing with a death than painting a dead guy. It’s up in my studio drying, and I can’t wait until it’s dry enough to put in my storage room so I can stop looking at it. It’s not the most cheerful of images to walk in on when I go up to work on other stuff, but it may also be forcing me to confront those final mental images I have and, I’m hoping, exorcise them, or at least blunt them.
Here’s the painting:
The Perks of Being an Artist 
This really strikes me because I took a photo of my mother on her death bed. I felt strangely compelled to do it in the moment, to document it, because like you, I am writing about the experience. Your painting is quite accurate, I must say. I hope this was a cathartic experience for you.
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I sometimes question my need to document it. I think it’s a way of making it feel more real, since it all seems so surreal at the time.
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It’s an amazing picture. I didn’t want photos of my dead parents. Somehow the pictures in my head felt strong enough. But I greatly admire the process you’re going through. Your pain will help many people deal with theirs/ours.
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I think because I had documented everything else along the way, I needed to document his ending, too. And painting it helped me both distance it by having to break it down into shapes, and connect me to it to make it seem more real.
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