Monday, February 1, 2010


I've made progress on the "On the Mend" collage and the commission today. Here's the WIP of the collage. Not sure if you can see from this photo that some of the edges of the pages are burned. Fire has helped (gazing into the camp fire for example)... I got the idea when I went for a run at Patsy Pond yesterday. I was looking at one of the tree trunks that had been burned and it gave me the idea. Of course, my runs at Patsy Pond have helped me too, so I've incorporated sand and found objects from there.

I've been incorporating symbols of people and things who are helping me to mend. For example, the stone in the bottom right is from my visit to Sequim, WA to see Robin, the little baby's ear shell is the favorite of me and my mom, the raffia tie on some of the papers reminds me of my sister-in-law Jane, the copper wire reminds me of Laura who works in metals and the shards of glass of her sister Anne who works in glass. Many other friends and family have helped me too. The face is an amalgamation of the many faces who have shared this grief and helped me. Many of the torn pieces of thick paper are being mended together with wire, fishing line, thread, etc. There is even sand from Patsy Pond where my nearly daily runs have burned off grief - and also reminds me of my dear sweet cousin Carolyn, who works in similar forests of long leaf pine.

Also incorporated is salt water from the ocean which is also a source of strength. And I've included a poem in the section on the upper right, written by Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno in her book Slamming Open the Door. I'll copy it in below because I'm sure you can't make out the words from the photo.

"Tea Time"
Losing your daughter,
losing your daughter to murder,
requires adjustment.

Like, say,
you are sipping tea
and someone
reaches over and
fantastically yanks
your heart from your chest

and it drops, pumping,
onto the table
and there it is,
there is the matter,
your whole heart,
that brilliant engine,

that tuber,
vulgar, purple,

and you simply don't die,
you see;
you blanch
and your brain beats on
and then, and then,

you reach down
to straighten a spoon.

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