I don't wish to ruminate here on my sweet Dad's death. He was such a wonderful person. I wish everyone could experience having such a great father. We, his family, have received so many very meaningful cards and emails from former students, artists, gallery owners, and friends from the decades. My Mom and Dad were rich in their friendships and acquaintances.
We are all finding our ways without Dad. Just last Sunday morning, I was listening to some jazz saxophone. The terrific Wah-wah-wah made me curious: how did that musician make that sound on the sax?! Immediately, my impulse was to call Dad and ask him. (He, who was a band director...) And then I paused, like so many times in the past three weeks.
Anyone who has lost a loved one has had this very same experience. I still falter when I have something I want to tell my sweet deceased sister, now twelve years down the pike. I see a funny, or I feel a hurt, and I call out to my big sister in mental hilarity or anguish. WHY AREN'T YOU HERE?!
Losing a very, very loved one holds so many facets of emotion. Different degrees and different hues. Dark Sienna, Burnt Amber, Obsidian, Vermillion...
On that note, I found this painting which captured my days the week during and the week after my sweet Dad passed away:
That was me.
Certainly Frederic Leighton's oil is not at all a depiction of loss or depression.
But it does speak to me of my loss of my sweet Dad.
And so, that is where I will leave this chapter for the time being.