For Lennon-Wu, my BIG little brother...

After an unintentional drug overdose, 5 days in ICU, and 4 days in a hospice care center, my brother died. He was 31 years old. Below is the speech I shared earlier this week at his Celebration of Life service.

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I get a kick out of referring to myself as Lennon's little big sister. Despite having been born before my brother I, like many of you, was dwarfed by him. Even though he was 15 months younger than me, he was almost always bigger than me, or at least the same size. I remember my dad taking us to the state fair in West Virginia when we were kids. To get us both in for free, my dad lied and told the cashier at the gate that Lennon and I were twins. As he got older, his size meant that he could give outrageously big hugs. Often when he hugged me, he would kiss the top of my head. 

For most of our lives together Lennon and I did not get along. We were opposites in nearly every way. But a funny thing happens between brothers and sisters. Even when you can’t identify with each other, when your worlds are at odds, and you never call each other… despite ALL of it, no matter what, you know you love them. Even when you hate them, you still love them. It’s strange to love someone, yet not know how to be around them.

This past spring Lennon and I spoke on the phone about him coming to New Mexico to help my partner Eric and I, remodel our new house. For those of you who may not know, my brother was a talented carpenter. Given our history, Lennon and I were both weary of having to live AND work together for 4 weeks! After talking about the remodel, our conversation grew into a frank and honest review of some of our worst times together. For the first time in 20 years he and I were able to listen to each other, and empathize with each other. We cried together. We sat in silence together, each of us holding our phones to our own ears, knowing it was enough to be connected in this way despite the 2,000 miles between us. 

 

Me, Lennon, Jean, Lotus - the last time we were all together, xmas 2010

Last April my brother did come to New Mexico and he worked on my house all day, nearly every day for 4 weeks straight. He tore down walls, built new ones, ran electrical wiring, hung sheetrock, laid flooring… too much to mention here. Of all the things he did while working on my house, Lennon was most proud of the cabinets and shelving he built for my kitchen. He built everything from scratch, without plans or blue prints. All he had to go on were my sketches and rudimentary measurements. Many times he reminded me that I better be grateful, because there weren’t many other people he’d be willing to put himself through so much for.

It was very important to him to finish the cabinets before he left. The day Lennon flew back to Florida I had to be at work 5 hours before his flight took off. When I came home, Lennon was gone but as usual, he had to have the last word. With a pencil he had written wonderfully loving messages to my partner and I all over the top edges of the cabinetry boards – places that would soon be covered by countertops. He thanked us, wrote that he loved us, drew lots and lots of smiley faces, and left a small bird’s nest out for us, which he had found in our backyard that morning. And now, every time I go in my kitchen I am surrounded by Lennon’s talent and love. After 20 years of hardly talking, and only 8 months before his death, my brother and I were able to come together and create what is now my home. A funny thing happens between brothers and sisters… you love each other, no matter what!

In closing, I’d like to read a poem a friend shared with me…

Gone From My Sight

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone!"

"Gone Where?"

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And, just at that moment when someone at my side says, "there she is gone!" There are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: “Here she comes!"

And that is dying.


- Anonymous

Buddhist Wheel of Life

The Ghost of Christmas Past

My life as a (former?) artist haunts me. In the past 6-7 years I have let it slip away. It's been over a decade since I've worked in a darkroom. Writing this right now puts a lump in my throat and tightens my gut.

About six years ago I was invited to see someone's jerry-rigged darkroom here in Albuquerque. There was no ventilation, so the unfiltered smell of the developing chemicals hit me hard when I walked in the door. Before I realized what was happening there were tears running down my cheeks. My host seemed surprised and asked if I was okay. My response was something like, "I'm okay, I guess I didn't realize how much I miss being in a darkroom." He told me I was welcome in his anytime. I never took him up on it.

Eric's mom gave me an Annie Leibovitz book for Christmas. I've seen most of the images in a variety of contexts over the years. But something changes when you look at images on the glossed pages of a book in your own living room. Holding so much life and imagery and history in your own two hands connects you to it in a way that can't be attained from a magazine in a doctor's office, or a snip-it seen somewhere online. I've spent most of this Christmas Day so far looking through the pages of this book again and again; reading the interview with Leibovitz in the foreward of the book. She talks about her work with a voice very similar to how I remember my classmates and I sounding in college in Atlanta, GA during the late 90's.

Art books give me flashbacks. Flashbacks to days spent on the floor with big, gorgeous books in my college library. Days and nights where creativity took over and hours evaporated. Critique classes where conceptual conversations about art and life, and the blur in between, bounced around large rooms with endless windows. Flashbacks to the unknown hours that slipped past while rocking chemical trays in a massive stainless steel darkroom sink.

I want my past life to be tangible again. Tangible like this gorgeous book I've devoted my morning to. Perhaps this is my Christmas gift to myself this year? A revelation to reunite myself with the ghosts of my past.

Printmaking For A Non-Printmaker!

I love printmaking. I love the smell of the ink. The sticky sound the ink makes when you roll it out with the brayer. I especially love relief prints. There's only one thing holding me back from being a "real" printmaker... I can never keep my hands clean.

And so begins this blog. No more excuses about why art no longer has a role in my life. In less than a month I've gone from beating myself up about why I haven't made creativity part of my daily for over 6 years (!!!), to printmaking in my new studio! Lovely.

Here's a peek at what I've been up to this week...

Printed cards drying on my laundry rack.

Sewn details make the handmade-ness more tangible.

Finished cards ready to be sold.

If you're curious... these cards were printed using "scratch foam" as a printing plate. You can get the same effect by drawing on/pressing into a flat styrofoam tray with a ball point pen.

* First, I created drawings and/or text on multiple styrofoam printing plates.

* Second, I squeezed tubes of water based printing ink onto a cookie sheet, spread the ink out evenly with a brayer, then rolled the ink onto the styrofoam plate with said brayer. 

* Next, I laid the inked plate on a piece of card stock, evenly pressed and rubbed the back of the plate, then pulled the plate off of the card stock... VOILA! Gorgeous holiday cards! 

CAUTION: If you try this process, remember to write any text backwards on the styrofoam, thus making your words print legibly. Happy printing!