Sharp pain, almost crippling.
Here’s what I saw. Here’s what it looked like.
I’ve seen lots of paintings and artworks about grief, but I’ve yet to come across any that show it from the perspective of the grieving person – what their world looks like, what they see, a glimpse of grief through their eyes. So I began painting the clothing that he left behind.
Shortly after his death, I put all of his clothes only into the bedroom closet and closed the door – shirts stretched from his muscles, his favorite shoes worn and conformed to his feet, a long sleeved shirt with holes from when he was welding something, a leather jacket with a cigarette butt still in the pocket…I used to imagine that his clothes would somehow manifest him and the door would swing open, he would hop out with a big smile and say, “Here I’m am!”
But, of course, he never will