Years ago,
I did
a series of
memorial paintings to various animals I'd see dead on the road. It was about all I could and although it wasn't much, I suspect somewhere it made a difference.
I was thinking about one's last moments of life. It is the one event that as an artist I won't be able to document or share in colors or textures through painting, or in emotions and thoughts in writings. You are totally alone, even if someone is sitting with you. In birth, there's something of the experience that is left over, after all, there's a tiny fingerprint many of us have tucked in a drawer. And you cry. You share your first breath with the world. And even if you are experiencing a walk in the woods on your own, there is something of the woods that comes back with you. Even if you say, "I went for a walk today", that's sharing it. When you die, that moment is internal, and the next moment is...not here.
I'm not expressing myself that well. I am behind from the past holiday and guests. Perhaps the one relief of death is that it's one thing I can't document and put out there. The experience will be completely mine. Strangely comforting.
