In 1996 my husband, Bryan, died. I use the word 'died' as opposed to 'passed away' or 'lost', for to me, at that time, his death was thing of violence visited upon a lifetime spent as loving companions. I had no choice in the events that overtook me and my life was turned upside down by his departure.
I was suddenly 'alone' in the deepest sense of the word. I felt, at that time, that there were no maps or markers to show my way in the strange new world I found myself in as a 'one', nor did our culture address the issues of death for the survivor, preferring instead to turn away as though they might become like you, and catch your 'affliction' perhaps.
In 2001 I was offered the opportunity to undertake the exhibition titled 'Momento Mori - Remember You Must Die". So began a year long journey of investigating the cemeteries and funereal cutlture of the Tweed Shire.
As I sit here tonight writing my "Artists Statement" as the work I am doing draws to a close. I am plagued by all the usual doubts that visit as an artist prepares to bare their soul to the viewing public. Have I addressed my brief correctly? Have I made works that will touch people as to the enormity and complexity of such a subject?
An accident in the kiln has shaken my resolve and perhaps destroyed the visual language I was creating linking the processes of grief. The accident itself is almost like the destruction of death. It mocks me now in moments of doubt and at other times the shattered sculpture speaks softly to me of the impermanence of life and there is, in fact, a certain stark and torn beauty in the partial form that has survived the kiln's flame. It almost reminds me of my journey through grief, torn apart but still surviving.
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