I started this practicum differently than most. I started by stopping. Not just practicum, but life. The morning of October 21st, just as I was about to get my kids off to their care facilities so that I could start my first day of practicum bright and early, my life came to a halt. You know those moments when you know something has happened but you think that there is no way it could be true without confirmation? It was one of those moments. About 5 minutes later, when I was doing a final mirror check on my way out the door, the phone rang and my fears were confirmed. My brother Joe had passed away. My brother (in law) had been fighting a horrific battle with pancreatic cancer. This man....this man was much more than a brother in law. This man had been my big brother, my comforter, my friend, since I was seven. He was a such a big part of every phase of my life, from childhood, through my teen years and then, when I became an adult he became an anchor, in my life and in the lives of my family. Although I know some amazing men, in my heart there has only ever been four. My Grandpa, who was a light in my life; my husband, who is my other half; my father, who is my guide; and my brother Joe, who has always been a pillar in my life.
So what does this have to do with art? Well here comes the "peace and love" aspect of my thoughts. What is art? I feel that there are some criteria by which I judge all things to consider if they are art or not. First: Does it make me feel? Does it make me feel good, scared, happy, abandoned, alone, a part of something....does it make me feel anything???? I could stop right here, because this question is the basis for many other questions. Do I value it? Do I think that the world is better, deeper, for hearing the message contained in it? So this all leads to the question that I have been pondering...can I consider our lives art?
Is there any way that WE are the medium, our actions the equivalent of brush strokes on a canvas? Do the things we do send a message, open to interpretation by the beholder of our art?
I have to tell you, I think that Joe's life was a work of art. This man was not great in the way that traditional people consider greatness. He was not abundantly successful to the point of obscene wealth. He was not a public figure. He did not surround himself with hoards of people. But this man was great. He did things that stopped you in your tracks and made you reconsider everything. He was well known for being able to drop a couple of words (an by a couple I really do mean just a couple) into a conversation to create hilarious humour - mostly through puns. Does this sounds "great"? Nope. But the way he did it was. People could have been heartbroken or depressed, or just disconnected, and with only a couple of words he could bring them in, make them smile, and most of all, reconsider where they were at. This man would drop anything for those that he loved. He would take a child skating, sledding, teach her to drive a stick shift (properly...she knew how to drive it, just not properly), he would fix her car, he would give her a place to live, he was a friend, he was an anchor. On more than one occasion, when I was sick or super pregnant and I would look outside to see him de-icing my driveway because he didn't want me to slip. Once I saw him doing this in the early morning, when it was still dark out. "Well, this guy sounds like a giver," you may say. That's the funny thing, most of the world thought he was...well, they certainly didn't think he was a giver. Most of the people in his life had no idea whatsoever how much he was taking care of everyone in his world. He did most things silently, without recognition. He would most often deny anything that he had done that would bring attention to himself, saying flat out that he would never do these things. I feel like I cannot put into words even a fraction of the amazingness that he did. When I read over what I have wrote it reads like a ingredients list of shepherd's pie - there is nothing in particular that moves me. I have to tell you though, he was an enigma, and he ALWAYS moved me.
When he and my sister had a son I saw a new and amazing side of him. It is a lovely thing to see someone you love in a different light. To see my brother, tough as nails, become a father, was incredible. He protected his son with his whole being, he loved him and invested into him with everything he had. He fell in love with my nephew. When I had a son I got to see Joe in a whole new light yet again. I realized how much he loved me when I realized how much he loved my child. I wouldn't say he loved him like his own child but I would say that he loved him in a way that is more than family - a deep connection and investment. He became and incredible god father to my three children.
Like I said, not every one fell in love with him, not every one saw his goodness, but I think that is how it is with art. I think that two people can look on the same piece and one can fall to their knees and another can keep on walking. I looked at his life, the intricate details, and I was moved. Every day I was moved. I loved knowing him in his life and it broke me to see him in his death. For six months I saw a man that I adored waste away. I saw someone strong, healthy, fit, turn to someone I didn't believe could be the body of a 42 year old man. What I didn't see, was a diminishing of spirit. The last time I got to spend alone with him I fed him. The first meal he ate in a few days and one of his last. He was stubborn, he was funny, he was independent, he let me love him, he let me help him, it broke my heart and uplifted it at the same time. To see a man who was always doing for others and not letting anyone help him, allow me to feed him, it altered my universe.
So...maybe it's a lie. Maybe my heart's wonderings are just lies. Maybe our lives are not artwork. Maybe I am just a broken person who wanted to talk about my brother. However, I have been pondering these thoughts for six months and needed to put them somewhere and where else to put your pondering of life being art than on an art blog? And really, the point is not if we can agree that life is art the point is really, isn't it worth living it in a way that when you are gone someone might consider that your life was a masterpiece?
For now, I consider it true, life is art. The lives of those I love are art. I feel like I am standing in a gallery, hung with some of the most incredible works of art that could ever be. However, for this time...I can't help but stand in front of a gaping hole on the wall. I know that the works around it are great but as people bustle past me and life is happening, I am just staring at this hole where a wonderful painting once hung. I know that in time I will be able to take a step back and enjoy the whole gallery but for now I can't. I know that I will be able to step back in time because there are other holes...there are the holes of friends who died too young, of grandparents who nurtured my soul, of my first, third and fifth children who passed on before I could hold them...holes. Big holes. Holes that I stood in front of for a long time before moving on. Holes that I still see but when I glance int their direction I also see the art that once hung there. Beautiful art. In time I will take a step back and the hole that is now consuming me will not hurt as much. Oh, it will always hurt but I won't stand here. I will walk past and remember what was once here...I will smile when I remember the beauty. But for now, for now those smiles come with so many tears.
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| Never to be Forgotten 2.28.71 to 10.21.13 |
I've often thought of the life of my grandfather and what a good movie it would make. Not an action movie, just a simple story of a man who grew up poor, found a girl, moved to a new land, worked on the railways, had a son, lost a son, had two more children, worked so hard, got into a car accident, suffered depression, found joy in grandchildren, and now wouldn't recognize most of that story most days. It is hard to see family members go. I've been slowly saying goodbye to the person my grandpa was for a few years, and I agree his life is like a piece of art. Even now, he is beautiful art, but a much sadder piece than he once was.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing all of this Jana-Rae, it is a good place to discuss it. People are art. Thank you for making this connection. Most of all thank you for this line:
"...isn't it [life] worth living it in a way that when you are gone someone might consider that your life was a masterpiece?"
Thanks for your comment Michael. I think that the story of people who did their best and overcame circumstances, lost to others, and lived life honestly are beautiful stories.
DeleteYou speak of someone who can move others by their actions. You are one of those someones Jana-Rae. I was sitting here in my kitchen, trying to force myself to focus on schoolwork. Now, I am sitting here in my kitchen, tears streaming down my face, completely moved by your words. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteA life well-lived, in the service of others, performed with integrity and kindness, I believe is the ultimate masterpiece.
Walking with you through so many years Jana-Rae, sometimes close by sometimes from afar, I have seen your pain and your strength. And now I feel like I have read something private and SO personal here in this post.
ReplyDeleteBecause of what you have shared with me about the events surrounding Joe's death and the reasons why you wrote this post, I am moved beyond words--in fact I have written and deleted and written and deleted this comment just trying to say what I want to say! Thank you for sharing, and thank you for making sure Joe was remembered the way he really was. This quote really hit home for me:
"I think that two people can look on the same piece and one can fall to their knees and another can keep on walking."
I know what you mean.
Thank-you for your comments, friends. They mean a lot to me. This post has been part of a grieving process for me. Today is one month and all day I can't stop thinking about it.
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