Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Ephemeral

Often I am struck, and deeply touched, by how willing some people are to share their inner life with their blog readers. When I read posts such as Jude Hill's 'As a child I was very afraid', or Denise of grrl+dog's 'My Dad as a Voodoo Doll', I feel I have been given a gift.  A gift of trust. After all, how could you put yourself out there like that without a great amount of trust that someone would read it with an open mind, without making judgements? How can they trust that anyone is even interested in their most private, personal stories? These people, I think, are very brave.

I often feel that no one wants to know about my real feelings, as if even friends and family members are only thinking of what they want to say next instead of actually listening while I blather on. And this may well be the case. But sometimes I think that maybe I should try to be brave, especially when something happens in my life that makes it hard for me to carry on as normal. The death of someone very dear to me, who has always been there to love and support me since the day I was born, certainly qualifies as one of those events.



Ephemeral
ingredients: vintage book covers, vintage ephemera such as stamps, book pages and handwritten notebook pages, ribbon, lace, vintage game piece, monotype, stitching



I made this piece two days after my grandmother's funeral.  It seems that making art is my way of processing things.

About being brave - I'm not very good at it.


The Summer Day 
by Mary Oliver


Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-- the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?



16 comments:

  1. sorry for your loss, but, beautiful work, heartfelt post and ... I am listening.....................

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    1. Thanks, Cat; I know you're listening. xox

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  2. thank you for this deep sharing Sharmon, this is a beautiful honouring for your grandmother and my favourite poem!

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    1. making art is a good way to process grief, I think... This is my favorite poem, too.

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  3. dans les bons et mauvais moments..l'art nous donne courage! une petite pensée pour toi!...

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    1. Elfi, you are so right... art is what gets me through, always... thank you.

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  4. I'm not very brave in the matters of the heart either and I understand completely about the feeling of people not wanting to know about real feelings. It's the face we show the world of happy thoughts and not letting the ugly out. It's nice to see someone sharing true feeling and it's what makes us human. Very sorry for your loss.

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    1. Thank you for the very kind words, Leah. Yes, I think we're afraid that others will see us as negative; it's hard to let people see behind the 'happy face' we put on... I guess it's about learning to trust, and to realize that none of us are 100% the face we show the world.

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  5. My Grandmother Lucile Kester Holmes was so dear to me and her death (now years ago) still a huge loss. Peace be with you Sharmon - you honor us, your readers and Bloggish friends as well as your Grandmother by your sharing. Hugs
    -sus

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    1. Thank you for your kindness, Sus. Even though she was 98, it has been difficult, and I miss her dearly.

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  6. It is heart-warming to read about your closeness with your grandmother, you must feel her lopss terribly. You chose a perfect poem to honour her.

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    1. I do miss her a lot, but I cherish every memory... Thanks for stopping by!

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  7. I'm so sorry for your loss Sharmon. I remember the pain I felt when my beloved grandmother passed away (during my childhood). A beautiful artwork you have made during your time of grief.

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    1. Thank you, Robyn. I'm very lucky to have had her with me for so long - she was almost 98 years old. I miss her terribly.

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  8. so sorry for your loss sharmon. I hope your art will help you with the grieving. take care.

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    1. Thank you Bridgette. Art seems to help me with almost all aspects of life, and it is helping me to work through all these emotions...

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