The beauty of grief: embracing impermanence
I’ve been thinking about how lucky I am to have had my first solo exhibition at the Revelstoke Art gallery. What a turn out! I had strangers coming up to me and hugging me with tears. I was so moved and felt like all my own years of grief and then pouring myself into creating expressions of grief were making a difference. People were connecting with the art and that’s what feels so gratifying as an artist. You can see their online gallery of the exhibition here: The Beauty of Grief at the Revelstoke art gallery or read on!
All the installations in this show are made of natural materials: hand made paper, natural dyes and fibres. Each piece represents a personal stage of grief I have known.
“Hold on and keep your shit together”
Family ties and trying to keep all the pieces together can be exhausting. Sometimes it feels impossible to allow yourself to break down. At least not yet. When someone young dies it’s as if there is something left unfinished and yet the needles are left in as a possibility of new attachments. Paper is made with multiple fibers such as iris leaves and hemp, hand dyed with madder, indigo, logwood, weld, lobster mushroom, avocado, oak gall and iron.
“Calm that comes after”
The sense of peace that came to me after my sister died and the transformation that occurred from anxiety to calm seemed contradictory to expected notions of grief. The thin paper fibres are intended to question how grief appears to be vulnerable and to depict the layers of resiliency that form after a tragedy. I feel the dark layers of bone black pigment made in my fireplace give a feeling of a warm blanket and permission to finally rest.
“Looking for signs”
Trying to see beyond the barrier between life and death is always obscured with mystery. Many people often look for signs after a loss to feel comfort that their loved one is ok. A shape of a cloud or bird call, a dime that appears. Although my family was not religious I found myself looking for hope within any framework I could. I spoke with a Rabi, took meditation classes and turned to oracle cards. My sister passed away on Christmas day and I often find comfort in the warm lights through windows. Handmade paper batiked with beeswax from my own bees, dyed with home made inks from cochineal, weld, indigo and madder.
Brian sweeping up after installation. So many of my pieces have falling off bits of paper and leaves adding to the sense of impermanence
Art takes a team…
“Letting go”
The journey of attempting to let go can be a long struggle. Feeling the wind and the smell of trees in autumn gives imaginings of new life, repair and growth leading to courage and adventure. I have found that my grief gives me courage to try new things and be bold with creativity. Made of kozo fiber and leaves.
I love how many people were interacting with the installations, getting up close and really sensing the emotions of each piece.
“Swimming in a sea of no one gets it”
Grief can feel like there is a shadow of yourself interacting in daily life but the rest is sunk. Sometimes people expect you to act and be the same yet you will never be the same. The sea is fragmented so that you feel you are never getting anywhere and that no one understands.Grief can also feel like the bottom of your life has fallen away. After multiple losses there can be a sense that there is no one, yet when looking at the very depths of grief we might find hope such as in the shadows of flying birds or a glimpse of the sun through the clouds. Made from hemp, kozo and iris fibers, dyed with a banana indigo vat.
“Time expands time contracts while waiting for Godot”
How does time feel when a life fully lived has an end date? What do you do while waiting? My Granny Anne was an artist and draughts person who also grew up in a prisoner of war camp in China. She loved reading and crosswords and listening to the radio. She lost her eyesight and most of her hearing and chose the date of her own death. Time stretched out for eons as she waited, yet for me it seemed time was going too fast. Anne would say “I’m waiting for Godot” referencing the play from the 1940’s, like she’s the central character. When the senses of sight, sound and taste are so dismantled, how is perception of time and the world around us changed? Made from recycled paper, cotton sheets and bone black pigment. Video edited by Sarah. Original source video was recorded several days before Anne died by her care aid Phaedra.
“Rollercoaster”
For two weeks before my sister passed away there was a wide swing of emotions in the family. Just when we thought we were coming around the corner something would jolt us. One night we were holding vigil by the bedside convinced she would die that night. Eventually everyone went home to sleep but I slept that night in my sister’s hospital room. I was woken by the loud crackling of paper being unwrapped. Rachel was sitting up in bed eating a bar of chocolate. She asked me, “what’s going on? I was having the strangest dreams.” Her husband was inquisitive enough to find out she had accidentally been given ten times too much dilaudid. Rachel held on for two more weeks until Christmas day. Made with recycled paper, bone black pigment, feathers from pillows and plants.
I acknowledge support from The Canada Council for the Arts in help with creation of this project. For more of my work on the stages of grief visit "impermanence and grief" Sarah Hope
If you live in Vernon and have loved ones at Hospice House please take a moment to visit my donated piece “Letting go”
“Letting Go” at Vernon Hospice House near the nurses station