Life is a summation of moments. Most are forgotten and taken for granted. Some flash with such brilliance we stop. My father’s diagnosis of cancer brought me to a halt. “They” said he had a year to live.
I sat in my studio incapable. There, I keep a box of pantyhose scraps. Years worth of dismissed pieces from artwork of the past. Unnecessary at the time of creation, but deemed too precious to trash. So began the sewing of these remembrances. Joining, reprocessing, defining the remnants into months. Nothing was to be wasted, not a bit or a thread. Once this task was completed embellishments were added to evoke my impression of that month. Again the box was filled. From those collections the thirty one days emerged until nothing remained, including the year.
Thankfully my father is still alive. “They” say he is doing well with the chemo and might get five more years. FIVE YEARS. Live every moment.