[Two blog entries. That's how long my experiment lasted. There might be some truth to the old adage "you can't teach an old dog new tricks" but I prefer to look at this a bit more positively by saying "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." So here goes another blog, transcribed from the good old dusty notebook.]
I've embarked on a new ambitious art project. With a realization that it's impractical and too demanding of studio space to begin painting again--and with my photography at a sad standstill--I've decided to express myself creatively through collage. In previous creative spurts I derided the collage medium and didn't give it much attention. But it's grown on me. I've done several experiments on a small scale but a few days ago, I committed to larger projects by purchasing some poster board. Today I'll begin working on my first larger scale collage which will be a tribute to my father.
My dad's story is unique--as all our stories are. There's no earth shattering adventure to share nor is there any remarkable life achievement award to post. But there is great pride and it cries for expression about a life well lived. I was at odds with my dad all through my teen years. As a child I was fearful of him at times although my father never once disciplined me physically. My early adult years were distant by choice and geography as I'd moved to Texas. I would say that it was distance that finally endeared my father to me.
I'm hoping my collage will do honor to the man I came to know later--perhaps later than it should have been. There were poignant moments before a time when his memory began to fade. As the ravages of dementia took their inevitable toll, there were opportunities to express care and love in ways that were gently acknowledged. I just wish I could have gotten more of his story. My best advice to anyone who has living parents--regardless of your relationship status--get all you can before it's too late. Have conversations. Record them. Take notes. Do whatever.
My father was eight years old when his father died from Polio. A dashingly handsome man from the few photos I have, Clarence was a hardworking father of five. My father was the oldest. Dad finished high school on an accelerated program so that he could become a pilot during WWII. He survived a nearly fatal car accident when he was only 25. A lifetime of paralysis seemed likely. A skilled surgeon was able to repair his broken neck with a truly experimental procedure and his mobility was restored. Adversity seemed to have prepared him for everything. In 1952, he met my mother and they were married the following year. I don't think my father ever met a challenge he didn't at least try to overcome. Giving up wasn't in his nature. He fathered five children of his own of which I am the youngest. He and my mother certainly faced some lean times with his railway clerk salary. He often lamented that a job in the railway industry was all he could get when the standard commercial pilot wasn't a dark-haired, short, Catholic Irish guy but a tall, blonde-haired, blue eyed nordic Protestant type. I imagine there was some truth to that. He continued to renew his pilot license--even bought a small plane. But I think some of his dreams were dashed early on. He trudged away at his job until a later than deserved retirement in 1985. By that time, I'd graduated high school and moved to Texas. Conversations were few and far between. And those were the typical, surfacey talks. I don't think we ever had a "heart to heart." That didn't happen until 1998--when I would have killed myself if I'd had the balls. But...since I didn't have that kind of nerve I just stopped wanting to live. I was willing myself to death through self-starving and sleep deprivation. Mom and dad made a special trip to Texas to bring me back to the hometown from which I'd worked so hard to escape. Dad gave me a pep talk and helped me realize there was still a life for me if I wanted it. He shared parts of his life story in a way that made me feel that I came from some pretty resilient blood. I stayed in Texas. I survived. I owe so much to him.
The project for my collage is beginning with him. I want to convey some key points, among them survival, resilience and loss. I don't know how long it will take but I will do the best I can, which is clearly what he did. For his entire, remarkable life.
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