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| Bittersweet 3.5 x 5.25" swatch cut from a poster (not painted by me) to create a postcard |
The opening lines of the message on the card above read as follows:
Sunday 11/1/2015
Hi Mack,
Bittersweet: I'd set up this postcard w/ stamp and address to take w/ me on vaca to VA/WV to send to Muth way back 100 years ago in early Oct. Then I forgot to pack it … and now I've updated the address label and I'm writing to you instead of Muth—sad not to be writing to Muth, glad to be writing to you.
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For a year or two preceding my mom's death in October 2015, I wrote postcards to her regularly. The written word, in small doses, allowed for sweet and successful connection and communication as her dementia advanced.
The postcard above became a transition postcard following her death, marking the turning point at which I began painting postcards for my dad so he'd receive personal mail—by post, at the end of his driveway, in his roadside mailbox—as he lived by himself 150 miles away from his nearest daughters in the home he and my mom had previously shared. I wrote several times a month, sending the cards between in-person visits with him in Maine.
He kept all the accumulating cards on the small table beside the love seat in the dining room niche that we referred to as Narcolepsy Nook. As the stack of cards grew higher, I once offered to give him a box I had as a container. "No," he replied. "Thank you, but I like them just the way they are, in a stack."
When he died this year, five and a half years after my mom, I took that stack of postcards into my own keeping. Now, as 2021 draws closer to its end, I am continuing my tradition of recent years of making a wall calendar of my art to give as presents and offer for sale—this time featuring a dozen of my Postcards to Mack, this time using phrases extracted verbatim from the postcards to title them, this time creating the calendar at my desk at home and not in front of the wood stove in Maine with my dad in the chair beside me.
'Tis a bittersweet labor of love.
12 comments:
ooooh lady! I am teary and overcome! What a truly bittersweet and also beautiful post...a gift to us, your readers. A glimpse of a simply exquisite life and the legacy left behind. xoxoxoxo
Thanks for your sweet words of solace and celebration, Jen. As you might imagine, tears were at the ready as I wrote—a gift in themselves.
Feels good to have got back in the saddle to make a post today, and to be doing the creative work of putting together this year's calendar.
Hi Dotty,
Always nice to get your posts.
I love mail art! Did you ever read collage artist and writer, Nick Bantock's, series of books Griffin & Sabine? They contain actual envelopes with printed letters within that the reader has to open to follow along with the story.
It at times like these that I feel the loss of word skills to express what I want to say.... have missed your artwork and blogs .... your postcards to your father. May the process of making your calendar bring you peace and joy...Brachot!
Thea, omg! Mail art—YES! I was introduced to mail art by a friend whom I met at family camp in NH about 30 years ago; he's been participating in exchanging mail art for decades. And, yes!, I read the Griffin & Sabine series many moons ago and LOVED the books! Then, in 1998 I started an entrepreneurial business called art❤️warmers (1998-2005) that was based on the concept of mail art—will send you more info under separate cover if you'd like. Thanks for responding to my post, Thea.
Thanks for your consoling response to my post, Carol. The process of making my calendar this year is bringing many gifts for which I am most grateful!
Bittersweet day indeed, especially since Mom died on Jack’s and my anniversary. Love your 2022 calendar plans; such a loving tribute to Mack
Joje! You made it past the cyber gates to comment—ta da! Thank you once again for your persistence.
My 2022 calendar feels like just the right place to park my feelings. ❤️
Loved the words “park my feelings.” ❤️
❤️
What a beautiful story, Dotty! I can see the stack of post cards before my eyes!
Simone, love that you can see the stack of postcards before your eyes! It is such a sweet tender thing, that stack. Thanks for reading my story—I needed to tell it : )
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