Catastrophe

Three months ago, flipping through my sketchbook, a drawing grabbed my attention: a quick sketch I made a few days after my mom died unexpectedly. The drawing described a proposed art installation: a long line of wall-mounted place settings (fork, spoon, knife and plate) interrupted by an explosion. I took a few preliminary steps toward creating the piece but eventually set it aside: an installation would be too large, too awful. 

However, the sketch was different; I liked it. It also suggested a story and one that I felt driven to turn into a picture book that described the way I recover from personal catastrophes. (There have been more than one.) I also wanted to remind myself, when I experience another (because there always is another) of the way out. Among other things, this is my roadmap.

Perhaps we don’t talk enough about grief and recovery and what it looks like inside our brains. I know I look to philosophy, physics, math, biology, ecology and the cosmos for answers and perspective. I also find comfort in the everyday: a hot cup of tea, a walk with my tiny family. These two things together—the biggest of the big and the smallest of the small—wrap around each other, conjoined and double-helix style, to guide me back home. 

To make it personal, I knew I wanted to stitch each book together by hand. Luckily, the simple saddle stitch is neither difficult nor time-consuming. 

Finally, I dabbled briefly with the idea of selling this book. Afterall, I strongly believe that artists should be paid for their labor and their ideas. However, it makes me happy to give them away. Today, I’m choosing “happy.” If you would like one, I only ask for $6 to cover my shipping costs. Send me a message. We will figure it out.  (Also, allow me a little bit of time. I’m still sewing them together. )