Sunday, April 19, 2015

It's interesting to me, how one's life, after it has passed, is replaced and somewhat reduced to memories, boxes of books, diaries, and flashes of momentos in received cards, notes, photographs. Today I drove up to Milwaukee to pick up my brothers art work. My moms building had been sold, and after 31 years of memory making (birthdays, graduations, Christmases, parties) she had to find a new place. It seems as though she is holding it together pretty well and getting excited about a new home. It was
sad for me to walk around the apartment for one last time, seeing many things already packed into labelled boxes, and just allowing myself to feel and remember. My brother really didn't do anything small scale. There were many large pieces, some not finished, that are four feet by eight feet. At times I couldn't hold it together and cried quietly. His art amazed me. So unique. So incredibly John. Not only did I pick up his art, but also his books and diaries. My brother was amazing. His diaries are chock full of pictures, notes, letters, sketches. Looking through one especially made me stop. It appears to be a notebook, plain page, of homework assignments, with the teachers notes taped or sticky noted on the sides. The whole book is pure art. It is also has sketches, photocopied pictures, and poetry. Looking at the notebook, I see where and how he got some ideas for his art. It all came together in that book! I miss my wickedly talented brother so immensely. His was a very special life, one cut way too short. His box of books, diaries and some of his art I now am custodian of.

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