I can still look into the mirror at myself. I often wonder if any of you, not the few who stood up for justice, can do the same. You all, especially my brother’s family, scum, left me to die. I did suffer a mortal wound, but have not expired, yet. Closer to dying, than living. Cancer will kill me, before the Per Curium.
I wish the soft sand of the Sahara and the setting sun smoothed your soul. I wish the million stars, the Milky Way sorted all your relationships.
Lovely comment. Working on it. You know that one of the benefits, err motivations to making self portraits is to look deeply at yourself and contact a part of you that you don’t want to see or ignore. In my studio, I feel safe. The creative juices flow, not all the time, opening some wounds and closing others. The only part of me that touches the floor concerns the technical part of the shoot; the rest is ….
As for the family, my Mother died on April 16, 1996. My brother blamed me for her death. At the funeral, no one from my family talked to me and I still don’t know the circumstances surrounding her demise. We had spoken a few times after the murder/suicide and we had visited her once in Stamford. She was concerned about our futures, mine and Sharon’s, wondering how we would make a living. No one spoke with us at the funeral or invited us to lunch. The next thing I knew, my brother came to our house in Brooklyn to demand repayment of a loan made by our Mother for the down payment on our house which my Mother had not requested and advised us that we had been disinherited. As I sat shiva amidst the news cameras, the Commission blasted me for not appearing for a scheduled hearing and the powers to be continued to demand my resignation. We paid the money and soon sold our home, a place we loved and cherished, and left Brooklyn. You don’t come back from total disgrace or get over it.