Giant purple stone vase …
for my sister who died seven years ago today. Loss continues to have a loud voice inside my head, and yet there are still few words to describe the inexplicable. I think of her every time I order anchovy pizza; and she comes to mind whenever I see a purple flower blooming. How did empty become so substantially solid?
I spent most of last week trying to make a drawing for Kukla. Whether or not she would’ve liked any of what I did is still a big question mark in my mind. Che ne so (what do I know)? Maybe it’s not so much what death takes away that causes so much difficulty, but what it leaves behind: all those unanswered questions.
Regardless of what she might’ve thought about the drawings, the wisteria, no doubt, would’ve made her smile.








