Saying Goodbye

Yesterday the world said goodbye to a wonderful friend and artist. I’ve known her for several decades. We often talked about her art projects and she would talk to me about my writing. I envied her talent as an artist and she wanted to be able to write. I was ashamed of what I would draw or paint when compared to the realistic images that her skilled fingers and imaginative mind could produce. Her portrait renditions of people were spot on while mine were only vague recognitions of people. I have only drawn two portraits in my 72 years and that was because I was asked to make them.

The first was of the deceased husband of a black friend when I was stationed in Florida. She was a cook at a restaurant that I often frequented. Somehow she understood that I liked to draw and would try to hire me to do a portrait from a photo. I finally relented and after several days of struggle, I was able to create a reasonable likeness. I gave it to her, but refused payment. I wasn’t satisfied with my results.

My talented friend drew portraits with ease. The things her eyes saw, she was able to transfer to her fingers and hands, then onto paper, canvas, or whatever medium she chose to use. Those images seemed to flow. One year she and I were helping with s school yard sale. Traffic was light and she pulled out her sketchbook. With pencil and charcoal, she drew a portrait of me, moustache and all. I still keep it tucked away and will treasure it even more.

We attended the same writers club for several years. She struggled to write words to express what she wanted to say. I shouldn’t say struggle, but they didn’t seem to flow as easily as did her art projects. I once suggested that she write down what inspired her to paint a scene. She should share why she painted or drew a picture. She could recreate the feeling she was sharing with world. I’m not sure that she actually did, but she would share more with other writers. Her whimsical and lighthearted tales would have been worthy of inclusion in a children’s book. Her stories were about the scampering of wildlife at her home and leaves scurrying along in the wind. She seemed to avoid serious topics.

She’s gone now, while her talent remains in her artwork. I’m not sure how much she created recently. Cancer claimed much of her strength. I talked with her husband, and like my wife Cindy, the blessing of the cancer they had was, neither suffered from pain. Say hi to Cindy when you meet her in heaven, Marian.