When Ryan died, I cut up a canvas that hung on a wall of his apartment and turned it into a book cover. Filling the pages of that book meant weeks of happy memories as I sorted through photos and wrote down stories.
There were also many slow tears dropped onto the paper.
And other times when the sobbing was so hard, I found myself needing to lay down on the cement floor of the studio, in the bits and pieces of fallen scraps and trimmings.
That photo album has become a treasured piece for me.
Since crafting his book, two close friends lost family members too, and I made books for them.
And this week, I put together this album for another friend’s birthday.
She lost her mom a couple years ago. At that time, I wasn’t making these memorials, but after seeing their meaningfulness, I wanted her to have one.
Each book that I build is a mix of photos (usually taken from Facebook), blank pages to add more pictures later, note paper to write on, with pockets and envelopes to store tokens and trinkets.
I try to use colors and styles of paper that I know my friend will like.
And each has some doodling type artwork inside.
Mostly simple flowers, vines, or other small sketches.
And each becomes, almost a meditation for me as I assemble it.
I take time to think about the people in the photos, and feel their happiness and their loss.
Constructing these books has been good for me, an exercise in caring and time to lose myself in being creative.
Sadly, I have one more to make, and wish that there wasn’t a reason to need another one.
But since there is, I hope that the art journal can bring some comfort.
