Tonight I feel like I have lost my donkey for good.
Not long ago, Skinner's auction house had their semi-annual Asian Art sale. It's a very big deal, with bidders calling in from all over the world. My siblings and I sold off a good portion of my father's stunning, irreplaceable collection of Chinese art. Deciding to sell the art he had collected over the years was a tough call; agonizing, actually. None of us wanted to take care of the collection in the way it merited, but then again, we knew that my dad would have wanted us to keep it for posterity. This piece sell for million someday! Keep for grandchildren.
We did not keep for grandchildren. Or more accurately, we sold so we could send grandchildren to college. Above is a large, beautiful painting of donkeys by Huang Zhou. This was one of my mom's favorite paintings; donkeys were her spirit animal. Mom always thought that her body was a donkey in its willfullness and laziness. She'd often dream about trying to get donkeys to cross a bridge, to leave a fenced area, to climb over a hill.
We have a video of Skinner's auctioning off these donkeys in rapid-fire bidding. Let's start the bidding at 8,000. Do I hear 8,000? 8,000. 10,000? We have 10,000. Do I hear 15,000? The gentleman in the back; thank you. 15,000. And on up to $23,000. The donkeys are gone in under a minute, and I will never see them again, except for here, this crummy shot of them hanging in my parents' hallway.
Here is a box of some of my dad's chops, signature seals with bright vermillion ink pressed into the carved end.
I know I am very, very lucky to have a significant collection of my dad's paintings on the walls of my home. I know my beloved siblings feel the same way. But as his treasures scatter, and I send a packet of paintbrushes to one student of my dad's, an ink grinding stone to another, I feel only grief.
I feel like my dad is disappearing from the world. I feel like he should be famous, that his art should hang everywhere, that everyone should recognize his work at a glance, like I do. I feel like everyone should walk around missing him, missing him, missing him.
I feel it, p. I'm missing him. Loss is so primal. I resonate with yours as it reverberates through me like the sound of a distant tribal drum calling me back home. That place where we all connect and feel the shared journey. I didn't know him. It is your loss. Mine is just that place where I understand the loss of someone so precious. So dear. And irreplaceable. Your love for him is such a gift that you share here.
ReplyDeleteDear Paula,
ReplyDeleteThe loss of a beloved ripples throughout the years as “Life goes on”, perhaps one of the cruelest aphorisms to the recently bereaved. I remember a very zen gentleman saying that to me on the front porch of a mutual friend the evening of her premature death from cancer at age 45, leaving behind a 9 yr. old son.
I remember putting my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t scratch his eyes out!
The seemingly efficient erasure of a person’s presence on earth can be exquisitely painful. Every picture that must be taken down, every box that must be packed, every article of clothing that is given away or discarded, every subscription that must be cancelled, every membership that is not renewed, every account needing to be closed- each one of these mundane but necessary acts all serving to remind us, over and over again, that our loved one is not coming back to this earthly life.
Hard, hard stuff. I find it interesting that human beings seem so ill-equipped to deal with death, certainly as natural a biological fact as birth. I suppose it has something to do with our overwhelming need to form fierce attachments and hang onto them for dear life. And, also, because our society seems to be in such a rush for us to “get over it” and move on. In our own time, most of us do go on, integrating the loss with the love into the fabric of our lives. Still, we long for those gone before us.
How wonderful that you still have so many of your parents’ beautiful legacies around you- their art, wisdom and loving life-blood poured into you and your brothers and sister. You must see them when you look into your own face and soul and those of your siblings, children, nieces and nephews. They are with you, now and forever. But, you already know that.
What a handsome photo of your Dad! Love and Happy Spring!