I remember when my mother was dying. I was getting ready for my orals in graduate school and the one thing I couldn’t have imagined, since all mothers are invincible, is that my healthy, vivacious, 83-year-old, artist mother would die.
Time stood still as the nurse put me through to her hospital room.
Only, the woman who answered (more…)
I suspect this question is so deeply personal that it’s like a fingerprint: each of us will respond from the life conditions that have shaped each of us, and shape us still.
There is strong folklore about the value of the suffering artist to her art; that dark times allow for greatness. Personally, I’m not so sure it’s a useful way to look at suffering.
I suspect some of us are (more…)