My oldest brother, Scott, passed away on February 24 after a 6-year, on-again, off-again battle with cancer. I miss him terribly. The pastor officiating at his funeral service said two things in particular that have struck a resonant chord with me: first, he knew how to love and second, he saw beauty in everything - everything. And he did.
He graduated from a local technical college with his focus on graphic art, always had paintings underway in the basement where he and my other brother had bedrooms, and had a wicked, keen sense of composition with his photography. In fact, it was by looking at his photographs on the day of his visitation (I put together a montage of his best that were displayed as a slide show on my laptop) that I was able to say my good-byes to him. It was in my dad's office, as I scrolled through them, that I had a silent conversation with my big brother.
I saw how he went through phases - from the techniques of Ansel Adams to Georgia O'Keefe to Andy Warhol - and practiced until he found his masterpiece in each genre. I saw how he learned about the effects of light and geometry and brought his unique perspective on the world into his camera lens.
Everything is too raw right now to work on the novel, so for those of you who are waiting for another installment of the Aquarian Era Tales, please be patient. It will have to wait.
I didn't write at all for a couple of weeks - any desire to express (at least in that way) was gone. Now I'm finding that poetry is best: I can coat the pain with imagery; I can buffer the emotions with structured lines.
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