Painting on Kraft Paper

A large piece of kraft paper is far less intimidating than a large stretched canvas. This is particularly true when painting from inner guidance rather than having a direction in mind. After tacking the 3 1/2 ' x 4 1/2' piece of brown paper onto the wall, I let my arm swing freely to guide my hand across the paper. It was no surprise to see the orb and oval shapes that fill my sketchbooks appear on the paper. Figures began to emerge and a bit of geometry forced its way among the clusters of figures. As I began the second stage of clarification, at least four figures and three spheres were eliminated. As I began to lay in color I realized that the figures were not archetypes that normally emerge from my automatic drawings and paintings. Instead, the figures became the daughters surrounding my mother at the sacred moment of her last breath. She chose that moment, surrounded by her three daughters and two of her granddaughters. I don't know who the figures are on the right.

I've been contemplating content in my paintings. The kraft paper set me free, allowing the expression of a powerful moment. This is the first of many. I look forward to seeing what the next kraft paper painting might become.

Image: The Departure - oil on kraft paper 36" x 48"

The following poem was written by my daughter, Alexis:

New Year’s Eve

my grandmother waited
until she was surrounded by daughters
to die.

down the hall, my grandfather,
eyes rimmed red,
was talking with the
woman at the front desk.

he hadn’t made it to the parking lot
and yet it was far enough.

my mother. her sisters.
myself. my sister.

and my grandmother, dying.

the men were on their way.
caught in traffic perhaps,
or by the streak of clouds
that glowed golden as the sun set

and she stopped breathing.

outside, purples were crowding
the edges of the sky
and lights flickered on in windows.

she stopped.

what else is there to say?
her breath caught
and in seconds her skin was grey,
her cheeks sunken. was it the wail
that brought my grandfather back
down the hall? i cannot remember.
only that later, he was there. but
at that moment, it was only us
and the sound emanating
from our throats— rising
and rising.