No. 3

...the concept of the “third death” in which, sometime in the future after our passing, our names are spoken for the last time...

Arrested Development

mixed media / collograph plate, inked and wiped

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/336070-there-are-three-deaths-the-first-is-when-the-body

"Doom Days" Online Exhibition at HCC

Please feel free to scroll through:

https://horowitzartonline.cargo.site/Shana-R-Goetsch-Doom-Days

I Grieve, For You

I Feel Everything

collograph plate, inked and wiped

SWAK

collograph plate, inked and wiped

The Third Death

This summer has been full of loss for me. That's as encapsulated as I can get.

I had been so unreasonably busy and stressed out for several months, so I hadn't been able to feel the full force of the loss, of the deaths I've experienced so close to me. It was leaking out slowly, but I knew I still had more, or that I had just begun.

It took seeing someone else I care for, cry over their loss, to feel the weight of it all come crashing down on me. I was attending a virtual/zoom memorial for a mentor, colleague, and stand-up human, Fletcher Mackey, a few days ago. It was a touching tribute all around, but near the end, what really got to me was that Miss Paula cried. 

I described it later as, "I just lost my SHIT". 

I didn't actually know what I was feeling, but it was blinding, and probably allthethings; just jumbled up like a horrible, angry ball of burning-sharp-punchy. I got up and sat down like, three times. But where was I going? Nowhere. There was nowhere to go. I wanted to go to her, but realized she hadn't sent for me. But I was significantly alarmed, and I felt fierce protectiveness in seeing and hearing her struggle. The sense that I knew I could do nothing about her pain (and that it was her own, and personal) was palpable. 

So I sat back down, again and again and again.

But holy shit, was I affronted! How DARE you make Miss Paula cry!?! Outrageous! Who was I gonna have to fight?! No one. There was literally no one to direct this anger towards. I wanted someone to blame, but again, there was nothing. No one to blame, and fuckall to do about it. 

Total impotence.

I was angry with the Universe. I wanted to punch it right in its stupid, unfair face. And I was mad about the deep loss that I could see and feel from everyone and everything in that moment. I felt it collectively, intermingled with some disbelief. As someone fairly sensitive and empathetic, it was entirely too much, but I could have dealt with it....until Miss Paula.

I am still angry with the Universe, for taking such a bright star ("bangles in the sky"), way too early.

I was already SO angry with the Universe; my dad died about a month prior to Fletcher's passing, in late June. Something with his heart, it was all so sudden. It left me raw, and lost, and alone, and vacant, and scrambling. I spent all summer pushing through and surviving, so I hadn't had the time to fully grieve....for anyone.

And then I had another, more metaphorical death about a week ago ("I'm lost." -- "Yes. You are, baby"). 

I've had more deaths, of course, before... but the metaphorical ones make it that much harder for me to grieve. There's nothing tangible. What do I do with...ALLTHIS.

I received a scholarship for a Grief Work course last spring. Synchronicity determined it would start live, during my dad's funeral, so I obviously missed it (Touché, Universe). I know I have to start the course now. 

And I knew I had to MAKE stuff with my hands. And I knew I had to write.

So here I am with the start of a new series, "The Third Death". This is the first piece in the series. Better photo coming, and another piece to join it soon.

I Feel Everything
collograph plate, inked and wiped

"Doom Days", Exhibition

Coming soon to you virtually, at Howard Community College: my latest body of work, "Doom Days". 

Link to follow soon...