In New Zealand we celebrate Matariki, and as part of that there are various ceremonies. Last night was centred on the star Pōhutukawa. The Pōhutukawa is also our Christmas tree and the tree of remembrance. People gather to honour and remember those who have died in the previous year.
It’s eight months since Tony died. I think of him all the time, and talk about him with a few people. I had a lot of support in the years he was sick, and it was good to share that journey. I couldn’t have got through without the support, and know others facing the same situation appreciated my openness.
But my grief? That’s mine. I share little bits of it, but mainly hold it close.
Last night I messaged Tony’s daughter Yasmine to tell her I’d learnt about Pōhutukawa at work in a te reo Māori class. We talked about when she and Rory visited and I took a photo of the three generations together under the huge Pōhutukawa tree in our front yard. It’s good Yasmine and I can talk about Tony and keep the memories alive.
I had a random conversation on BlueSky this morning with a fellow New Zealand artist. One of the things that came up, in talking about the Felt website, is I’ve given myself this year off selling and exhibiting. My reasoning was I wanted to see, at the end of the year, what my art looks like if I create with no end goal other than creating.
While that remains true, I’ve known all along there’s something else sitting behind the decision. Something other than just seeing what happens if I create with no end goal. To be honest, I’m not sure if I haven’t been able to put my finger on it, or if I haven’t wanted to. This morning, randomly, I got there – with tears.
Some artists create with marketing in mind. They make popular art, get good money for it, and good for them – it’s not mine to judge. For others, like me, art is an extension of who we are. My landscape paintings aren’t about replicating the landscape. They’re about memory, feelings, fleeting moments. I take my inner self and put it on the canvas for the world to see.
For the last 34 years, part of who I am has been Tony’s partner, then wife, and finally caregiver. He was always supportive of my art, whether he understood it or not. He encouraged me to paint, and came with me to Italy when I exhibited as part of the Legato exhibition.
For the last few years, I’ve also been Alan’s partner, with Tony’s blessing. He’s supportive of my art, but in a different way – he doesn’t have decades of practice. He understands my art less, because he hasn’t been part of that journey. That’s okay, because it’s a different relationship. I’m don’t expect him to understand it in the way Tony did.
With Tony’s death in November, my identity changed. I am no longer Tony’s wife and caregiver, and I’m not sure what I call myself now. Tony’s widow, I guess? That’s a whole different person to who I’ve been for three decades.
If my art is a reflection of who I am, and who I am has changed, where does that leave my art? I guess that’s the question I’ve been avoiding, the one I’m starting to face, and the one that brings tears.
Through the years of looking after Tony my self care slipped a lot. I lost fitness and put on weight. Some people’s bodies cope fine with extra weight, unfortunately mine isn’t one of them. It’s four and a half months since Tony died. It feels like yesterday and forever at the same time … but what I do know is it’s time to take back control. Tony will be cheering me on.
I’ve bought a second hand elliptical for at home, rejoined the gym (a different one that offers better support) and gone back to a proper eating plan.
I’ve just had a three day weekend and spent it sorting stuff, getting used to the elliptical, and making an art journal that’s all about taking control and being capable – it’s an encouragement journal for me.
Af the end of the year I normally look back at what I’ve achieved, documenting the highs and lows.
When I think about the year that’s coming to an end, the first – and almost only – thing that comes to mind is the loss of Tony. From May, until his death on November 3rd, it was a hard slog which I couldn’t document here. We were together 33 years; that’s more than a lot of people get and I’m thankful for his love and support over all those years.
I’m grateful for the support of his daughter Yasmine, my partner Alan, friend Sandra, his brother Roger, my sister Ailsa, resthome staff and work colleagues.
There were other things but, to be honest, I had to go back through my blog to remember them. I entered the Awagami Mini Print Awards and received a Highly Commended, which was fantastic.
I enrolled in Wanderlust ‘25, a year long course, but didn’t complete it as Tony needed so much time.
I made art, sold art, taught and exhibited with Pen Kirk, worked hard, had a few short trips. Mainly I got through, which feels like a huge achievement.
In my last blog post I said I was pleasantly surprised by the desire to create so soon after Tony’s death. I’m still creating, taking it gently but feeling good about it.
People ask how I am … I’m ok. Am I great? No, but it’d be a bit weird if I was. I describe it as appropriately sad. The sadness comes and goes – after 33 years together, and all the years of slowly losing Tony, that feels ok.
So I’m being kind to myself and creating with low expectations, doing what I feel like in the moment. I’m feeling inspired by Welsh castles, a theme I return to semi-regularly, often accompanied by masts, swords and what’s probably blood. It is what it is…
In these current works, which are about A3 size, it feels important to work in overlapping layers. Why? I don’t know yet, but I’m happy to trust the process.
Cath Sheard Art 