2020
Group Exhibition'Not Even the Poets' curated by Virginia Eichhorn
More information visit Quest Art School and Gallery https://questart.ca/events/not-even-the-poets/
“The Conversation Continues” ... I deem these the final pieces of a body of work of a series I refer to as "Surviving Death, Resurrecting Memories" which evolved into a memorial to my late mother.
It started with a singular doily — a fundraiser: a wonderful initiative gifting art to the newly homed, homeless, a token towards A renewed life that was so satisfying it inspired a body of work that is more a memorial to my late mother Redente (Rita) Luchese. an amazing seamstress she taught me not only skills of sewing also the idea of play as making - we were often enlisted to help make little doll dresses as she worked for Regal Toys. She never cared much for knitting but did pass on embroidery, crocheting, and much more. In rooting through years and years of her stuff, I found some beautiful old doilies and wondered if I ever thanked her, in a way, this body of print-based work may just be doing that.
Using the skills, she passed on, treasured doilies, her own threads, embroidery supplies, odds and ends combined with debossed (recessed relief) prints, this body of work not only triggered memories long thought lost, resurrected much, much more.
The reality of an end of life struggle is so horrific, the inability to help, the helpless, the failure to communicate, the fading, the failing, are the memories that haunt and are so very difficult to dissipate, causing grief to hover thick. I was surprised to find this body of work lifted the fog, letting surface the memories that truly are meant to be kept. Now I can smile at the recollections, and the work inspired, a tad strange but even stranger, fulfilling.
Now, the conversations continue ... a lingering feeling I can't shake, an aroma that whiffs by my senses, a moment of blur that I am sure I see her in. Smiling, I continue on. It gives me an eerie reassurance that she is ok. I actually half-expected her, Mom was very intuitive, she had dreams that came true and enjoyed worrying about the warnings from my late father[Joseph] and her mother [Regina]. We had great conversations as we tried to figure it all out. "I don't know what they want me to do," she would say over and over again. Some had no patience for it, called her crazy as she got older, deemed it dementia. I enjoyed it, it is the way I have always know her to be. She told me often that Nona and Zia were 'like that' although she wasn't comfortable to label it, or say it out loud as if it would bring out the worst of things, she would simply say, 'I know things.' Many stories came to fruition, and many warnings were actually useful, that to me, it all rang true. Now, I join her in what some will call a delusion, others an alternate time-scape — call me crazy. I do believe our spirits, our energies are all connected, and passing is just that, moving from one space to another, perhaps "I know things." Now, conversations continue as I work on the new pieces using the doilies and things I gravitate to, strange thoughts of spirits guide me on, drawing from the memories, I find myself drawing and embellishing the recessed reliefs with oddities and make me smile,as the conversation continues, I realize she will never be gone.
Jeanette Luchese
It started with a singular doily — a fundraiser: a wonderful initiative gifting art to the newly homed, homeless, a token towards A renewed life that was so satisfying it inspired a body of work that is more a memorial to my late mother Redente (Rita) Luchese. an amazing seamstress she taught me not only skills of sewing also the idea of play as making - we were often enlisted to help make little doll dresses as she worked for Regal Toys. She never cared much for knitting but did pass on embroidery, crocheting, and much more. In rooting through years and years of her stuff, I found some beautiful old doilies and wondered if I ever thanked her, in a way, this body of print-based work may just be doing that.
Using the skills, she passed on, treasured doilies, her own threads, embroidery supplies, odds and ends combined with debossed (recessed relief) prints, this body of work not only triggered memories long thought lost, resurrected much, much more.
The reality of an end of life struggle is so horrific, the inability to help, the helpless, the failure to communicate, the fading, the failing, are the memories that haunt and are so very difficult to dissipate, causing grief to hover thick. I was surprised to find this body of work lifted the fog, letting surface the memories that truly are meant to be kept. Now I can smile at the recollections, and the work inspired, a tad strange but even stranger, fulfilling.
Now, the conversations continue ... a lingering feeling I can't shake, an aroma that whiffs by my senses, a moment of blur that I am sure I see her in. Smiling, I continue on. It gives me an eerie reassurance that she is ok. I actually half-expected her, Mom was very intuitive, she had dreams that came true and enjoyed worrying about the warnings from my late father[Joseph] and her mother [Regina]. We had great conversations as we tried to figure it all out. "I don't know what they want me to do," she would say over and over again. Some had no patience for it, called her crazy as she got older, deemed it dementia. I enjoyed it, it is the way I have always know her to be. She told me often that Nona and Zia were 'like that' although she wasn't comfortable to label it, or say it out loud as if it would bring out the worst of things, she would simply say, 'I know things.' Many stories came to fruition, and many warnings were actually useful, that to me, it all rang true. Now, I join her in what some will call a delusion, others an alternate time-scape — call me crazy. I do believe our spirits, our energies are all connected, and passing is just that, moving from one space to another, perhaps "I know things." Now, conversations continue as I work on the new pieces using the doilies and things I gravitate to, strange thoughts of spirits guide me on, drawing from the memories, I find myself drawing and embellishing the recessed reliefs with oddities and make me smile,as the conversation continues, I realize she will never be gone.
Jeanette Luchese