Sad One

One of my most vivid early memories is of a dream I had on the eve of a birthday, which one I can't remember, but if we are to trust geography as a marker, it was certainly before seven and after about four. I was skipping down our building's stairwell in Zhodino (Belarus), and looking down the landing, I could see my grandmother (babushka Anya) dressed in a tidy travel outfit and looking back up at me. I remember being surprised to find her there, as I hadn't been told that she was coming and I knew that she lived far away. This dream is merged in my mind with a memory of the next morning, of it being my birthday and of my walking out of the building into a blinding June sun, out into the world as if for the first time on my own. (Was it the first time?)

Anyway, my grandmother died December 26. She was eighty years old. In my dream, she would have been around 58.

Art historians are taught about the dangers of taking words like "influence" too literally. Who has the active role there? Are artists influenced, or do they choose their references? In the case of children and adults, it is equally complicated. There are so many factors to consider. Adults want to guide, children want to learn. Sometimes the adults fail, other times children push away. It's hard to tell who's leading whom at any one time.

My grandmother was a very strong woman - her father died when she was still young; she trained in surgery and worked while tending a family, like many women of her generation. In person, she liked to tell stories about her life or her grandkids, paid close attention, and could pull you aside to let you in on a secret or ask a pointed question. I'd like to think that the linkage in my mind of her unexpected appearance and my going into the world is not entirely my doing; I'd like to think she had a hand in it as well. I will, of course, miss her. (I am, of course, grateful for her influence.)