The ending of this post is perfect, Eliza, telling your parents to stay, to let their art be their kids--so poignant, in that it's both an acknowledgement of their early happiness and success, particularly the potential in your mom's career at that time, and a condemnation of their future parenting. Really well done. And powerful.
This is very moving, Eliza. I absolutely love your mother’s paintings. And the thought of sacrificing yourself to allow them to remain in that moment in 1959 brings tears. As someone whose parents also divorced when he was four, I have felt many similar things. I applaud you for trying to bring all these things together. Just lovely.
“I really had to sit with this post. I found it heartbreaking that the election, as well as developments within the family, have brought back earlier moments of rejection and alienation, and that feeling that is so close to the surface for so many women writers - 'who cares what I have to say.' I'm glad for that feisty four-year-old! The escape into that imagined memory of a meal in Greece is blissful (and your mother's beautiful paintings help!) I have similar imagined memories around food and my divorced parents. My mum had very little good to say about my father, but she was grateful that he introduced her to artichokes, avacadoes, Mont Blanc (the dessert, not the mountain!) and, not least, champagne cocktails. I can picture them in a Chelsea bistro -- checked table cloths, candles in wine bottles -- getting glamorously tipsy. Thanks for this lovely piece.”
I was fortunate to have met your Dad when Jupiter and Antiope were up. He sat in a chair in the corner and was happy to chat. He told me that Antiope was his wife and we talked for awhile about the piece, all important things for me to learn, but I took no notes, having more respect for his time and overall observations. I still don’t paint yet because of illness. Am a photographer, and intensely studied paintings at the museums when I lived in NY, waiting to begin to know enough, more than ready to return.
Jupiter and Antiope still take my breath away inside my head. If I’d had the money, would have bought it on the spot, still sad I wasn’t able to live with it and mad because what was wrong with all the idiots who had the money, but not obsessed as I remain. I would have offered to buy him dinner, but my impatient painter boyfriend, the one who said we should visit in the first place, had become more than ready to leave. It turned out to be a surprise special day that I’m thankful for.
Wonderful to hear from you and learn of this conversation you had with him that confirms my what I thought I overheard. It’s so interesting that he became more comfortable talking about that directly than the moment-in-time I was privy to. Thank you for sharing. We hope to get that painting into a museum collection.
Must add that it’s a treat to have come across your writing will continue to keep an eye out. I cringe when considering what my grown kids would have to say about me and my ex, also a photographer. We collaborated on a few projects and shows. I’ve got some good stories, but couldn’t possibly tell the truth, because immense hurt and anger remains after 17 years, when I didn’t die from cancer twice and quickly left him for New York for and safety. It’s very different to tell family stories about visual artists, compared to writers. Thank you for sharing your perspective and wisdom. Best regards, Jackie
You’ve expressed the complications of making sense of our divorced parents lives so powerfully and the way you weave their art through the maze that marks the phases of your life is beautiful
What a beautiful braid you've created, Eliza, from our tiny presence in Time to the majesties of the galaxy and the beauty of a moment painting in a place with no roads, eating fish on Hydra and Corfu, a moment that echoed years later in a takeout order from Chinatown. Breathtaking
Wow. Eliza. Wow. I am so deeply impressed by your clarity and bravery.
You are the best kind of badass❤️
Thank you, Kate, for noticing my badassery.
The ending of this post is perfect, Eliza, telling your parents to stay, to let their art be their kids--so poignant, in that it's both an acknowledgement of their early happiness and success, particularly the potential in your mom's career at that time, and a condemnation of their future parenting. Really well done. And powerful.
Thank you, Emily
This is very moving, Eliza. I absolutely love your mother’s paintings. And the thought of sacrificing yourself to allow them to remain in that moment in 1959 brings tears. As someone whose parents also divorced when he was four, I have felt many similar things. I applaud you for trying to bring all these things together. Just lovely.
Thank you, Gregory. As a child of divorce, you are my target audience.. a Substack sibling♥️
What a nice thought! ❤️
I accidentally deleted Lucy Tunstall’s comment:
“I really had to sit with this post. I found it heartbreaking that the election, as well as developments within the family, have brought back earlier moments of rejection and alienation, and that feeling that is so close to the surface for so many women writers - 'who cares what I have to say.' I'm glad for that feisty four-year-old! The escape into that imagined memory of a meal in Greece is blissful (and your mother's beautiful paintings help!) I have similar imagined memories around food and my divorced parents. My mum had very little good to say about my father, but she was grateful that he introduced her to artichokes, avacadoes, Mont Blanc (the dessert, not the mountain!) and, not least, champagne cocktails. I can picture them in a Chelsea bistro -- checked table cloths, candles in wine bottles -- getting glamorously tipsy. Thanks for this lovely piece.”
Simply Amazing!
Thank you, Sheena
Wonderful
Thank you, Kay
I was fortunate to have met your Dad when Jupiter and Antiope were up. He sat in a chair in the corner and was happy to chat. He told me that Antiope was his wife and we talked for awhile about the piece, all important things for me to learn, but I took no notes, having more respect for his time and overall observations. I still don’t paint yet because of illness. Am a photographer, and intensely studied paintings at the museums when I lived in NY, waiting to begin to know enough, more than ready to return.
Jupiter and Antiope still take my breath away inside my head. If I’d had the money, would have bought it on the spot, still sad I wasn’t able to live with it and mad because what was wrong with all the idiots who had the money, but not obsessed as I remain. I would have offered to buy him dinner, but my impatient painter boyfriend, the one who said we should visit in the first place, had become more than ready to leave. It turned out to be a surprise special day that I’m thankful for.
Wonderful to hear from you and learn of this conversation you had with him that confirms my what I thought I overheard. It’s so interesting that he became more comfortable talking about that directly than the moment-in-time I was privy to. Thank you for sharing. We hope to get that painting into a museum collection.
Must add that it’s a treat to have come across your writing will continue to keep an eye out. I cringe when considering what my grown kids would have to say about me and my ex, also a photographer. We collaborated on a few projects and shows. I’ve got some good stories, but couldn’t possibly tell the truth, because immense hurt and anger remains after 17 years, when I didn’t die from cancer twice and quickly left him for New York for and safety. It’s very different to tell family stories about visual artists, compared to writers. Thank you for sharing your perspective and wisdom. Best regards, Jackie
Yes, my work is often a cautionary tale, I’m afraid. Best to you. Glad you found health and safety.
You’ve expressed the complications of making sense of our divorced parents lives so powerfully and the way you weave their art through the maze that marks the phases of your life is beautiful
Thank you, Liz. More than anything, I love reaching others with divorced parents in my writing.
What a beautiful braid you've created, Eliza, from our tiny presence in Time to the majesties of the galaxy and the beauty of a moment painting in a place with no roads, eating fish on Hydra and Corfu, a moment that echoed years later in a takeout order from Chinatown. Breathtaking
Thank you so much, Robin
Such beautiful art you have to reconnect your memories which you do with such elegance !
Thank you, Marjorie
Rainy day in Hydra is so lovely. And so is your writing.
Thank you, Liza
Such a wonderful exploration of the ways both art and memory complicate time. Thank you.
Thank you, Samantha
it's poetry
That’s kind. Thank you, Joan
I love the connections you make as you explore your parents’ art, Eliza. Your four year old self is rightly curious. Rainy Day in Hydra is gorgeous.
Thank you, Wendy. She did a watercolor study for it, too. That one I have, and I’m so lucky.
Life spins the mind.
Yes
You are a time traveler in this essay.
This is beautifully written. Wow. Submit this to Sari Botton for Memoir Monday!
Thank you, Jill. I’ll have to learn about that.