Year 3 of the 52-Week Illustration Challenge, Week 33

Week 33: Father.

One of the first frogs I ever caught, as a kid, had an extra frog attached firmly to the larger frog. A few minutes later: frog spawn! And lo, I learned about froggy fatherhood. Design created on black "scratch paper", which comes in a pack of five sheets (plus tool) for $4.00 from a toy shop. Based on an image found in a Google search.

Update:

Week 33: Father II.

"Dreadlock Daddy". Freecut silhouette collage with various coloured cards and crushed papers, blue pencil and white Puffy paint. Based on a photograph of my nephew and his baby son acting out "The Lion King" at the beach.

52-Week Illustration Challenge, Week 3

Week 3: Caravan

This is a ten-layer paper tole, using seven 8x10" sheets of photographic paper, created from the last photo I ever took of my Dad before he passed away. I call it "Grey Nomad", of course. My parents had just travelled across from Perth where they'd lived in retirement for 19 years.

Side view!

Vale Dad, aka "Robbie"

Here's a tricky blog entry to make.

This is to acknowledge my Dad, known to many as Robbie (and to some, affectionately, as "Rotten Robbie"). He's been battling chronic back pain for most of his adult life, and incurable lung cancer and then a secondary cancer/brain tumor for the past four years.

Dad's been in palliative care for the last month or so and - thanks to some very powerful drugs and even some prescribed nips of red label Scotch - has actually been pain free in recent weeks, which has had the unexpected bonus of seeing a return to his old, witty, cheeky, wicked personality, much to the bemusement of his nurses, visitors and family. He even got to vote in the Federal election this week, and passed away just as polling booths were closing - and we realise he's smirking right now, knowing he's not the only Australian who doesn't yet know the identity of the new Prime Minister!

Thanks to everyone for their ongoing support. My Dad made sure he resettled Mum back into NSW after their 20 year retirement in Perth and, essentially, he went to a better life content that he'd managed to achieve all of this life's goals, and to have had three satisfying months in their beautiful, new abode in Nowra, plus a relatively comfortable last few weeks.

We'll miss you, mate! Happy memories, deep appreciation, and much love.


My Dad, the grey nomad, back in NSW after two decades and watching television. 31 January 2010.

Sunday on Saturday

Today, after voting (Labor was returned to power, by the way), I went to see the local production of the musical, "Sunday in the Park with George" at the Joan Sutherland Performing Arts Centre (scene of my recent stage escapade), and I found "Sunday..." to be very moving. Sometimes, a musical comes along at just the right moment in one's life and, only this morning, I'd been contemplating some themes that were brought into perspective by the messages in today's performance.

A few weeks ago, one of my new Star Trek friends (discovered via the online Meetup group) happened to ask if his father was welcome to attend the next meeting. Well, of course he could. But the topic was mulled over in my head, until... I emailed him back today, saying, "I just realised, of course, that your Dad is probably about my age. I feel so old! ;-)

Ben wrote back, "He's just turned 40. Does this make you feel any better/worse?"

I'm 48. Gosh, I dunno how I feel? It's really weird. I relate to Ben - and AdamJ, for that matter - as equals, because we are all science fiction media fans. However, Ben's Dad is not only younger than me, he's also younger that both of my younger brothers.

Actually, I'm looking forward to meeting Ben's Dad; every now and then (but not often) I regret not ever having kids. To think, by now, in some alternate universe, I have a whole household of some really cool 20-Something kids who like SF. So bizarre. And very, very kewl (to coin a phrase). Actually, AdamJ, who's already taken to calling me "Dad", tells me that his parents are visiting Australia this year, from the UK. (Cheeky young whippersnappers!)

Anyway, all this "woe is my future" stuff was reflected, quite unexpectedly, by the plot of the second half of "Sunday in the Park with George". The action jumps from the 1880s to the modern day. One of the characters, a wheelchair-bound character in her 90s, had been a tiny babe-in-arms in the famous painting being celebrated ("A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte" by Georges Seurat). The important thing, she explains to an art gallery first-night audience, is to leave a legacy after one has died: and that can be children and/or art.



I guess, since I'm not producing any children of my own (not counting, I guess, the 380 young students I teach every week), I'm really going to have to get my act together, and finish preparing something from the arts to be my legacy!

The other scary thing is: we have Grandparents' Day coming up again at school, just before Easter. We teachers realised a few years ago that most of the grandparents who attend are actually younger than most of us. Sigh.