A Prayer for Zoe
Oil on black canvas, 30x30
I'm finding it difficult to shrug off my sadness at the deaths, within three weeks of each other, of Jojo and Zoe.
Inside, my lights have gone gray. A scattered, broken concentration has replaced focus. Drive comes in spurts, and countless times in these weeks I have grabbed hold and thought I could jump on, only to find myself wandering and lost again.
These girls were family, Zoe a vigilant guard in spite of her blindness, living a life so structured you'd swear she could tell time. Jojo kept me company, filled me with her endless enthusiasm, made me laugh a dozen times a day.
In the early mornings, I wake and listen for the click of Zoe's nails on the wood floor. Every time I go to the studio, I turn and look for Joey, standing expectant and excited in the back hall, waiting for an invitation.
Coming home from Dayton, it was crushing to not be greeted by Jojo, racing and leaping, beside herself with excitement that I was home again.
Peter has been sweet with me, my friends and family have been supportive and I appreciate all of it and all of you. I am trying to heal, trying to rise. But my heart is howling.
A Final Thought
"When the Man waked up he said, 'What is Wild Dog doing here?' And the Woman said, 'His name is not Wild Dog any more, but the First Friend, because he will be our friend for always and always and always.'"
- Rudyard Kipling