"I have never found sunflowers to be particularly beautiful flowers. I dislike the color yellow, they stink, and they are just not very practical. They cannot be combined in a bouquet, so they always end up in a bundle. And that armful needs to be in a huge vase; not very subtle."
Ten years ago, my friend suddenly passed away.
In the aftermath, I found myself reflecting deeply on our recently rekindled friendship, clinging to memories of her, and questioning my right to mourn.
To process my feelings, I created an illustrated short story during my time at art academy. Recently, I felt a strong urge to revisit and recreate these images as a tribute to my friend.
She took off her shoes and ran through the surf.
I had always disliked the beach, but then again,
I had never walked on it with her before.
"Was she a good friend?" I had never considered that I might not have the right to be sad.
We cycled together to the orchestra. She with a cello, and I with a violin on my back. I had bought a brooch and attached it to the case. We had a discussion about whether the pin was supposed to represent a cello or a violin. I thought it was a violin, but as usual, she convinced me with strong arguments that she was right. The instrument didn't have a chin rest and did have a strange piece at the bottom.
I am grateful that I didn’t have internet in the days that followed. When I returned to the Netherlands, it felt as though my grief had been taken away from me. While I was still struggling to come to terms with it, the rest of the country had already inscribed July 17, 2014, into the history books.
To me, she was just away on vacation. Little by little, her death began to feel real. Yet, in my heart, she remains as though she is still here.
Comments