Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans

A cosmic joke that you just have to ̶l̶a̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶a̶t̶ admire.

“Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans.”

John Lennon

I had some fantastic coaching sessions recently. The guy I spoke to is an artist specialising in supporting other artists, through coaching, to make an income through their art.

A friend tagged me in one of his Facebook posts that resonated. He reached out and said thank you for engaging with my post. We had a bit of back-and-forth, and then he offered a coaching session free of charge, I thought this was very kind.

I was umm-ing and aar-ing around doing this coaching session, as I had coaching before, and I knew he’d ask for the funds to carry on coaching with him at some point. As I was so flaky at the time, I forgot about our session as I was engrossed in my work. I felt really bad, but he was understanding and rescheduled.

About 5 days later we had the initial chat, I was working from home that day, so I sat on my bed 15 minutes before the Zoom call started, to get my mind settled and I intended to have a life-changing call.

The call connected and I felt clear-headed and ready to go. Stuart was super friendly and I had a connection with him as an artist. We chatted for about 90 minutes at the end, talking about art and the limiting beliefs we had. She shared stories about how he was stuck in the past and it resonated.

Stuart gave me some Steve Chandler audios to listen to and I soaked in the information like a sponge. Everything made sense, it was so simple, I felt inspired and I felt hopeful that my art career was on the up. He kindly offered a 2nd session for free. I was so incredibly grateful.

The 2nd session was in a meeting room at my workplace, during lunchtime. I had Stuart up via Zoom on the huge 50” TV placed on the wall, looking at him and listening intently. We talked about public art and how he’d worked on mural projects, we bonded more and it felt like things we moving for me. I just felt more congruent and believed in myself like I never had before. We had a brief chat about my upcoming exhibition on the 9th of December and asked me what I’d do differently this time. I replied that I’d have more conversations about my art with people. Which I did, and I’ll say more about that shortly...

My homework was to start a spreadsheet listing local companies I could approach for funding. The idea was to give them so much more in return for their donation towards the 12-story mural project I’m planning. Then he kindly booked a third free session for the following week. How lucky was I?

It was Saturday 9th December, we had a busy morning shopping and then I had some time to relax in the afternoon. I casually checked FB Messenger and saw this from my brother’s ex-wife:

As soon as I read that, I knew he was dead.

I called her right back and it was true. He died the night before, Friday 8th December 2023.

It didn’t sink in immediately.

I felt numb.

I felt… numb.

She was holding back the tears not to upset me, I told her not to worry. This all felt so weird.

Like I said in my previous post, I hadn’t seen him in 5 years since my mum passed on 11/11/18. Yet all of these childhood memories kept flooding back to me, I couldn’t believe I’d never see him ever again.

“In life, we weep at the thought of death. In death, perhaps we weep at the thought of life.”

Marilyn Monroe

I had my exhibition coming up in 3 hours, but it didn’t feel right to cancel, or not attend. I had to go. It slapped me right in the face, how apt my exhibition was in regards to my brother dying. Was it some kind of cosmic joke? My theme was around mortality and there I was, processing my brother’s death.

One of the pieces featured a close-up of my mother’s face. Tubes connected to her nose, implying that she had died, called “Peace at last”. The one next to it on the right, is a painting of the grim reaper peering over a Victorian gentleman. The piece was painted on top of an 1870s, The Times newspaper from England, implying that everyone who read this paper or was around at that time, is now dead. An obvious fact, but a sobering thought.

Photo by Gideon Liddiard. Thank you.

I let out a nervous laugh when I realised how strangely apt all of this was.

The exhibition went well, It was more chilled than the previous exhibit I had here in May 2022. We had a friend, DJ Dust, who somehow magically matched the music to the art, all instrumentals that didn’t take anything away or distract from the art! Genius!

SLART X CROSLAND EXHIBIT - 9th DECEMBER 2023.

I was a bit spaced out from the news, but I made sure Adam and the DJ knew my brother had died, as I’d rather inform them beforehand via message than have to explain in person.

Being candid helped me process what was happening, I spoke to Artist Paul Exton about my work and how my brother died last night, he and his girlfriend were sympathetic. Paul had his struggles as a younger man and is now sober, so he got it.

A lovely couple came along to see my work specifically, which was nice to hear. They bought my artwork from a charity auction, Googled me, and then found my exhibition. They said they would be interested in buying one of my original pieces.

As the evening went on, I had a few drinks and started getting emotional. My friend and I nostalgically decided to have Lager and Cola, affectionately called “Diesel” in German. We went to Berlin with a half-German friend in 2008, where we first discovered the drink in Lidl. It was 50c for a 500ml bottle of diesel, and it was still 5% alcohol! Plus, when you brought the bottle back, you’d get 25c to spend at Lidl! Amazing. So we had a few, the cola perked us up but I suddenly had the urge to be alone, so I snuck off to my studio behind the exhibition space for some quiet.

I called my wife up and as soon as she said in her kind voice “Hello sweetie” I burst into tears. “I just needed to hear your voice" I said, shakily, as I can’t get my words out properly when I cry. She reassured me by saying “You’ve got delayed shock, it’s OK”. I composed myself and went back into the exhibition for the final 30 minutes.

All of this had hit me a lot harder than I thought it would. I don’t know if it was because Gary was 52 years old, and it was so sudden, that it hurts a lot more. When both of my parents died within 18 months (2018-2020) I grieved, but I felt more acceptance because they were older. My mother had COPD, and my father had dementia, so it didn’t feel like a huge blow, it felt like I had time to prepare for the inevitable. But it’s inevitable for us all.

I hadn’t seen my brother for 5 years yet it hit me the hardest. Maybe it’s compound grief as my friend said. Maybe? It certainly made me think about my parents all over again, being a family of 5 growing up, and now 3 of them are dead feels weird, and I’m only 41.

Often I feel like I should have a point to my posts, but again, I don’t have one this time. I just really had to write this today, to get it off of my chest.

Thank you for your time and attention.

Love to you, your friends and your family. x

SLART

“It’s part of the privilege of being human that we have our moment when we have to say goodbye.”

Patti Smith