Art by Death
by recovering artist,
Annette Shope
The shock of a college friend’s suicide sent me racing to my basement, frantically
looking for a memory from our campus days when we collided and forged an
unlikely friendship. That was during the new wave, safety-pins-on-ripped-blackclothing era of the 80’s, when punk rock music erupted; spiky gelled hair and bold
mohawks were stylish; and Debbie Harry of the band, Blondie, reigned as airwave
queen. The new wave culture overruled our uninspired academic world in that
western Pennsylvania college town.
While downstairs digging up my past, I unearthed the dankest smelling portfolio
secured with shoestring and stuffed full with B & W contact sheets, glossy
photographs, pencil sketches, calligraphy sheets, lithograph plates, personal notes
and cards. With a euphoric twinge, I recalled my college fine art and photography
classes, and dearest professors.
With everything tossed out in front of me, I pulled back and stared, awash with
clarity, yet drowning in regret for abandoning my artistic potential. Obviously, one
purpose of this untimely death was to lead me straight downstairs to rummage
through art files that would lead me back to my passion. And to see solid evidence of
a creative dream - just starting to build momentum in the early days - get flat-lined.
Permanently placed on hold for all the wrong, rational reasons. It was a spiritual
kick-in-the-seat-of-the-pants for me to get back to doing what once made my heart
sing. Courtesy of my dear, dead friend.