So, the days I spent with my Grandma dying were life changing to say the least. I was thankful to have art making as a means to capture/digest/participate in her death. I sketched and took photos of her which felt a little strange yet somehow necessary. We were witnessing such beauty and pain. At some point by her side (probably in the middle of the night and bleary-eyed) I decided I was going to paint her dying. Since that promise to myself and the realization that Grandma has and always will be my muse, I've been sort of waiting to exhale- green lighting other projects ahead of her. Now having completed the painting I feel relieved, sad, and a little disappointed in my efforts. I feel confident that I've done all that I can do with her right now but know that I can return to her in the future. It was obviously an emotional painting to make, but nonetheless, this experience has enlightened me to the deficit our culture's handling of mortality and the need to make plain the possibility of an active and supportive death.