The Unfinished Portrait- In search of Chris (RITCHEY)
“In search of my son- in search of me
Part One – In search of my son- In search of me
Part Two – Tourjours Moi-Always Me
Part Three – Always Me – Always Chris
Part Four – In search of My Son-
Chris Ritchey – Thanks
Part Five – Dark Humour- Shedding a Light
PART SIX- THE UNFINISHED PORTRAIT
Who are we? If you go to my “about that woman” page I claim to be a product of my experiences and culture.
There are many factors that come into play with this masterpiece of life, the colours of life both vibrant and dull, the strength of the canvas, the love and talent of those that pick up the many brushes that are needed, their talent, love and sometimes inadequacy helping form the portrait that is you ! And finally the mastery of framing the finished product remembered and to be passed down through future generations .
As the world gazes at our life portrait, what do they come away with? Do the critics focus on the vibrancy of color, do they look for the flaws in your portrait -as it is a portrait painted by many hands. Do they see in your portrait a glimpse of who the artists were, their technique or lack thereof , the paints that had been passed through generations , the areas of lightness and darkness ?
I helped with the life portrait of my son, it is unfinished– the nuances and shadings , the corrections to be made as other artists gave of their love and talent, the gray shadings of sorrow, the primary colours of life that wait to be added and never will be now.
Every morning I go into the room that used to be my son’s. and wish I had the ability to finish what was started. I found a 3 foot by 3 foot canvas in the basement amongst all of Chris’ work the week after he died, I had no prior knowledge of its existence. It was an unfinished self-portrait. I hung the portrait in his old room. The portrait will never be finished , I can paint with tears and words (to some degree) but no miracles can finish this portrait.
As I gaze upon the unfinished portrait with the eye of a “biased” critic , I think of the artists before and their contributions- their strengths and weaknesses and I will showcase in my gallery of grief their talents and worth – my son so much more than a few words placed in a Saturday paper, now recycled or disgarded in some landfill. I cannot let that be the finishing. Who was this young man of the unfinished portrait , who were the artists of his life?
to be continued…………