I have a story to share with you that I learned of today.
My dad is a twin. His brother died a baby of 19 days old.
Today I spent some time with my dad and conversation about the cathedral and my painting came up. He told me that his brother had been buried in the cathedral gardens.
You may recall when I wrote about the art work and I visited the gardens I was mesmorised and found it to be the most beautiful graveyard I’d ever been in. I felt a strong connection and I painted a whimsical, enchanted version to express the magic I felt.
My grandmother always believed her son was alive and that another baby born in the hospital around the same time had died. She believed one of the nurses had given one of her sons to the parents of the baby who had died and told her that one of her twins had died. Very possible back in 1946. She took this belief to her own grave.
I was very close to my grandmother, being the first grandchild holds a special place.
I love how unbeknowingly I’ve painted a tiny part of my ancestry in what was my “equinox” year of spending half my life overseas and half in Liverpool. My artwork to celebrate this was all Liverpool orientated.