Deb drove me to Castle Park Arts Centre in Frodsham first thing to deliver 3 paintings for their open exhibition, then to Tŷ Pawb to deliver 'Punishment of the Sun' there.
My mother was visiting my father at the time. It seems that he is in a vegetative state with sever brain damage due to his stroke. I've spent much of today reflecting on our relationship that never was, my memories, the past. The situation is so sad, but I feel stoic and calm. Fate deals its hand.
It's odd that I find myself, again, at this time of death and sadness writing about the computer game Zamzara, this time due to the Amiga game videos. The name of my game Arazmax was inspired by the title of that game, and my game Sentinel (also known as Hideous) was inspired by the game itself. The Zamzara music means, to me, the death of our former cat Felix, and I found myself listening to it, for the first time in years and by chance, when my father took an overdose earlier this year. Zamzara, from Samsara, the cycle of life.
Of course, my father knows nothing about that game, and knows nothing about me. We've lived in the same house for all of my life, 53 years, yet have never had a conversation. Occasionally he may ask me to do something for him, and occasionally I ask for his help, regarding a power tool perhaps, but we have never exchanged many words. He doesn't know, didn't know of even simple things like my intolerance of milk, which foods I like or don't like. He knew nothing about any of my friends, failures or accomplishments. A photograph of myself being awarded the Grosvenor Open prize was, is, framed and hung on the wall. My mother said he was proud of this, which moved me. I never really liked that photograph, I was nervous and in somewhat melancholy mood that day. Yet, his glimpse at the photo was perhaps the only point of contact we had. He saw the photograph in silence. He never in his like spoke to me about his parents, upbringing, family, or about anything at all really.
Generally I was and remain afraid of him, always anxious if he should be in the same room. Terrified even to make a sound near him, terrified of any sound he might make. I never sat in the same room as him. I started painting in 2004, when he had stopped, and used his easel. My childhood memory of his oil paints gave me no fear of them, a happy reminiscence. I wouldn't be the artist I am without him. For my 50th birthday he bought me this PC, something I couldn't afford and badly needed, a life-changing gift for me. I never thanked him. He never knew his much his gift meant to me.
I wrote some words about him this afternoon, then worked on the Amiga videos, created caption files and thumbnail images for them. All is ready for rendering, I think.
