You took whatever these paintings were—joke or gift—and made it into something of your own, material for your writing. I love that so much. Thanks for a good read.
Lord have mercy: such mind-bogglingly gorgeous, hilarious, heart-wrenching, stunning writing on a subject no one has dared yet touch until now. My mother died five months ago, and I am at this moment going through the pieces of her life; the paintings, the hideous and massive goatskin table from 1981, the few pieces of gold that she didn’t sell. The most valuable thing was what I didn’t know I wanted: my grandmother’s high school autograph book from 1917 and in it tucked a letter from her illicit boyfriend stationed in France, in a trench. The gift of being seen, though — literally; figuratively — is a stunning one, rendered here so beautifully. Grateful for your words.
Grateful for your words, too. And what a piece of real gold to find - wow. I have so much more to say about this that I can’t say here. Very much hoping we’ll meet in NYC and can compare notes on this most cavernous of subjects.
I would like that very much—It is indeed such a complicated issue, and at its core (at least where my mother was concerned) is rooted in their control, having a kind of final say, and leaving us with a key that won’t fit our particular lock where truth resides.
Elissa, thank you for sharing your experience, and for this very apt and beautiful phrase: "leaving us with a key that won’t fit our particular lock where truth resides." What a perfect encapsulation of these off-kilter inheritances.
Maybe this unwanted legacy is her way of haunting you forever. Her final moment with you overflowed with love, but things are never simple between mothers and daughters. One Christmas my late mother presented me with a gold pin she'd found in a vintage shop. It had a broken clasp, she pointed out. I would have to repair it. The symbolism could not have escaped her, a literary scholar. But back to you and your mother: terrific piece, alarming paintings, especially the owl coming for the baby.
I rarely leave a comment but this time I must. You (and David Roberts) first introduced me to the wonders of Substack. Every time I see your name appear in my inbox, my mind leaps with anticipation. Every word you write and every post you offer, is such a gift.
As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse (and raised by a mother who also silenced and did not protect me) I thank you for your honesty, vulnerability and for the exquisite brilliance of your written words.
Those paintings are indeed scary. I wonder if your mother associated them with you because she remembered that you had a strong reaction to them but did not recall the nature of your reaction.
In any event, I always enjoy reading your writing.
My ex-husband committed suicide a couple years after he left (his decision). I went to a memorial for him, where all his ex-girlfriends were present. In conversation with them (more listening than talking on my part), I came to the realization that my relationship with him was a repeat of all the relationships he had before me. It was sad and frustrating and amusing and eye opening all at the same time.
Then, months later, a box arrived at my small New York City apartment. It was a very large drawing he had made while we were together. (A couple of his ex-girlfriends had been gifted large drawings while he was alive.) It was strange colors and filled with haunting, phallic imagery. There was a handwritten note on it that said "It would be nice if Hilary could get this someday."
It made me angry for a while. He left our relationship with no notice - disappeared within hours of telling me he was going to, just before my 40th birthday. And suddenly he reappeared in my life, in the form of this drawing, without an invitation.
It spent a couple years in a friend's garage in a different state. Then it was hidden in a closet for a couple more years. I have a larger NYC apartment now and a few months ago, I hung it up. I found a spot where it wouldn't be in my line of sight from any of my favorite spots to sit.
I laughed out loud - in a horror sort of way - at the gruesome paintings your mum left you. Wow! They would fit in nicely with the wall art at Epstein island. Tho as you say she did love you, she probably just couldn't remember why her mind associated you with those pics. Hope the paperwork and tedious tasks of "finalization" are behind you; it can be quite a complicated process.
Those paintings are so disturbing here on the app that finding them in my house would be reason to call an exorcist. Thank you, Eleanor, for sharing this complex and heartbreaking story.
Those paintings do seem to personify that aspect of childhood about which fairy tales are told--You told the tale of the two paintings well, of course, leaving in enough of the scary but not too much to make it seem quite possibly true. Thank you for sharing.
The complexity of mother daughter relationship, when things not said nor acknowledged speak loudest and come between us. I am a daughter a mother, a grandmother. A daughter of a complex mother, cast off in adulthood because I dared to ask why? I tried to be different with my children but I just made different mistakes but one thing is different, I am willing to explain why and to apologise.
I would be puzzled by those paintings too. They are very scary. I feel the undercurrents but the fact she grabbed you and kissed you in the last moments of her life was a blessing you can cherish. I hope it gives you peace.
"Fallout (Empress Editions), a punk-hearted coming of age set at the iconic women's protest camp of Greenham Common in 1980s England, will explode into the world April 21st." This sounds really good. Though I know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, I admit I looked at the cover and thought, 'This book is not for me.' But with that one sentence, it sounds like something I might enjoy very much.
Covers are so interesting, aren’t they?! We opted for the commercial look having felt a more artful serious cover might put people off. It’s ever a juggling act. I can tell you, despite the cover, that it’s very political and wild and rage-fuelled and full of the dirt and wire of Greenham but also, bringing it together, it’s the story of a girl and her father…
Your novel is going on my To-Be-Read list for sure! Julie Cohen is one of my favourite authors. I discovered her work through a Jericho Writers event but the covers of some of her books that I enjoyed tremendously, Dear Thing and Where Love Lies, wouldn’t have called to me if I was browsing a bookshop.
My favourite lines from her include: “Write what the f^%k you want, just write it better” and “Repetition is death; repetition is death; repetition is death; repetition-is-death; I repeat, Repetition Is Death.” [Punctuation all mine]
A friend of mine, one of my favourite people, reminds me: “Done is better than perfect.”
Ummmmmm no Thanks but no Both terrifying , lonely and grim ! I imagine they are not both being hung in your bedroom hahaha ! I have no idea what else to say ! .... but none the less I do wonder
I love this, Eleanor. Wow. So apt she gave you the two things you hated. That seems exactly right—my father gave my daughter my small inheritance - he couldn’t have known NOTHING could have pleased me more.
You took whatever these paintings were—joke or gift—and made it into something of your own, material for your writing. I love that so much. Thanks for a good read.
So glad you enjoyed! Her death has been a weird comedy as well as all the other stuff. These paintings nailed it for me.
Lord have mercy: such mind-bogglingly gorgeous, hilarious, heart-wrenching, stunning writing on a subject no one has dared yet touch until now. My mother died five months ago, and I am at this moment going through the pieces of her life; the paintings, the hideous and massive goatskin table from 1981, the few pieces of gold that she didn’t sell. The most valuable thing was what I didn’t know I wanted: my grandmother’s high school autograph book from 1917 and in it tucked a letter from her illicit boyfriend stationed in France, in a trench. The gift of being seen, though — literally; figuratively — is a stunning one, rendered here so beautifully. Grateful for your words.
Grateful for your words, too. And what a piece of real gold to find - wow. I have so much more to say about this that I can’t say here. Very much hoping we’ll meet in NYC and can compare notes on this most cavernous of subjects.
I would like that very much—It is indeed such a complicated issue, and at its core (at least where my mother was concerned) is rooted in their control, having a kind of final say, and leaving us with a key that won’t fit our particular lock where truth resides.
Elissa, thank you for sharing your experience, and for this very apt and beautiful phrase: "leaving us with a key that won’t fit our particular lock where truth resides." What a perfect encapsulation of these off-kilter inheritances.
Yes, yes to all of this. Exactly and perfectly put. The attempted forcing of a version even at the end. We shall talk. x
🩷
Maybe this unwanted legacy is her way of haunting you forever. Her final moment with you overflowed with love, but things are never simple between mothers and daughters. One Christmas my late mother presented me with a gold pin she'd found in a vintage shop. It had a broken clasp, she pointed out. I would have to repair it. The symbolism could not have escaped her, a literary scholar. But back to you and your mother: terrific piece, alarming paintings, especially the owl coming for the baby.
Broken clasp! Exquisite and torturous equally.
Broken clasp! Exquisite and torturous equally.
Too much.
Eleanor,
I rarely leave a comment but this time I must. You (and David Roberts) first introduced me to the wonders of Substack. Every time I see your name appear in my inbox, my mind leaps with anticipation. Every word you write and every post you offer, is such a gift.
As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse (and raised by a mother who also silenced and did not protect me) I thank you for your honesty, vulnerability and for the exquisite brilliance of your written words.
Sonny,
I stand beside you. Thank you. x
Those paintings are indeed scary. I wonder if your mother associated them with you because she remembered that you had a strong reaction to them but did not recall the nature of your reaction.
In any event, I always enjoy reading your writing.
I wondered that too! Another possibility…
Thank you for this therapy session...
My ex-husband committed suicide a couple years after he left (his decision). I went to a memorial for him, where all his ex-girlfriends were present. In conversation with them (more listening than talking on my part), I came to the realization that my relationship with him was a repeat of all the relationships he had before me. It was sad and frustrating and amusing and eye opening all at the same time.
Then, months later, a box arrived at my small New York City apartment. It was a very large drawing he had made while we were together. (A couple of his ex-girlfriends had been gifted large drawings while he was alive.) It was strange colors and filled with haunting, phallic imagery. There was a handwritten note on it that said "It would be nice if Hilary could get this someday."
It made me angry for a while. He left our relationship with no notice - disappeared within hours of telling me he was going to, just before my 40th birthday. And suddenly he reappeared in my life, in the form of this drawing, without an invitation.
It spent a couple years in a friend's garage in a different state. Then it was hidden in a closet for a couple more years. I have a larger NYC apartment now and a few months ago, I hung it up. I found a spot where it wouldn't be in my line of sight from any of my favorite spots to sit.
It's there. He's there. I forgive him.
Wow. That’s a story. What process. I salute you and send love.
I laughed out loud - in a horror sort of way - at the gruesome paintings your mum left you. Wow! They would fit in nicely with the wall art at Epstein island. Tho as you say she did love you, she probably just couldn't remember why her mind associated you with those pics. Hope the paperwork and tedious tasks of "finalization" are behind you; it can be quite a complicated process.
Thanks, Kathy. Yes, nearly thru the paperwork…
Those paintings are so disturbing here on the app that finding them in my house would be reason to call an exorcist. Thank you, Eleanor, for sharing this complex and heartbreaking story.
Those paintings do seem to personify that aspect of childhood about which fairy tales are told--You told the tale of the two paintings well, of course, leaving in enough of the scary but not too much to make it seem quite possibly true. Thank you for sharing.
They could easily have been picked out in a Grimm Fairy Tale…
The complexity of mother daughter relationship, when things not said nor acknowledged speak loudest and come between us. I am a daughter a mother, a grandmother. A daughter of a complex mother, cast off in adulthood because I dared to ask why? I tried to be different with my children but I just made different mistakes but one thing is different, I am willing to explain why and to apologise.
I would be puzzled by those paintings too. They are very scary. I feel the undercurrents but the fact she grabbed you and kissed you in the last moments of her life was a blessing you can cherish. I hope it gives you peace.
Thank you for sharing. Now following.
Yes, it gives me peace. 😊
"Fallout (Empress Editions), a punk-hearted coming of age set at the iconic women's protest camp of Greenham Common in 1980s England, will explode into the world April 21st." This sounds really good. Though I know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, I admit I looked at the cover and thought, 'This book is not for me.' But with that one sentence, it sounds like something I might enjoy very much.
Covers are so interesting, aren’t they?! We opted for the commercial look having felt a more artful serious cover might put people off. It’s ever a juggling act. I can tell you, despite the cover, that it’s very political and wild and rage-fuelled and full of the dirt and wire of Greenham but also, bringing it together, it’s the story of a girl and her father…
Your novel is going on my To-Be-Read list for sure! Julie Cohen is one of my favourite authors. I discovered her work through a Jericho Writers event but the covers of some of her books that I enjoyed tremendously, Dear Thing and Where Love Lies, wouldn’t have called to me if I was browsing a bookshop.
I love Julie Cohen! She whose tag line and unforgettable writing advice is “Finish the damn book” 😂 She’s so right.
My favourite lines from her include: “Write what the f^%k you want, just write it better” and “Repetition is death; repetition is death; repetition is death; repetition-is-death; I repeat, Repetition Is Death.” [Punctuation all mine]
A friend of mine, one of my favourite people, reminds me: “Done is better than perfect.”
“Done is better than perfect” - Yes yes yes. I’m going to write that on my wall.
Ummmmmm no Thanks but no Both terrifying , lonely and grim ! I imagine they are not both being hung in your bedroom hahaha ! I have no idea what else to say ! .... but none the less I do wonder
Not coming to the flat 😂
The ability to see other and witness self 🙏💙
Good shivers reading this. Reincarnation may reveal all.
Ah yes. There is that.
May I ask if you happen to know the artists' names/painting titles - to aid deciphering? Thank you.
I don’t…
I love this, Eleanor. Wow. So apt she gave you the two things you hated. That seems exactly right—my father gave my daughter my small inheritance - he couldn’t have known NOTHING could have pleased me more.
Ha. The twists and turns of it all. x
You write without bitterness, even when you're saying 'thanks, but no thanks'
Remarkable.
🙏🏻