you’re being dramatic …
the wedding dress I’ll never get to wear as my dad walks me down the aisle.
When Dad died in July, I thought I had myself handled. I spoke at his funeral. I visited his grave. I knew I’d miss him, but we had all been grieving for years as his health yo yo’d with different, worsening, compiling diagnoses. I’d spent the last year and a half visiting and trying to get to know my dad better. But I was not prepared. The things that tore me apart were silly, insignificant things, like being unable to ask, “why is my car making this noise?” Their house, Mom’s house, felt too big and empty. And then, my niece got married in the fall.
My sister, her mom, got married when I was 10. I watched my dad walk (or rather pull, because her dress was too big for them to walk side by side) down the aisle. He was more nervous than she was, and she was nervous. But he did it. He calmed her down. He was there. And that’s something I’ll never get or have. There are so many things I never knew I expected or counted on or took as fact in my life that can never happen now. I know this is irrational, but that’s how grief works.
*Video of first hour of installation opening, December 1, 2023.
Creating this dress, reimagined as his preferred pack of cigarettes (Marlboro Special Selects), in a place where the workers used to sit and chain smoke all day long (Lafayette Telephone Answering Service) has helped me start to work through my feelings. Bringing this piece to the public is an act of vulnerability, and I’m asking you to meet me in my discomfort. In order to view the entire piece, and the rest of this show, you are required to walk on the white carpet. On the surface, I’m asking you to ruin my wedding dress, but what I’m really asking is for you to stand with me in my grief, to change the way I look at the future.
Installation documentation:
Process / behind the scenes:
