Here’s an empty can of clams – well, it was empty.
The inspiration for this comes from family, and in particular, my grandmother.
Rosamond Laurie Doran died before I was born, in Panama. She was a nurse.
The names on the tombstones belong to the dead raccoons that were killed by cars. They are buried in my yard.
There is a ghost in the clock – shrouded, because I’ve never met this particular ghost.
Above the bolo knife is a painting my grandmother made. It’s the only thing I have of hers. It hangs in my dining room, and she signed it. She was quite beautiful.
I often sense that she looks after me.
My dad and I used to eat smokey kippered herring on saltines, when I was a kid. The tins came with a key that would open the can. If you didn’t do it correctly, a little metal tab would snap off and it was difficult to get the can open.
This scene shows the ghost of Triton, haunting his old haunt. He’s accompanied by old friends. All the eyes glow in the dark. All the eyes except his.
The knowledge hungry grackles are at it again. This one is writing with one of Hedwig’s feathers in a tiny, hand-stitched book.
As an aside, I cut the side of my thumb off while working on this. I made the book with 8 fingers and one thumb. The gauze kept interfering with the fine paper. Trying to sew with that on was challenging and for this reason, I’m especially proud of this one.