Have you ever wondered if the dead get points on the other side by influencing the lives of their living loved ones? I have. But I may be biased in my wonderings because I frequently communicate with dead people. Or I should say that I am open and willing to listen to the messages they are trying to give me.
Let me back up.
Since 1991, when I lost my closest confidant to cancer (that’s another story) I’ve been open to the idea that it is possible for the dead to communicate with the living through many various means. Especially, but not exclusively, through objects, daydreams and music.
Recently, my Aunt JoAnn is the most persuasive “squeaky ghost” following me around the house, whispering creative notions in my ear. JoAnn was my favorite aunt to hang out with at her house in Saint Paul, Minnesota in the 1970s. Her style was Bohemian, complete with the American flag hanging in the living room with peace sign in place of stars. There was the iconic Adams Family high back wicker chair in the corner. Incense, candles and black light posters were everywhere. I was enchanted. My aunt was tall and thin with a curtain of straight dark blond hair. She wore bell bottom blue jeans that road low on the hip with a thick brown leather belt and a halter top. She was thin and vain, and liked to show off her flat stomach. Though it was the 70s, she had been a teen in the 60s, so she still went for the heavy eyeliner look, versus the “au natural” trend of the era.
I used to watch her put on her makeup at the kitchen table. She used a special round swiveling makeup mirror that stood on a tabletop. One side was magnified, and it had those small, round light bulbs like you see in the dressing rooms in movies. I have never seen anyone, before or since, apply makeup in full view of family and friends. It was a ritual, not a routine. It was at that table where she taught me the most important vanity secret that women need follow without fail: “moisturize, moisturize, moisturize, daily, morning and night, always.” For my aunt, aging was not an option. She was a flower child with an arsenal of eye shadow and lipstick.
I have always been a good listener. I listened to her. I was the oldest, and so was my aunt the oldest of four children. I think that is why I responded well to her “know it all” attitude. I’ve never been offended by people with strong opinions. JoAnn had many of them, and she did not keep them to herself. She was no ditzy hippy stereotype. In fact, she was very organized and labeled food items in color coded post-its in her flowery handwriting in the refrigerator and cupboards for their intended use. She was known as stern and strict. I loved it. I was one of those kids who liked to hang out with the grown ups and watch them for clues and information on adulting.
My aunt loved scary movies. She thought they were good, solid teaching tools for children. She allowed my cousin Raymond, ten years younger than I, to watch them before my mother allowed me. I remember her saying, “Think about it kids, its all prosthetic makeup, lighting and sound effects that are making you jump out of your seat. It’s all fake. Don’t cover your eyes! Watch and learn how they create the mood with costuming and special effects. Those are actors, people just like you and me behind that mask.” The line between reality and fiction was to be appreciated as an artistic pursuit.
She was also a student of all things occult. She studied Astrology, Palmistry, meditation, chakras and believed in ghosts. But let me be very clear on something important I learned from her. The dead are NOT creepy. They are just like you and me, but dead. There is no reason to be afraid, no reason to scream and run. She sparked in me my life long study of Astrology, Tarot card reading and my passion for allowing the dead to be a natural part of my life.
Inspiration in a Box of Buttons
My Aunt JoAnn was a collector. No, that sounds too formal. She was a pack rat. No, that sounds too normal. Honestly, she became a hoarder in her later years. She lived in a very old apartment that had 12-foot high ceilings. I used to visit her in the 90s when my daughter was a toddler because she was also home during the day like me. Back then, the paths through the apartment were created by one layer of boxes, bags and tables. She lived alone, no pets or children were threatened by the clutter, so no family members tried to interfere and clear things out. By the time she passed away in 2013, the box walls almost touched the ceiling. My cousin and I marveled at how my aunt could have possibly gotten up there to create the next layer. We both stared at each other for a minute. “Do you think she climbed?” We both laughed.
Out of the walls of boxes my cousin decided to gift me a large collection of vintage buttons and charms. “You’re an artist. Maybe you can use these for something.” I felt I had been given a sunken treasure.
I have been using her vintage silver buttons in a series of small works called Star Ornaments. Each Star has a retro 70s inspired drawing or collage and an attached button from JoAnn’s collection reflects the imagery. The inspiration for this decorative series comes directly from permission my aunt gave me to putter away and play with your favorite motifs. She also enjoyed painting, re-using and decorating second hand objects, jewelry and clothing. She would draw a Pisces symbol with ink pen on a blue jean pocket, add rhinestones and metallic paint to really bling it out. Now the jeans were charmed with her own mojo and magic. She liked to show off her handiwork at family gatherings.
During most of her last decade JoAnn was a recluse. Some years she wouldn’t even show up for our traditionally loud and raucous family holiday parties. Even when her sister, my mom, was there to pick her up, she refused to come out and get into the car. She wasn’t ready. She was still working on a gift for the intended party. The detail in the handwritten card or obsessively curated gift had to be just right. She became caught in the minutiae.
The artist part of me has always admired her for these ‘no shows’. I’ve never been a big fan of forced family fun. (Don’t tell my tribe, please.) There have been many times that I wished that I could stay home gluing bling on an art project. Or, more accurately, drawing moon phases on a cut out star and attaching a button with a decorative string.
Just this past week, I felt a strong pull to ignore everything else in my life to sit and stare at her button collection. I heard my aunt’s approval from that meditative state of mind, telling me to play, to dream, to create a small world inside this moment using only these charmed objects and my imagination. I organized them into groups according to design. Then I wrote this blog. Thank you, Auntie! I love you.
The Art Goddess 
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