I salvage the wing of a Tawny frogmouth on the side of the road. When I discover a piece of driftwood washed onto a south coast beach, I know it is where the wing belongs. Together they form a connected pattern of soft feather and hard bark: a resilient memory of life that also honours the role of death. I sculpt porcelain vessels, a community that observes, and in observing knows that we are all part of the nature of things. Through this connection we are one being, never departed and never alone.

In good times, my father was a fisherman. A thin, nylon line tethering him to an army of anglers. Long summers spent among “the optimists” – as he called them – all waiting patiently to hook the big one. In bad times, my father was a fisherman. His quest to catch the big one quashed by disease. With beer in hand, his fishing trips grew more reflective, as energy and will drained from him. In death, my father swims with the fish. A smattering of dust, forever connecting him to the community of fishers.

~ In your absence, your presence is vast. In your absence, I push the sky to the edges. ~ We are all beginners at death. As a community, let us embrace this knowledge and walk together with death.

I began making pom-poms after my partner was diagnosed with cancer. The joy of making something quickly focused my attention and momentarily relieved my fears. As his illness progressed I invited others to make pom-poms. Craft became a way for people to spend time with us, in our home. The repetition was comforting and people opened up. Having something to do with our hands shifted the focus from words, making human connection easier. After Steve died communal crafting became a way for me to connect with other people’s experience of death. This accumulation became ‘The Nature of Things.'

Living with a terminal illness and grief can feel like living in a bubble. Removed from the world’s colour of activity. An invisible barrier that can offer protection but can also keep emotion, conversation, support and even love from being shared. Offering a hand. Connecting through touch. Just holding hands, be it clinging tightly by finger tips or gently held can provide support and care with a wrapping of light, colour and warmth. A connection to community. Arms are positioned to show either is able to support the other and folds of the dress represent the wrinkles of life.

The phrase "Connecting with Community," sounds so easy, but for those living in isolation just the thought of leaving the safety of home is an impossible task. The girl in the image has her back turned away from us, and gives the impression of turning away from the community, but perhaps it's community that has turned away from her.