Sharron Gibson

I remember…

You left me. You left me before it was time. When you couldn’t remember who I was. I was the carer, the nice lady. I was no longer your daughter.

But I remember you. I remember how you smelled. That you always had beautifully manicured nails – even after a day of digging in the garden. I loved your hair, red like mine. Your hair smelled like apples. My mother, my protector. The Lioness.

This is my journey to remembering who you were. But the mind plays tricks and I’m left wondering if these memories are real, are they really mine, or did I construct them from old photographs, other people’s memories, or from the long chats with my sisters?

But there’s something about how I remember you that is quite detached. Aloof. Distant.

You were there – but not.

–

My mother died from Alzheimer’s in 2020. We had known she had dementia even before the doctors confirmed it – finally – in 2014. We had 10 years of losing you. The Long Goodbye as it’s so often called. Ten years to let you go. But I wasn’t ready and I never did say goodbye at a time you would have remembered.

During the process of making art as collaboration – I am choosing to collaborate with myself, my mother, my children and my memories. Stepping into the role as “mother” I am becoming her and allowing my memories to be re-remembered and re-imagined.

The colours are muted and the house filled with smoke and the images often seen through windows or doors ways – these are representing a pathway into a different world. These are not the highly stylised images but made from real memories that I hold onto – but viewed from my now adult perspective.