Dear Joan and David,
I hope I don’t get too spiritual with this letter but, I miss you both dearly. I hope you’ve met. I enjoy imagining the strange conversations you’d have, the kind of ones where you can’t really hear each other but you laugh anyway.
I’m finally in the last semester of my degree, after a slog, or as you say David, a mulch of white minutes. I’m only sure of one thing in my practice and it’s that I see your foibles in everything I make.
You see, you may be 44 years apart but I think you both have a lot in common… you’re both dead… Haha, no, it’s deeper than that, it’s your philosophy on life. The kinda of philosophy that inspires you to utter “parts of me are excellent” when asked how you are, while on your deathbed.
David, I attempt to read Self Portrait at 28 to just about anyone who will listen, but god it’s long and my mouth gets dry.
I read it about five times a month and every time it feels like I’ve just stepped out of the water shivering and Joan wraps a towel around me and kisses me on the shoulder. By the end of the poem I’m still damp, but the sun has come out and everything is okay. I feel safe.
Do you get it now?
You see, I think humour as a survival tactic is something I inherited from you Joan, and David, you are the embodiment of it.
I think humour is so serious.
I wish you could both make it to my show, however, I made you some chairs as a settlement. I’m still not sure if I believe in ghosts, but feel free to haunt them if it’s a possibility - they’re bright, you won’t miss them.
Joan, I read the eulogy at your funeral, and I think it was pretty funny… It’s what reminded me of my love for writing, writing about you. And well, as it turns out, I placed dibs on your engagement ring, which I had resized to fit my index finger.
Oh, and they finally sold your house last week, after the roof fell in due to a rat chewing through a pipe.
I found this out when I was in the middle of writing about you David. This is not why I am writing to you both at the same time, of course, I just wonder if I address it to you both, do you receive it together?
I hope you’ll excuse me if this is insensitive David, but can you get back into drugs inconsequentially up there? Down there? Wherever you are?
Joan prefers cheap red wine, the cask type, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out.
Anyway, I have to finish making your chairs, so I must go. But consider this a self-portrait at 24 or something, or just a letter, a letter with classic conventional letter conventions.
I’m off the air,
Coco
