For some reason, I have an uncanny attraction to terminally ill bloggers. I choose to believe that it's because they, faced with death, write with more beauty and truth and appreciation for life. Tessa, of "An Aerial Armadillo" was art. I don't even say she was an "artist", even though she was, she was art itself! Everything she saw--a plant, an experience, a mug in her kitchen--was full of color and joy and dance and she allowed those things to sink into her like water into a sponge; they sunk in so much that, reaching her saturation point, she oozed art out of her very essence. No moment, no trivial object or day was without wonder in her eyes, and she wrote about it.
I was lucky enough to win a piece of her own artwork from her, a print called "Dance, Mama, Dance!". At the moment, it sits atop the cabinet in our bathroom, adding some color and joy to the most mundane room in our apartment. I think she'd enjoy knowing that. I found out about her passing yesterday and today I think I'll take my camera out no matter the weather and make some art of my own. See color in Juneau's dreary skies. And dance. For Tessa.