When I was much younger, I always wrote little stories. Mostly about things that I couldn’t understand. Magic, religion or bad people. Even sometimes all at the same time…
This is one of the drawings and stories I made when I was around 8 years old:
The text says:
In the land of the fakirs lived one fakir who worshiped the sun. He told the people in the village he could talk to the sun and everyone believed him. He was also a vicar and he taught the people to believe what he was telling them. They thought he was amazing and they gave him silver and gold and they adored him.
The children’s book I am working on now is not about bad people. It is about mourning and about finding what you are missing. Or finding it is normal to miss something very much.
I’ve worked as a undertaker for some time. Around that same time my partner lost his, still young, mother. I got inspired by the grief of all the people around me, how weird that might sound. At work I felt connected with the people in the situation of a loved one dying, but didn’t want it to get to me to hard because there was so much grieve going on in my own household.
It made me feel small and torn, like a child, and I saw my partner feeling the same. So I started to write about losing a mother, although I don’t know what it would feel like, even though I lost quite a lot of relatives myself. But I listened very well and in my job as an undertaker I spoke to a lot of people who did. It hurts even to just write about it. So, there you go, that’s why.
Here you will find some details of drawing I made yesterday. Hope you will love them.
© Edda Grol ‘Titel nog onbekend I, II, en III’, 2013