Three years ago a pile of garbage appeared in front of my apartment building, as it does.
Looking for free things to paint on I unknowingly grabbed two table tops. One from a kitchen table and the other from one of those folding TV trays. When I realized what I had, this series began.
What I Have strives to represent the process of grief through reflection into a complicated past, an honest present, and a hopeful future.
The works themselves are simply many moments of grief.
How I aim to share them, however, is an exercise in being vulnerable, airing dirty laundry, lifting taboos, and practicing transparency in our limitations and intentions.
From the start, I set simple restrictions for myself:
I could only use what I already have, what is given to me, or what I find along the way.
Looking for free things to paint on I unknowingly grabbed two table tops. One from a kitchen table and the other from one of those folding TV trays. When I realized what I had, this series began.
What I Have strives to represent the process of grief through reflection into a complicated past, an honest present, and a hopeful future.
The works themselves are simply many moments of grief.
How I aim to share them, however, is an exercise in being vulnerable, airing dirty laundry, lifting taboos, and practicing transparency in our limitations and intentions.
From the start, I set simple restrictions for myself:
I could only use what I already have, what is given to me, or what I find along the way.
In an attempt to support those suffering and in recovery from addiction, all proceeds from these works have been donated to Prevention Point Philadelphia.
Photo by Michael Riley
All works photographed by myself unless credited otherwise
Close Your Eyes Part 1
From the time I was old enough, I was taught to pray. I prayed before meals and I prayed before bed. Sometimes I really prayed, sometimes I just closed my eyes and waited an appropriate amount of time.
My parents believed sitting down to dinner together every night, a family of 5, meant something. They took great pride in this act, as if this alone made us better than families who didn’t.
There were times we really talked and laughed and learned, but there were so many nights we did it just to pretend.
Nights us kids sat in fear because we forgot to read the daily bible text we would be quizzed on at the end of dinner.
Nights of sitting in silence because dad was in an off mood.
Or the night I forgot to put out the salad dressing he liked.
My brother’s seat was across from mine at the table and sometimes I’d stretch my legs out and put my toes up on his knees until he pushed them off.
He left home when I was 12 and after a year it was like he never existed.
We sat down to dinner every night, a family of 4.
We prayed, we ate, we talked about the daily bible text.
We were a good family.
30 x 30
Baby Boy
September 11, 2018
31 years ago my mom became a mom.
She was younger than I am now.
I imagine all the time she spent alone with this baby boy and what that connection must have been like. She raised such a loving human.
I think he was at one point her only happiness.
When my brother passed away she explained that he had been dead to her for years.
And I just don’t know how you get from one place to the other.
She was younger than I am now.
I imagine all the time she spent alone with this baby boy and what that connection must have been like. She raised such a loving human.
I think he was at one point her only happiness.
When my brother passed away she explained that he had been dead to her for years.
And I just don’t know how you get from one place to the other.
23 x 46
Untitled
It started off about heaven.
Because I thought I needed to confront the after life at some point in this series. But I don’t believe in heaven and I have felt no presence.
No angels or ghosts or spirits.
So I got angry at my closed mind and threw some black on it because it was just a test piece by now anyway. But then I watered it down and it sat that way for months.
I looked at my pieces collectively thus far and saw my very first painting of this series about my mom being a mom for the first time.
And I realized this isn’t about the after life, but the life itself.
So I added some flesh to the lightness and the darkness and I think it makes sense now.
Because I thought I needed to confront the after life at some point in this series. But I don’t believe in heaven and I have felt no presence.
No angels or ghosts or spirits.
So I got angry at my closed mind and threw some black on it because it was just a test piece by now anyway. But then I watered it down and it sat that way for months.
I looked at my pieces collectively thus far and saw my very first painting of this series about my mom being a mom for the first time.
And I realized this isn’t about the after life, but the life itself.
So I added some flesh to the lightness and the darkness and I think it makes sense now.
23 x 46
I don’t believe in ghosts
I have wanted to sense my brother.
I have wanted to believe he exists somewhere other than in a jar on my shelf.
I don’t look like him, but biologically I share his genes and spiritually I think I share his fire.
When he passed I felt like I owed it to him to live a life filled with love and creativity.
Pieces of my brother live in me and that is enough.
I have wanted to believe he exists somewhere other than in a jar on my shelf.
I don’t look like him, but biologically I share his genes and spiritually I think I share his fire.
When he passed I felt like I owed it to him to live a life filled with love and creativity.
Pieces of my brother live in me and that is enough.
23 x 46
Photographed by Morganne Hodgson
White Shows Everything
When I was 7 my parents moved us from New Jersey to upstate New York. We moved into an old Greek Revival built c. 1850.
To give you an idea of my mom’s decorating style, she sponge-painted our dining room pink, or as she called it “mauve”, and stuck up a pansy-printed border along the ceiling.
All of the ceilings and original molding were repainted off-white. When I asked why not white her answer, which was the same for shoes and jackets and pretty much everything else I wanted, was,
“White shows everything".
And so it does.
To give you an idea of my mom’s decorating style, she sponge-painted our dining room pink, or as she called it “mauve”, and stuck up a pansy-printed border along the ceiling.
All of the ceilings and original molding were repainted off-white. When I asked why not white her answer, which was the same for shoes and jackets and pretty much everything else I wanted, was,
“White shows everything".
And so it does.
30 x 41
Where I’m From
I will always be grateful to my parents for moving us to Ithaca, NY.
I wonder what conversations they had as a couple making such a big decision for our family.
I was young when we moved, so it is where I consider myself from, but I always sensed that we were outsiders.
My parents didn’t really fit in.
They were too Jersey for the country folk and too Christian for the Ithacans, but they liked where we were and they both did adapt over the years.
My dad joined a few country bands and my mom stopped wearing so much make-up.
I wonder all the time who they would’ve been had their religious beliefs faded as easy as their accents.
I wonder what conversations they had as a couple making such a big decision for our family.
I was young when we moved, so it is where I consider myself from, but I always sensed that we were outsiders.
My parents didn’t really fit in.
They were too Jersey for the country folk and too Christian for the Ithacans, but they liked where we were and they both did adapt over the years.
My dad joined a few country bands and my mom stopped wearing so much make-up.
I wonder all the time who they would’ve been had their religious beliefs faded as easy as their accents.
14 x 19
They Were Supposed to Be My Parents
April 5th, 2019
When I started this on March 8th, 2018, these were two separate pieces. I knew they were supposed to be my parents, but I couldn’t see it.
The last time I touched these pieces was a year ago.
Recently I had the idea to connect them, so I placed them next to each other like this, and for the first time I saw them.
In reflection I wrote,
“they were supposed to be my parents, but I didn’t see it until now”.
When I started this on March 8th, 2018, these were two separate pieces. I knew they were supposed to be my parents, but I couldn’t see it.
The last time I touched these pieces was a year ago.
Recently I had the idea to connect them, so I placed them next to each other like this, and for the first time I saw them.
In reflection I wrote,
“they were supposed to be my parents, but I didn’t see it until now”.
23 x 43
Photographed by Morganne Hodgson
Chew Me Up, Spit Me Out
The first time I called my sister in three years was to tell her our big brother was gone.
When Keenan passed I think we had a realization that we were all we had left, but it took time to heal and figure out what being sisters looked liked for us.
We came from an environment that made us so fearful of everything around us, including each other, and it’s been a process to undo that and learn how to love and trust.
“This world will chew you up and spit you out”, our parents would say.
They were right. And I, for one, am softer for it.
When Keenan passed I think we had a realization that we were all we had left, but it took time to heal and figure out what being sisters looked liked for us.
We came from an environment that made us so fearful of everything around us, including each other, and it’s been a process to undo that and learn how to love and trust.
“This world will chew you up and spit you out”, our parents would say.
They were right. And I, for one, am softer for it.
12 x 16
Black Mirror
Bare with me, this piece was made with ulterior motives.
Part of me made this with the intention of giving it to someone I thought would be a friend, but I was also looking for acceptance, validation, approval, etc.
I’m disappointed in how things turned out and I’m disappointed in giving them a place in this series, in my process, and in my grief.
But this piece still belongs here.
It fits in where we lose ourselves in the never-ending process of moving on with our lives.
Where we lose sight of our goals and forget our pasts and let other people and their reactions to us determine who we are.
It’s where we open up to those who take one look at our mess and think "YIKES".
It’s desperation deemed infatuation because we know all too well we don’t always get enough time after we “just give it some time”.
Sudden loss will make us paranoid and maybe even a little clingy, so we work through it and try to turn it into something productive.
We love harder and faster. We learn to apologize and say I love you before going to sleep or getting in cars. We reach out and check in and get on people’s cases.
So yeah, every now and then we dump all of that energy into someone and get nothing back, and we feel small and less than and have to spend some time building ourselves back up, curbing our egos, and reminding ourselves of all the times it was worth it.
Anyway, this piece is called Black Mirror in honor of the hours I spent staring at my phone waiting for an answer instead of doing literally anything else.
This piece doesn’t reflect much, just enough to know you’re there.
Part of me made this with the intention of giving it to someone I thought would be a friend, but I was also looking for acceptance, validation, approval, etc.
I’m disappointed in how things turned out and I’m disappointed in giving them a place in this series, in my process, and in my grief.
But this piece still belongs here.
It fits in where we lose ourselves in the never-ending process of moving on with our lives.
Where we lose sight of our goals and forget our pasts and let other people and their reactions to us determine who we are.
It’s where we open up to those who take one look at our mess and think "YIKES".
It’s desperation deemed infatuation because we know all too well we don’t always get enough time after we “just give it some time”.
Sudden loss will make us paranoid and maybe even a little clingy, so we work through it and try to turn it into something productive.
We love harder and faster. We learn to apologize and say I love you before going to sleep or getting in cars. We reach out and check in and get on people’s cases.
So yeah, every now and then we dump all of that energy into someone and get nothing back, and we feel small and less than and have to spend some time building ourselves back up, curbing our egos, and reminding ourselves of all the times it was worth it.
Anyway, this piece is called Black Mirror in honor of the hours I spent staring at my phone waiting for an answer instead of doing literally anything else.
This piece doesn’t reflect much, just enough to know you’re there.
19 x 38
Photographed by Morganne Hodgson
What I Have
A once partner and forever friend carried this piece of dirty floor, with rusty screws and splinters sticking out, all the way home in like 90 degree weather one day because I glanced longingly at it and said it would be great for a project.
I need the people I choose to bring into my life. They become my family and my support system.
I look at my friends and I see myself.
This piece is a self-portrait.
I need the people I choose to bring into my life. They become my family and my support system.
I look at my friends and I see myself.
This piece is a self-portrait.
46 x 46
Close Your Eyes Part 2
A portrait of my brother.
14 x 19
Instead of putting on my "so 90’s" thrift store New Year’s Eve dress, I was on the phone with the medical examiners office discussing who would be handling my brother’s body. I was informed of the $25 per day storage fee charged after 24 hours of notice. My brother was taking up space in a fridge I suppose.
I spent the first week of 2016 in Buffalo with people I hardly knew, picking out which flowers would go on the casket. Roses? I don’t know. He’s a guy. What’s his favorite flower?
I saw his apartment for the first time, somewhat ransacked by the police, when we went to pick out the outfit he would be cremated in.
I was late to the service and when I walked in, to my horror, his body was just there, right up front for everyone to see. It was supposed to be a private viewing. They got it wrong, but it was too late. I felt awful for making everyone see that. I felt embarrassed that everyone thought I would want that. It wasn’t what he would’ve wanted.
When our time slot was up they politely pushed us out and we left him there. He was cremated and it took me a year to get back to Buffalo to pick up his ashes. The man said, “Careful, it’s heavy”.
Later we divided him up in the kitchen, scooping him out of the box with a gravy ladle and placing him in jars.
He wasn’t a big part of my every day life and I only really knew him for a year, so my loss is mostly in potential. A relationship that could have been and never will.
The last time I saw him he took a bus to Rochester and we spent Thanksgiving together at my apartment. It was something we were both so excited to share. I think we wanted to make traditions together. He called me on my birthday and on Christmas. He knew what it felt like to not have your own family on those days. He went through the same experiences I did with our parents. The fights, getting kicked out, getting disowned, so he understood better than anyone could. But he also had 6 years on me and had so much to teach me about working through all of the pain and confusion.
My loss isn’t unique or special. It’s actually all too common. But my grieving process was about more than the loss of my brother. It was a loss of innocence, a harsh look into the realities of morgue storage fees and funeral home paper work. A finite answer to the question of: would my parents ever make things right?
They cut him off when I was in 6th grade and I didn’t know him again until I was 20.
I grieve the Murphy kids. I grieve parents who couldn’t love us unconditionally. I grieve the years I spent not knowing him and the years he spent without family. I grieve his goodness. He deserved more. We deserved more.
I was 22 and on winter break from school. I was too young to be a next of kin to anyone. But there I was fielding calls from detectives, medical examiners, and funeral home directors. Sleeping in a guest bedroom. Waking up from dreams of never ending waves crashing over my head, unable to breathe. My parents did that to me. They did that to him.
But even still I felt lucky. Lucky that he had people who loved him. Lucky those people took me in. Lucky for all the people who chipped in for the funeral costs. Lucky the funeral home cut us such a break. It could have been worse. I felt so grateful and so guilty. I apologized for my parents. I’m so sorry my family is crazy. In my head I apologized for my brother. I’m so sorry he was an addict. I’m so sorry this was put on you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.
And then I was done being sorry. The moment his service ended like a flipped switch I was done. I couldn’t come back. I couldn’t respond to your message. I couldn’t revisit it. I had to get back to work, back to school, back to life. I had to pick a college to transfer to and figure out where I wanted to move. Away from New York. Maybe across the country.
Then I found Philly. A place that somehow, in most places, resembled what I felt like on the inside. I grieved here and here is where I move forward.
I’m always sad somewhere and I still get angry and I still haven’t figured it all out. But it’s been almost 4 years and I’m in a much better place.
I’m in 6th grade crying at my locker. I’m freshly 20, hesitantly responding to a Facebook message. I’m almost 26, the age he was when we reconnected. In two years I will be the age he was when he died. Someday I will be older than my big brother will ever be. I am and will be all of these things simultaneously, always.
Entry posted via Instagram November 6, 2019