Heather’s Brass

Before my mother died of bowl cancer at the age if forty-seven, she had a solo exhibition. It was to be the first of many. She was frail with cancer then, but our hope was too strong to ever face the possibility that it would be her first and last.

A lot of her work sold at the exhibition. This was a moment of great pride for my mother and all of us. It was not unexpected. She had established a solid reputation amongst the tonal painting community, she had exhibited her work often and had taught her art for many years, passing on the techniques of the Max Meldrum tonal painting school.

Most of her work was in oils. Her pastels and charcoals, although fewer, were popular amongst buyers and generally sold in exhibitions. At her solo exhibition the parents of my brother’s girlfriend at the time bought a beautiful pastel which mum had entitled Heather’s Brass.

Heather’s Brass, by Dawn Martin.

My sister Heather, who was a teenager at the time, spent some of the money she earnt at her part time job to buy the brass piece for mum. Heather said she was drawn to it when she passed it in Myers department store. She bought it thinking it would be perfect for our mother to use in a still life composition. The pastel above was the only piece mum ever did with the brass in it. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be. She ran out of time. She died less than six months after her solo exhibition.

In that time my brother had broken up with his girlfriend. It was an unhappy break for the girl. Even her parents rang John at one stage to try to mediate reconciliation. They adored him too. (He’s that sort of likable guy).

In the grief surrounding the death of my mother each of us struggled in our own different ways. At some point Heather expressed her grief that Heather’s Brass had sold at the exhibition. As you can imagine the sentimental value of the piece was very high for her. My dear brother took it upon himself to ring his ex girlfriend’s mother. He explained its sentimental value and tried to arrange a swap or to buy it back. However, the mother refused.

That was twenty-three years ago.

On Sunday it was my sister’s birthday. My sister was turning forty-two. The family gathered at our place. My father arrived with a large frame covered up in a table cloth. This is something for Heather from John. We all assumed that he had sent down some of his own art work. He is a photographer and often gives his work as gifts for birthday presents. He lives in Queensland so he wasn’t there on Sunday.

My father presented the item to Heather when she was seated at our dining room table by unwrapping it before her eyes. It was none other than Heather’s Brass. My sister was overwhelmed. Tears sprung to her eyes and she was speechless for at least five minutes. My four children looked on quietly admiring the art work and waiting to find out why their aunty was reacting like this. They waited. They could sense the import of the moment.

They have never known their grandmother, but they have grown up in a house with her artwork on every wall. Stories from the past are like gold to them.

My brother received a phone call from his ex girlfriend recently. Her mother had passed away and Heather’s Brass had come to her. She told John that she believed Heather should really have the painting. John and my father arranged to swap it for another of mum’s paintings and have secretly been holding it in order to present it to Heather on her birthday.

My sister is beautiful. She always planned to have children of her own but she was diagnosed with MS seven years ago. She has learnt to live with the disease, but her life would be much easier without it. To see her crying with happiness on Sunday was a very special moment in our family.