In memoriam of my father Leendert Jan Dekker, 1992
My family is from the isles of the province Zeeland. People from those parts are extremely silent and so was my father. He had his own piece of land where he spent all his spare time. Soon after he retired he fell ill.
It turned out he was suffering from a very malicious cancer. In his last days, unable to work in his garden, he used to sit on the couch by the window drawing anything he saw or was thinking of.
His sketchbook filled up with his scrabbles. We had a lot of fun pointing out his interpretations of the neighbour, big animals, his vegetable plot and travel scenes: a new way of conversation was born.
When someone dies, all small things disappear and so do all small memories connected to them.
Boltansky wrote: “the big history lies down in books but the small history is very fragile”.
Two years after the dead of my father, in 1994, I started to embroider his sketches on sheets and pillows. The work is still in progress.
Connie Dekker read more in Italian on website MAC’N