I’d like to acknowledge my mother, Marion Tassin. She passed away suddenly a few years ago, and one of the unfortunate parts of losing someone is it becomes harder and harder to find opportunities to talk about them. I like to take every chance I can.

She was an inspiring woman, capable of radiating joy during the good times and showing unbelievable courage and determination during the bad. An almost impossibly creative person, her life explored all sorts of original pursuits and passionate goals. From cattle ranching to painting, from raising four sons to interior design, from mentorship in Alcoholics Anonymous to lasting friendships, she was the most wonderful and inspiring person I know. Her empathy, understanding, and sincerity taught me that curiosity can be one of life’s greatest virtues. I am proud to be her son, and I miss her greatly.

In the aftermath of her death, it took me quite a long time to come to terms with her absence. There are still days when I can’t. I found solace in the beauty of nature and art, and I sincerely believe that the artist I aspire to be is informed by the understanding her death provided, and a desire to emulate her honesty, curiosity, and sincerity.  A quote from the novel “A Soldier of the Great War” by Mark Helprin helps me feel close to her in her absence, and grateful for who she was and all that she did:

For the first time, I had looked upon victory from the place of defeat, and because the victory was not my own, and I was apart from it, I felt it all the more. It was your victory, the victory of the continuation of the world. It would bring me nothing, swell my fortunes not a bit. It was bitter, and I would always be outside, but never have I felt a deeper pleasure, never have I been more satisfied, for even if hardly anything was left of me, the world was full.