Her abstracts had also become increasingly expressive. Recently, Lily hadn’t created a single lyrical abstract – everything looked so turbulent, even the colors.
The force that burst out of her works – her creations – intensified constantly. At times, I would sit alone in front of one and weep. The works simply screamed pain. I couldn’t stop her, nor did I try. It was clear to me that she was confronting things I couldn’t understand, much less feel. A person can know the sudden fear of death for a moment, but it seemed Lily lived that fear constantly – yet felt she could master it through art, until the next cluster of fears came along.
Those who knew – and there were only a few – connected the works to her condition. Those who didn’t know were puzzled, confused, maybe pitied her – but they reacted. It was impossible not to react.
“How do you deal with this?” I was often asked. I didn’t always answer – sometimes I didn’t know what to say.
Judah, who knew, reacted. He moved from picture to picture, asking about the materials, where the works had been photographed, who had collaborated with her on the photography, and when they had been taken. The questions didn’t stop.
Lily’s answers opened a window into her world, but only so much. The hidden outweighed the revealed. Knowing her questioner, she knew exactly how to respond.
Even I didn’t always get to the bottom of her thoughts. I was a partner, but not a creator. A technician, not an artist. I knew my limits well. She knew them too.
When he finished asking about her works, Judah turned to her health.
“Who’s treating you now?” he asked with interest.
“No one’s treating me. I don’t want to be treated because I feel wonderful,” she said proudly, as if declaring her health was firmly in her own hands.
“I have no problem at all, except for climbing stairs – and here he helps me,” she added, spinning sharply and pointing at me. Suddenly, her face went pale, and she looked like she was trying to hold on to something.
“Careful,” all three of us said.
“Just a little dizziness, it’ll pass.”
“Lily, I’m not worried, I’m concerned.”
“Look, I’m fine.”
“You must be monitored – at least with blood tests.”
“Judah, I love Michael, and I love what I’m doing. Look.” She pointed to the new pictures. “That’s what gives me energy.”
“Forget energy. What if the disease inside you is on the verge of flaring up?”
“If it were, I’d feel it.”
“Not necessarily. A flare can come on with no warning.”
“Like what, for example?”
“Massive bleeding from one of the organs,” he answered.
“Can we change the subject?” Lily lost patience.
“Lily, I won’t let you off the hook. Michael, help me,” Judah turned to me.
“No matter how much I try, it doesn’t help. She won’t listen tome. Her mother warned me even before the wedding,” I said, throwing up my hands helplessly.
“You know what,” said Judah, “we’ll change the subject. Just tell me what you’re taking.”
“All right – 10 mg hydrocortisone every other day.”
“What?” he raised his voice.
“Almost three years now.”
“Did you hear that?” he turned to me.
