This afternoon, my father and I met with Journalism student and Molly Green intern, Allison Hubbard. Allison approached us about doing a story on the father-daughter aspect of our collaboration for an Arts & Culture piece she is writing. Having been interviewed all of zero times about Tré Lilli, I don't have a smooth way of telling where we come from and how and why. I actually like this fact because I found myself searching for the meaning. What is the meaning?
More than once along this journey, I have grappled with this question, but not today. Allison wrote like mad as my father and I unraveled our long, winding stories, and it was clear to all present (and perhaps completely for myself just today) that both my father and I are doing exactly what we should be doing. My Dad paints and continues to paint because he has found that one, beautiful mode of expression that gives him peace and allows for quiet from all the chaos of daily life. Never mind that he was a biochemist and is not formally trained in art practice or theory. I sew and continue to sew because I have found the one, calming mode of expression that stills the world and gives me the time and the strength for reflection and growth. Never mind that I have a master's degree in China studies and that I have logged more hours at a sewing machine in the past month than in all my years up until thirty put together. Never you mind.
Did I tell the story as it should be told today? I have no idea what I left out, but it is now Allison's story and she will tell it as she sees fit. I hope that every time I sit down to tell the story of the birth of Tré Lilli, a different set of words and experiences unfolds, because honestly speaking, this story is far from over and is more mercurial in its evolution than a field of fireflies at dusk.
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