“I wish I knew her,
but I feel like I do.”

In her own words.

Entries are shortened. Tamara’s spelling is kept as she wrote it.

1. June 4

   I'm beginning the memorial painting today. I know exactly what I'm doing and how I'm going to approach it. For some reason, I don't want to listen to rock music while I'm creating this.

   I always loved the Out of Africa soundtrack, John Barry's beautiful score to one of my favourite movies of all time. I think I will put that on today.

2. June 5

   I'm staring at the canvas right now getting ready to start. Right now, I'm in planning mode. One thing that I want is, I want the waves to MOVE. Almost like the spray of the crashing waves, you can almost feel that on your face.

3. June 6

   To look at this painting, you would think that there are only four colours. Black, white, gray, and red. But there's so much more depth I want to create in the rocks, in the sand, in the figure, in the balloon.

   I know I'm going to incorporate dark purples in the clouds and midnight blue in the rocks, and the red balloon alone is going to have probably three shades of red and a magenta.

4. June 8

   Woke up this morning with a crow on the fence right outside my bedroom window. LOUD. This has never happened before. Even woke up the cat, who looked at the window and then looked at me.

   Took a lunch break and sat in Confederation Basin by the water before I go back to paint.

   “In the studio it's just me and the painting. Just us together. Very peaceful and serene.”

5. June 13

   Working on the waves from left to right and how the spray and mist comes up when they hit the rocks. Every time I look up from the surf, because I get two inches from the canvas, I see her face looking down on me. It's beyond moving.

   As of today I haven't even received her ashes yet. I'm getting the painting ready so when the ashes arrive, I'll be ready for the most important part, the most important work.

6. June 16

   If there was ever a sign, this is one. I had to jot this down right away.

   I had the window on the left of the easel open a little bit to get some fresh air, and a seagull out of the blue came and sat on the windowsill. That's never happened before. Ever. The windows face the roof of the building behind and there are never any birds out there.

   It sat there for a while. Just one. Like it was on the beach. It called at me a few times and then it flew away. It actually brought tears to my eyes.

7. June 19

   Working today on the spray of the ocean in her waves, and that's what they are. Her waves. Her life force. This line came to me:

   “She is in the waves. She is in the clouds. She is the clouds. She is the waves.”

8. June 26

   Those were the words that came out of my mouth as I had her ashes in front of me, getting ready to paint with them.

   “Sweet girl. God bless you, sweet girl.”

9. July 2

   Spoke with her mother today. What a beautiful soul.

   I found and picked a red rose outside of St. Mary's Cathedral on Sunday, and pressed it into a rare edition of Out of Africa I found in an antique shop, a gift for her mother.

10. July 4

    I thought the sky was done and then I realized it wasn't. I remembered what her mother said when I told her that her daughter has had the butterfly effect in my life. She said to me: she's flying. She's still flying.

    So I made the clouds fly to the left of the canvas, sweeping from her face like she was moving across it. I added highlights to the footsteps on the beach, like she was walking on the sand from the right to the left.

    Then a song I had never heard came on, and I had to literally sit down and listen to the words. You can't write this.

11. July 6

    Pick-up day. What a journey. I will remember every part of this experience: the seagull, the music, the tears, the prayers, the joy.

    “I wish I knew her, but I feel like I do.”