Occasinally friendships propel you into difficult territory. As a case in point, my lovely artist mate Karen Smith recently asked me to take part in an exhibition of painted coffin lids. This creeped me out to the degree that I (1) refused to participate and (2) when worn down by Karen’s nagging, said ‘yes’ but didn’t actually do anything until the last minute. I wasn’t the only one alarmed by the subject matter. I left the coffin lid in my office during the holidays, so I didn’t have to deal with it, and when I came back someone politely said words to the effect ‘get it the hell out of here’. Having procastinated thus far, I ended up painting the lid on my kitchen table, and it was still wet when the exhibition opened: sorry Karen!
Strangely enough, once I got over my initial combination of superstition, paranoia, fear and dread, I found this project really intriguing. A life coach once gave me an exercise- imagine you are at your own funeral: what do you hope people say about you?- as a way of focussing on what I thought was most important in my life. The coffin lid did the same thing. It is based on one of my favourite books, Moby Dick, and my love of scrimshaw.
Helen Hopcroft: an artist's life 