15″ x 17″
My big face is peering in on the antebellum South. There’s a house, a gate, a field, a flock of birds, live oaks and the popping bubbles of our mothers’ and fathers’ mothers and fathers.
It’s hard to work with images of the Old South without things getting cliché and problematic. Maybe not even possible, here’s another go at it.
In his memoir, my Great-great-grandfather writes the story of his father’s death in Natchez, Mississippi in 1884. The Rev. Marks was called to be by his bedside:
“When Mr. Marks came my father said, Mr. Marks I am absolutely saved, am I not? — Absolutely so! he replied. — There is not a doubt about it? he asked again. — Not a particle of doubt, Mr. Marks replied. — Pointing to his wife he said, Look at her. Why then should she weep?”