OH, TO BECOME WHAT I WAS MEANT TO BE
Oh, to become what I was meant to be, was Hank’s effort to reflect on his creative process. What is presented here is a version which he self published in the early 90’s, with color art upgrades. Some of the pictures could not be found.
He reflects on more then 60 pieces of art in various mediums, his dreams and active imaginations. Here is poetry as well as musings on the Artist’s life. This is but a snapshot of this work.
There are dozens of more discrete reflections on more recent work, 100s of Active Imaginations and writing of every nature yet to be sorted, reviewed and published.
Short pants is a series of more then 100 vignettes which chronicle Hank’s memories growing up in Detroit during the depression. He comments on each wondering about the events’ role in his development.
Here are three short pieces which give you a flavor of Hanks relationships with the three most important people in this life
Screams
I feel bad.
I run to the bedroom. I fall on the bed on my stomach. I put my face in the pillow. I scream and scream and scream.
Tata comes to find me. He takes me, “Kohanie, Kohanie,” he says. “Why so sad? Tata is here. Everything is all right.”
Why does Heniu need to scream? Is his life such torment? Mama tells me some years later that I was so homely she didn’t want to hold me when I was born. She laughs, perhaps from. embarrassment. Is she confessing or explaining?
The word “kahanie” means loved one.
My Head
I am standing by Tata. He is sitting by the kitchen table. He puts his hand on my head, in the back. “Do you know why you have such a nice head?”
I shake me head. “No.”
“See this bump on my head?” Tata holds his hand on the back of his head.I look, “Yes, I see it.”
“Well, I didn’t want you to have one.”
I say, “Oh.”
“So when you were a baby sleeping in your bed, I would come in and move your head so the back was on the bed.” I feel the back of my head.
“Then, when you grew up, you wouldn’t have a bump.” I feel my head some more. “Yes, Tata. It’s nice.”
If my mother has trouble showing me affection, Tata, a fount of loving hugs and kisses, makes up for the
lack. A therapist once suggested that this could have caused Heniu to have some identity confusion. Perhaps, but he is glad he gets some from somebody.
Dog Food
I see Mama give Buster food. She puts it on the floor. I think, “I would like to eat with Buster.” I get down like him. And I put my face next to him. I start to eat with him.
He looks. It is OK. He eats.
Chochia sees me. “Look! Tillie! He is on the floor eating Busterchu’s food with him.”
Mama comes to see.
I look at Mama and Chochia. I say, “I want to be like Buster. I am eating his food.”
Chochia and Mama laugh. “Such a boy you are,” says Chochia.
Chochia is “aunty” in Polish. She is a warm and a loving figure in my life. She didn’t think I was a homely baby. She held me and kissed me when I was tiny and whenever else she could. She and Uncle Tony are childless. I become the child she cannot have. Chochia Catherine and Tata, brother and sister, have an unusually close relationship. Even to my immature perceptions. She often seeks him out for advice and comfort.
Here are five additional remembrances from the book:
Hank’s Obituary in the LA Times
Hank’s life in selected pictures shown at his memorial:
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