At one point in my life my Father told me that he would rather die than to have me touch his “stuff”. After his death, when I was finally able to go thru his stuff and figure out why he chose all of his “stuff” over his kids my Mother told me my hurt was not as important as hers and had the auction house take everything. Since then part of me died...the part of me that was going to make art from that little girls broken heart. The one who wanted to know her Dad and whose Mother hated her. I haven’t been able to make assemblage art since and it’s truly the only thing I’ve ever wanted.