When I first moved to the island, my husband would often tell me I was overdressed. Platform shoes and a frilly dress at 4 p.m. in Safeway? Maybe. But fashion, for me, has always been art—an extension of the life I’ve lived. As an artist who traveled the world, lived out of suitcases and sang under lights, settling into a quieter life was an adjustment I’ve grown to love. But some things, like my love of fashion and how I dress, I’ve kept. It’s who I am and a joyful reminder of my past, too.
Recently, I sang at the memorial of my dear friend Dura. She, too, had lived a vibrant, expansive life before arriving here. After she passed, I was given her pink feather boa.
She was not a flamboyant fashionista, and I never saw her wear or use it, but when I held the boa, I understood. To me, it was a reflection of the artist and fun, sunshiny person she was…and maybe a reflection of her life before the island, too.
Choosing a song for her memorial was difficult, but “Both Sides Now” came to me. Joni Mitchell’s words mirror what I’ve come to understand: that life and art hold contradictions—illusion and truth, glamour and grounding, soaring and settling.
Dura and I shared that knowing. We had lived both sides.
I sang wrapped in her boa, like a hug from the past. I felt her with me. We both knew what it meant to live loudly, then softly. To be seen, then still. It was an honor to sing for my friend in her boa.
I will surely wear it again, for Dura and for me.
