I Like Sleep. I Do Not Like to Sleep Forever 2020. Acrylic on paper, 9 x 12”
Sadly, a New York last will and testament cannot be digital. It must be printed and signed before two witnesses who also sign the document. Dreams of writing “I give everything to you” on a napkin during greasy spoon heart attack, just won’t hold in a court of law, and family will have to duke out the allocation of all the crap you had accumulated in a lifetime. Best to have a will done proper to avoid conflict after death, as you did during life.
Wiser family members will not want to take part in the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Ron Throop. They will make some excuse to avoid a prolific lessor artist’s postmortem bequeathing. If my existence failed to make the IRS notice, then what chance do my friends and loved ones have for auction success on eBay? When living, I tried hawking some paintings, and no one ever, even in the whole wide world, thought a penny plus shipping worth the expense to decorate a drab wall. And to think of all the drab walls standing around on earth!
What a blow to artist self confidence, alive or dead.
I put a painting up on eBay earlier this month. It came to the final hour with only two views and no bids, so you can see what I mean.
Art is not dead, however artists need to figuratively die a few times in order to thicken the skin into old age. Let’s pretend this is my fifth and real death and you’re all invited to a memorial party and a reading of my last will and testament. This week I’ll copy and paste my intentions into a document, print and sign it, and have the witnesses sign in my presence. Then it goes to the thin metal filing cabinet to the left of my writing desk until that fateful day, November 27, 2054. (I hope.)
A Headstone Just Missing the Dates 2021. Oil on canvas board, 11 x 14"
Ronald John Throop Last Will and Testament
First, some housekeeping essentials:
No funeral, please.
I wish to have a fresh green burial, unless the ground is frozen, making it impossible until spring (which is gross). Otherwise, (if it is legal in New York State at the time of my demise) I prefer immediate flameless cremation (alkaline hydrolysis) dressed in everyday clothes, or secret Tibetan Sky Burial atop the highest uninhabited hill in Central NY. If neither is legal, then modern cremation methods will do—with clothes on please. I desire a trusted witness to oversee the entire process, from minutes after my final breath in plaid pijamas, to the last toss of dirt over my bones, scooping of “ashes” into an urn, or turkey buzzard yank. However, I realize the difficulty and would waive this request, hoping that the chosen overseer will be a nosy and noisy customer at the mortician’s office. Not Rose though. She’s too polite.
Cost (2024 estimates): Green burial ($3,000), alkaline hydrolysis ($2,000), Tibetan sky burial (4-5 fit, strong people with clothespins for noses).
The memorial party must be held on the first Saturday night after the burial/cremation/abandonment to carrion birds, yet can be postponed a week if Saturday falls on a holiday like Christmas or Halloween. Please provide a cocktail party atmosphere catered and cleaned professionally ($3,000), a playlist of happy music that I would have chosen (see playlists lying around), and verbal agreements by all who attend to stay the entire evening, from start to finish (7 - 11:00 p.m.)—no late arrivals or early exiting please.
These costs are marked “Afterlife Expenses” and will be covered by my Estate.
The Reading
Good evening everyone. Thank you for coming. Hopefully there has been upbeat music playing and you’re getting cheerful and tipsy. I would do the same for you. Please don’t over do it, and call a cab to take you home.
As you probably know by now, I am dead. I hope I am writing this from the distant past. However, it’s the time of random lab-leak pandemics. I might not have made it to the vaccination site on time. I expect my effects will not have changed much if I continued respiration up to my predicted death hour of 8:00 p.m. on November 27, 2054. Therefore, what I have in my possession now is nearly, if not exactly the same, as I had to leave then, which is now, as I write. My God, how confusing this is. Was.
Oh, whatever!
Many of you already know by experience and/or close proximity to creative entrepreneurs, that artists are economic dunces. We are horrible with money and deny wealth, and sometimes it seems that, during life, we practically begged for the absence of both. So often we drive respectable people to distraction. We had a whole lifetime to save up for this moment, to wow friends and family with some neat stuff to give away. And what do we do? Burden the people we care about most to handle an estate that is going nowhere but to the dump. And that takes work nobody asked for. Guilt to get it done right is no gift to give the ones you love. So I wish to make my exit from the world as difficult as my entrance into it. Just a day or two of physical pain, perhaps a little dose of depression as the hormones get swirly, then back to the joys of life for the living.
Now that I’m dead and probably not listening for my feelings to get hurt, ask the family if I played my roles successfully. I feel that I did, but really don’t know.
So what have I kept in order to give away?
Each of you please pick out a painting to take home.
For the rest of my oeuvre, Rose may choose those paintings she wishes to keep for decoration and memory, and set aside some to give to friends and family. Please pay particular attention to Rhiannon, Sophia, Evan and Dylan. I leave the rest to any person or institution who will take it all at no physical or financial expense to Rose. But I mean all of it. No picking and choosing. If Rose can get $20 or more for the lot, great. It’s up to her. If there are no takers, then I leave $1000 for cost of professional disposal.
I have 8 boxes of books authored by me. In each box the contents are identical. I leave two boxes each to Rhiannon, Sophia, Evan and Dylan with the desire that they hand them down to their children, and so on. Please leave one box sealed for preservation, and one box accessible for occasional reading and historical inquiry.
The three boxes of Throop genealogy compiled by Henry Throop, David Throop, and myself, I leave to my daughters to flip a coin to see who gets that burden/joy. I promise that some descendant of our line will be very thankful that you preserved the records.
I leave my guitar to Sophia.
I leave one memory box each for Rhiannon and Sophia.
If there is any financial gain to be made from my legacy, please divide it equally among Rose, Rhiannon and Sophia.
Set a date and time for those interested to take any personal effects left unmentioned and unwanted by family. Coordinate removal of unclaimed items with paintings and painting materials to be discarded.
Please keep Rose away from bad men.
Thank you. And think of me whenever you make crepes.
Ronald J Throop
