She was a woman I did not know, but I came to know of her while reading the obituary section of the Ottawa Citizen. Dorothy passed away at the age of 95, was much loved by her friends, and loved to sing in her fellow church choir. I decided to crash her wake. It was there where a friend of hers approached me and inquired as to how I had come to know her. I lied, and then I concluded that I wanted to ensure that she would not be forgotten by the few people in her life. As the artwork progressed, I found myself memorializing her, mourning after her. It became strangely obsessive and almost similar to the fanaticism that exists between some fans and celebrities. It eventually became clear that I never really knew her. All I knew was my idea of her, and that thought became even more unbearable than knowing about her death.