Stephen Loya
In early 2006 I had “met” a girl online, however it was not on a dating site, but instead on a blog called Illustration Friday, where every Friday, a word prompt would be posted for artists, both amateur and professional to interpret visually. I recall one that grabbed my eye - a striking digital drawing made for the word “music”, and I decided to leave an encouraging little comment below the post. Little did I know that this comment was about to ignite the spark that would begin a beautiful relationship and marriage filled with love, laughter, creativity, and adventure for the next fifteen years.
Fast forward to May 17, 2009 - the day Kris and I got married at Ida Lee Park (also the birthday of her beloved grandmother), in Leesburg, Virginia. For a little while Kris came out to stay with me to see how things would work out, before tying the knot, and not only did she fall in love with this art teacher guy from Pittsburgh, but she fell in love with northern Virginia, and Ida Lee Park in particular. Here we would go on many a cheap date - Kris with her big Cannon Rebel camera in tow, and I with my sketchbook. We shared a mutual love of nature that inspired much of our artwork and tightened our own personal bond. I loved how Kris was always so enamored and utterly fascinated by the little things - things that often got overlooked in this busy, gadget-obsessed world. For the rest of our life together, we would return to this park on dates, as our love for each other and connection to this little place that had so much significance in our world, never waned.
While Kris never got around to changing her maiden name, preferring to simply go by Kris Loya, she was busy cultivating an artistic practice that would take on many twists and turns. It wasn’t until a few years before she left this world that she began to finally find her footing and gain some forward momentum in the local art world. I have no doubt that my amazing wife’s kindness and genuinely warm personality played a large role in her success and popularity, as she paid attention to everyone she spoke to, and listened to them closely, even remembering their names, and details about their work and their lives. Kris was the kind of person who people were very comfortable with sharing something about their lives to, whether it was in the aisle of a Michael’s arts and crafts store, or in line at the local coffee shop. Kris made friends everywhere she went.
I’m going to miss so many things about my sweet Kris - the nicknames she’d instantly come up with for the both of us, off the top of her head, the late night snuggles, the trips to the beaches of Delaware, the visits we’d take to see family and places in Pittsburgh, her sweet and innocent smile, her heartfelt kisses and hugs, her big and beautiful brown eyes, the quick little nose kisses, the mini-dates we’d take to a local park, library, art store, or coffee shop, her love of all things Christmas, the face and the sounds she’d make when she thought something was “too cute!”, her introducing me to silly tv shows that I might not have otherwise watched, her embrace of Star Wars and Miyazaki, her expertise on all things Sesame Street and Fraggle Rock, us singing sappy “lite FM” love songs (from the 70s and 80s) together at random times, driving around aimlessly and exploring new places, her comments about the way light would land on the branches of trees, her love of flowers, squirrels, chipmunks, clouds, and even cicadas (!). I’ll miss our mutual love and admiration for each other’s art, and the encouragement we gave to each other, with ease. Most of all, I’m going to miss Kris for just being Kris. When she’d ask me how she got so lucky to have found me, I’d tell her, by just being you. When she’d ask, what did she do to deserve me, I’d tell her that I should be the one asking her that question.
All of this because I left a silly little “comment” on an art blog in 2006. Until we meet again, my sweet love.
