My mother, a professional artist, who passed last Thursday, 4/16/15, was my greatest teacher–the one who taught me how to “see.”
And then how to translate that seeing, to recreate reality into the transcendent of one’s own unique and memorable statement. For her it was the visual arts. For me writing. But the same lesson applied.
Here she is at work on her own “statement,” which was always the canvas. Which she really worked – with brushes and palette knives, but also textures, and her bare hands. She worked those paintings until she got her statement exactly right. Until she had said what she needed to say: