Mother's Day 2013

Jonquil, pencil, 12x9

Happy Mother's Day.

Take a break; it's a tough job. 

A Mother's Reach

Reaching, size variable, iPad painting

My mother lived with me for a while when she was suffering with Alzheimer's/dementia.  She explained her illness once--she extended her right hand and said that names and memories were floating in the space just beyond her grasp.  Several years after her death I dreamed that I saw her stuck in concrete up to her waist, wearing her raincoat.  This has been in my head for about four years--time to let it go.  This was painted with the iPad app, Procreate. 



Pansy, colored pencils on paper, 18x12

Happy Mother's Day

This drawing began with one pansy; then it grew--had to add a sheet to the bottom.  Planning.  What's that?

Mother's Day 2011

Non-working Woman, terra cotta, 14"

In the mid-1960s, we stay-at-home-Moms were sometimes called non-working women.  Ha!  I remember long days without pay and no time off;  I also remember my mother's hard work.   It's a tough job--the payoff comes when the kids are responsible adults and you have time to smell the flowers they send, and being a grandmother is great.

 Happy Mother's Day.

These sculptures are from the 60s, 70s, and 80s.



soapstone



soapstone

 

soapstone




terra cotta



Mother's Day

Where Should I Put My Head?, oil pastel, 16x12

My mother suffered from Alzheimer's, which began in her late seventies. I brought her to live with us in our small, then vacation, house. (Since remodeling it's now our permanent home.) After Dad's death, Mom never slept in a bed but was comfortable on a sofa. Each night I'd set up the sofa with sheets and pillows; she'd ask, "Where should I put my head?" I'd pat the pillow; she'd lie down the opposite way and complain about the light in her eyes. Then she'd switch ends. She tried so hard to do things the right way--even laid sheets of typing paper down to mark a path to the bathroom; yet she couldn't find it without help. There were times, though, when her humor returned and there was laughter in the house. Restaurants were fun, too, but she insisted that we be in the house when darkness arrived--nighttime porch-sitting was not allowed. No one in the house got much sleep.

This was my first oil pastel (drugstore variety) on drawing paper; done after Mom moved to an assisted living facility--it was completed in one all-night session; it still makes me cry. I tried to make a large painting of this--it was a failure; all the feeling went into this one.

My mother died in a nursing home seven years ago at age 82. I think of her almost every day, not just on Mother's Day.