I have blamed my own mother for many things. In fairness to me, she was an abusive and critical alcoholic. In fairness to her (the benefit of hindsight, information gleaned after her death, wisdom and the passage of time), she was doing the best with what she had. I now imagine her somewhere being loved, encouraged and held; smiling and content. She might have loved me, had she herself been loved.
As for me, I was not a perfect mother. Not even close. There are many (so many) things I would do differently had I known what I know now. But I loved (and still love) my kids. Fiercely, strongly, over protectively, probably. As the pendulum swings from one extreme in one generation to the opposite in another.
But it makes no difference, I realize, the mothers and their methods. In the case of my mother to me, and me to my own children, she simply must be to blame.
As with most of the pieces that emerge in the studio, I had no idea what this one's story was at first. She stared at me from the wall of finished and drying pieces for over a month. That gaze, that hair, those odd beings hovering near here. What the heck? And then she whispered modor....and I knew.
About the art: beginning with an AI bot image from a prompt of "peculiar, naive, whimsical girl" and jumping off into this BIG canvas - toned with oil paint, painted in layers, then (oooooooooh then!) for the hair, big, big BIG oil sticks and big arm movements. This one took several weeks, but was worth every second. She's a force of nature.
The May Reader Giveaway is coming! Stay tuned next week for a reader question and the opportunity to win a piece of original art! Hooray!