My maternal grandmother - the anniversary of her death - just passed. Now it's Mother's Day and gray, rainy. A bit sad. She died when I was twenty. I had not paid too much attention to her illness, and I did not attend her funeral. It was in another state and I had a newborn. I regret so much...on her "Saint's Day" I wrote:
Dear Grandmother,
You meant so much to everyone. I wish you could have comprehended how much you were loved. I'm sorry I took you for granted and just expected you to always "be there." I'm sorry that I had no language for grief, and could not feel and could not share.
I think this was your day - the day you left. I'm sorry that you made it through the winter only to die in the spring. I'm glad you left when the earth is most beautiful, though.
Thank you for the painting lessons. I will light a candle today in front of the small painting I have of yours. It is of tiny houses - maybe the edge of an Irish village - with a tree and a fence...
Showing posts with label painting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label painting. Show all posts
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Following O'Keeffe
My Grandmother decided to take up painting at 70. She signed up for a watercolor workshop. On the second day, she wasn't feeling well, so she sent me. I was seventeen. I had always drawn, but never painted. I learned to paint snow - cabins, fences, and trees in the snow. I learned to paint shadows.
Later, I took another class, in the evening, at the firehouse. (This was during the one year we lived in Kansas, in the same small town as the grandmother and aunts - wonderful, vibrant, funny, sisters. It would have been good for me had I not been completely preoccupied by teenage angst.)
In the second class, I painted with acrylics, copying a photo in a travel magazine - the gold sun sinking into brackish marshland beneath a yellow sky.
Aunt Alice asked if she could hang it in her gallery. I said sure. A few days later she handed me forty bucks. A man had begged her to sell it and she did. I had not given her permission to sell it. It was my first betrayal in the art world. But I didn't say anything. I had already learned it was useless to try to communicate with adults.
So over the years I would paint these small scenes, but only if someone had a birthday, only as gifts. And by the time I envisioned my new life, of following O'Keeffe to New Mexico I wasn't painting at all.
Later, I took another class, in the evening, at the firehouse. (This was during the one year we lived in Kansas, in the same small town as the grandmother and aunts - wonderful, vibrant, funny, sisters. It would have been good for me had I not been completely preoccupied by teenage angst.)
In the second class, I painted with acrylics, copying a photo in a travel magazine - the gold sun sinking into brackish marshland beneath a yellow sky.
Aunt Alice asked if she could hang it in her gallery. I said sure. A few days later she handed me forty bucks. A man had begged her to sell it and she did. I had not given her permission to sell it. It was my first betrayal in the art world. But I didn't say anything. I had already learned it was useless to try to communicate with adults.
So over the years I would paint these small scenes, but only if someone had a birthday, only as gifts. And by the time I envisioned my new life, of following O'Keeffe to New Mexico I wasn't painting at all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)