Friday, 20 April 2012

Story time.

As a child I never spent an entire night in my own bed.  I shared a bed with my sister, but she of no comfort to me as she was littler than I.  Every night I would I would wake in the pitch black of my room and watch the shadows dance on the wall cast from the tree that hung outside my window.  It's long crackling branches would tap the old paned glass and I was sure something was out there, hoping I would open the window in curiosity and whatever this unknown monster was lurking out there, it was sure to snatch me and take me off to some dark netherworld.  I was convinced of this.  The long branches cast finger like shadows across the 1940s floral wallpaper in my room.  Perhaps they were the fingers of a witch, I thought.  So, after laying there terrified for what seemed like most of the night I would get out of bed and tip toe down the hall to my mother's bed.

And there I was safe, I knew.  Her room quiet and dark and most importantly free of witches, shadows, and strange noises.  All was well in the cocoon off her bed.  I would wrap my arms around her and press my ear against her back and listen to her breathing as she lay sleeping, not knowing I was there.  I would listen to all the gurgles and churnings inside of her.  I knew there was a city inside of her.  I imagined at night, when she was sleeping something very important was happening in the core of her body.  Little people were fast at work, building her up, making sure she was strong and able to take care of my sister and I.  I would hear the crash of a mini bulldozer knocking down an old wall and the hammering of a jack hammer fixing a street and all sorts of the usual sounds of building a city.  I would stay like that listening, and soon I would be fast asleep.

This is what I was sure it looked like inside of my mother:



Yesterday I finished a painting that I absolutely love.  It's titled 'One When We Were Flowers'

'Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;
But since that I
Must die at last, 'tis best
To use myself in jest
Thus by feign'd deaths to die.' ~ John Donne




what's knew in my life?  Well I am have been uber busy painting and lots of fantastic stuff is happening with that. I'm being featured in an art magazine, which I will blog about at a later date.  My sales are up and I'm happy to think of all of my art that is in private collections across North America.  I'm hoping to start expanding to over seas and have been networking with a magazine from the UK that is interested on doing a spread on me (more about that later).




Life is good, life is grand.  Love your friends, love your family, for you know which ones will always be there and make sure you cherish that, and cherish them.






2 comments:

  1. Hi there! Just found you on Blogging Buddies - and as one who lived in Canada from 1975-1987 before returning to the UK - am always drawn to folks like you. Enjoyed your profile read: like whaat I see in your Shop - and would like to invite you to visit my shop at www.coldhamcuddlies.etsy.com or to read my blog at www.ColdhamCuddliescalling.blogspot.com, where I post about the plushies I make, mend and otherwise create in the hope that they will sell at the shop!

    Great to meet you: hope to see more of you. Meanwhile, all the best to you. Isobel

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  2. Hi Isobel (I adore your name!). My apologies for such a inexcusably late reply. Thank you for you comments. I will be sure to check out your blog and your shop. Love and light to you xo

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