My mother said it often, sometimes in earnest, sometimes in jest, always with the quiet certainty that mothers seem to carry.
This painting holds a moment later in her life. She had lost her sight, but not the love that shaped our family. It was still unmistakably there. I leaned in. She leaned back.
A portrait built of fragments. Planes, angles, pieces of color. Not unlike memory itself. A tilt of the head. A hand resting where it always rested. The way someone looked at you when words were no longer necessary.
Held long enough, those fragments begin to assemble themselves again.
This painting holds one of those moments.
On view in SUSPENDED Award Alcove, Artel Gallery Pensacola, Florida
