Today is my mom’s birthday. I thought I’d reblog this, because I love this picture. It makes me feel better. Plus, my brain has on a macro lens today, so I can only focus in on this one thing. Perhaps not conducive to exploring new blog topics, eh?
My mom was a writer. That was her medium as an artist for nearly as long as I can remember. She was never published, but she should have been. I am a writer, but so far I haven’t had the staying power to write more than a long essay. My mom wrote books. She also wrote short stories and songs and things.
Later she started exploring some other art medium. I remember her telling me that she felt art should be impermanent. That’s one of the reasons she used chalk on cardboard. I am not too familiar with her artwork. Much of it happened after I moved away and while I was still a self-focused twenty-something. And then we began our disagreements and neither of us was sharing much with each other. Then it was too late.
She was more artistically interactive with my aunt, I think. In July, at…
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Brook Art Human. A story, a yarn, a line, a shape 
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