A Bowl Of Roses

Last week I told you about some of my mother's paintings, and I have been trying to figure out a way to get them into the computer so I could share them with you. I thought of taking them to work, where I have a scanner, and scanning them in, but it would mean removing them from the frames. I was afraid I would damage the paintings if I did that. And then I had a sudden brainwave -- as I occasionally do, about once a decade -- and decided to take photographs of them, and upload them that way. Sorry it's tilted, and it's not the best way to view them, but it gives you a bit of an idea, in any case. This is the painting of Salisbury Cathedral that my mother did when she was 16 years old. The art school was across the street from the Cathedral. When I went to Salisbury Cathedral, the art school was still there, and I could see students sitting in the windows, painting pictures of Salisbury Cathedral.

This second picture was painted by my mother -- just for me. Up until I was seven years old, I shared a bedroom with my brothers. It was like a dormitory, with the beds all lined up, but my brothers couldn't wait to get rid of me. So at the age of seven, I got my own bedroom. My mother decorated it for me -- all in girly stuff. I had beautiful curtains and a matching bedspread, a brand new bed and dressers, and a big round rag-rug that my mother made. To this day I still love rag-rugs. And then one evening my mother painted this picture to put on my bedroom wall. The roses were from her garden. I was sitting at the kitchen table watching her while she painted it, and I can still remember the sound of the brush tinkling in the glass as she swished it in the water and applied fresh pigment. The whole process had a rhythm to it. Dip the brush into the pigment, stroke the pigment onto the paper, clean the brush in the water, dip it into the pigment, apply the pigment onto the paper... The painting took about an hour to complete, and my mother and I sat in absolute silence while she concentrated on her work, the only sound the tinkling of the brush in the glass. I was mesmerized watching the painting come to life. To me, it was like magic.

Last summer I had the Munchkins staying with me for a few days, and we sat at the kitchen table doing some watercolor paintings. I did a little composition for them to paint, and I was amazed at how good they were. I think my mother would have been pleased.