When I was a teen I struggled hard to learn how to draw and paint. I had a very supportive family. My brother and sister would pose for me from time to time; I would even sketch my brother as he slept in the bed across from mine. My mother would pose for me too. They weren’t always patient but they would fight through their discomfort and sit as I would try to draw as quickly as I could. My mother even bought me a large mirror so I can work on self portraits when no one was available to sit for me.
It’s taken me too long to remember this and appreciate the time they took to indulge me. My family has given me many good memories of love and patience.
My mother is now ninety years old and I am not sure if she knows who I am when I visit her. I try to talk to her but I’m not sure if she can understand me. Most of the time I pass the time by taking out my iPad and sketching her in one of the many drawing apps I have loaded on the tablet. While I sketch her I am playing music for her, the music that she liked and listened to. Most of the time she would fall asleep, as I continued to draw her. It’s a very hard thing to do. I would rather have a conversation with her. To be able to talk and laugh, to remember the old neighborhood, family, etc. To hear stories about her childhood and the grandparents I never got to know. But drawing is all I can do and maybe it’s a way of helping her to remember the son who loved art so much.
|This was done many years ago when my Mom would sit for me.|