I am one of many women trying to find their self, their voice, their place in a world of forgotten or misplaced pasts, Misshapen or formed by motherhood, meandering through memories trying to remember who we were before. I am one of many, who, in the quiet of our rooms or solace of our hearts, may wish otherwise. However, amidst these worlds that overlap or never touch-of mother and self-there is potential for creativity to no longer flounder, but flourish. And this is where I am right now. My ultimate creation, with each passing day, grows and evolves into the young man of worth and grace, he is destined to become. What was once tethered has now become slack and, with this quiet timid sense of release, comes me. Shy with a paint brush in my hand, a sense of trepidation as I lay the first stroke, but courage comes when allowed and, thank goodness, I am loving myself enough to allow. And so, I rekindle my passion for paint and artistry, for the love of mystics and magic and nature’s trove. I find myself attracted to, what were once compulsively cool colours, now warm; a refraction of the golden light I hold within. Wanting to explore the perimeters of abstract, still I cannot quite escape my tendencies for the figurative, the whimsical, the lore of faerie, the essences of organic and natural, all the while in my olden familiars of manipulating acrylics gently, with a certain softness and faintness in its water play. This is me as I envision myself, perhaps in a dream, another world or kingdom, beautiful and capable of definition.
