I am a mother. A fabricast. A storyteller. A thief of life's antique silks and small wooden boats. i collect moments and carry them with me revisiting them in my attempt to make sense, and find meaning, and restore hope. I follow my questions with a line of ink and dance my hand across the page until somebody is looking back at me. Every now and then I indulge in the exquisite ache, overwhelmed by the beauty of it all, and unsure how best to say thank you.
It is possible that art can build bridges at times when traversing the space between conflicting realities feels hopeless. It is possible that a tiny drawing on a bus ticket can make amends, or tell a story, or save a life. It is possible that a conversation about ideas, in a world of conversations about things, can lift a heavy heart and inspire great action.
It is also possible that I know nothing about art. I love little birds with tea pots on their heads, and small houses on wheels, and little suitcases full of words and flowers. I draw these things in the hope that they will encourage someone to smile, or weep openly, or tell the truth about something incredibly important when it feels unbearably hard.
when i was six
"Some of the pictures are truly mysterious to me.. which is why I so often say publicly that I don’t know or don’t care what they’re really about. And yet I can also say that the paintings are prayers.. that they have to do with whatever it is that makes you want more than what daily life affords." Susan Rothenberg