I began these drawings just after my son left for college. I had not anticipated the feeling of loss I would have at this juncture; I had parented for thirty of my fifty years. Drawing intensely was my escape and therapy. The drawings are overdone, filthy with details; I hid them away in a drawer until recently. I like them now, and I’m pleasantly surprised when someone else can relate, maybe not exactly to what I was going through, but that they can somehow relate to the sense of being overwhelmed, when confronted with the inevitable requirement that we must let go and find beauty in what we have nurtured.
I began these drawings just after my son left for college. I had not anticipated the feeling of loss I would have at this juncture; I had parented for thirty of my fifty years. Drawing intensely was my escape and therapy. The drawings are overdone, filthy with details; I hid them away in a drawer until recently. I like them now, and I’m pleasantly surprised when someone else can relate, maybe not exactly to what I was going through, but that they can somehow relate to the sense of being overwhelmed, when confronted with the inevitable requirement that we must let go and find beauty in what we have nurtured.
