30+ years of paintings, talked about one painting at a time: what went into the paintings, what I was trying to say, what was happening at the time of my life that I made the paintings. The paintings themselves are narrative, and this adds a little more to the story that they tell.
Sunday, October 27, 2019
Girl with Spotted Horse 2018
At the age of 90, as my mother gets ready to cross the River Styx, I've had lots of time to think about her and our relationship, the most profound and, to this point, the longest of my life. Like most mothers of those times, she did her best to be a good mother, but without much awareness of herself or of her children(by the age of 8 I had a mouth full of cavities from eating all of the sweets and junk food that were our staples). My mother was angry much of the time, and for good reason: a husband who was mostly absent and two kids who constantly fought with each other. I was alone and lonely, my big brother tormenting me without any adult supervision to keep things from getting out of hand. But I had something that made things okay, and that is that my mother always made sure I had horses in my life. I learned to ride when I was four and by the time I was seven we lived on ten acres with 5 horses to care for. From that time on, I always had a horse that was appropriate to my skill level, until I left home at 16, leaving my old gray quarter horse, Reb, behind. Because of Reb, Red, Rio Grande and Hondo, I could get on bareback and ride for miles in the undeveloped country outside of Santa Fe. My horses were my best friends. In a way, they cared for me. They helped me be whole and gave me what people couldn't. And now, with my mother mostly not of this world, I can only thank her in my heart, and on this page, for what she gave me.