When I was about ten years old I remember asking my mother about the inconsistencies of punishment for my wayward deeds. She told me if she punished me for everything I did wrong I would never be able to leave my room and she just didn’t have the energy to spank me that much. Ha ha, I was more than mischievous. It was my first real but puzzling insight into the workings of our relationship. Of course I exploited her motherly sympathies not truly understanding the grace that I was extended. It wasn’t until I matured as a man did begin to appreciate the care and patience my mother had with me, it wasn’t until I was truly repentant did I receive clarity as to the motives of her gentle hand. I wasn’t able to see the beauty of her love until I changed. Going through her many sketchbooks I was awestruck by the sheer volume of her work.
She didn’t start doing these unique ink drawings until her latter years making the two thousand plus drawings that much more astonishing. She would show me one or two of the drawings when I would stop by but I had no idea the thousands of hours that she sat in quiet solitude penning her special drawings. Even after her passing seems I’m still just getting to know her. Happy Mother’s Day