Let's Go Fly a Kite
one night when my mother was a teenager, she threw a rug around her shoulders and prowled the streets of new jersey. pretending to be a bear. i love stories like this because, in her adulthood, my mom tries to be more modest and unassuming. even though she's a pretty aggressive weirdo when she lets her hair down.
last christmas, she stuffed our stockings with some flimsy dime store kites. my brother doubted that they would work but, presto! trust the drawing; those suckers flew. as i sketched this portrait, i wondered why i don't draw my mother more often. by the time it was done, i had my answer: it was too emotional.
i challenge you to really study your mother's face.
memories aren't the only thing that affected me. looking at my mom reminded me how real she is. how human. how fragile. i began to imagine how adrift i will feel when i finally go on without her. more than all of that though, i was struck by how young she really is. in my head, my mother is yoda. she is a font of wisdom and compassion. she has twenty-two years on me. so, i count on her to have met and conquered all the obstacles that i encounter. in this portrait though, all i can see is the teenage girl who thought it would be fun to wrap up in a carpet and terrorize her neighbors.