For a long time my mom played with paint. I remember growing up and seeing beautiful works upon beautiful works.
For someone who didn't have parents in the artistic field, I grew up in a surprisingly artistic household. But there's a big part of me that wonders why my mother never sought to present her art to the world.
I found her paintings incredibly vibrant, exciting and moving. But this one is the only one that survived.
It's full of texture and colour and blends that enchant the eye. BUT she didn't like this one. That's how I ended up holding onto it all these years. I think of all the moves and cities that this painting has traveled through with me- and it's been like I'm carrying a piece of her and my childhood with me.