Plum’s Art!

The process of painting my mother was a strange experience for me.

I knew her face so well. I had snuggled my own face against hers since I first came into this world; I should have been able to paint it with my eyes shut. Yet, what was this? When I stood back, she appeared to be smiling, yet up close she was scowling! Was she my own Mona Lisa? And what was that all about?

Dad complained that I never filled in her pant leg. I told him, “That’s because my relationship with Mum isn’t finished!” 

When I look at the painting now, I feel I’m in the presence of my mother … and I no longer see her scowl — I just see love. 

I guess Dad would say my relationship with my daughter isn’t finished yet, either, since I never filled in her shirt.