Tuesday, August 21, 2007

she walks alone

this is a painting i just did of my mom...this photo was taken before i completely finished the piece...i added a few swirls by machine stitch to suggest atmosphere or wind.
i know what i am going to tell you now is very odd. but when i paint someone (even strangers as i paint commissions for people often of their dearly departed) , i often have a conversation with that person, or at least i feel i have some sort of open spiritual portal thing that goes on between us. it is a very satisfying experience. i don't talk out loud, the conversation is in my mind (i think) although my husband often interrupts my process to ask whats so funny ............!
so when i painted this piece of my mom walking alone, i felt a sadness for her. she has been gone now 15 years....i think one never gets over losing their mom. she slipped away quietly one night, without warning, just before her 80th birthday. she feel asleep and didn't wake up. my oldest daughter, brooke, had said of the event: "i think her ticker just clunked out". that about summed it up.
my mom was a very energetic, happy woman from tennesee. and she was a fighter. she contracted polio at the age of 8 and walked with a brace for many years. by the time she met my dad she had learned to walk without it, but she was left with one leg slightly shorter than the other - she had a distinctive limp. i truly believe that this was no limitation to her, in fact it seemed to propel her into activity to overcome or overcompensate. it was as though she and her car were perfectly unified, as she loved to travel around in it everyday doing errands and going on antique hunts or dropping by uninvited and unexpectedly to my house. (i never liked that part). when i was in high school she opened her first business - an antique shop. she loved antiquing, in fact the day before she died, she had been to los angeles hunting down more antiques for her favorite clients.
anyway, i could go on and on about her....but this painting of her still makes me sad. i'm not sure why. i think she was misunderstood by us all. my dad, my brother and me too. she had a clear and sound conscious and spoke her mind. often. i believe she never had a bad night's sleep over anything she ever said! i, however, often tossed at night over what she said to me. (big sigh).... but i miss her and it makes me sad to see her looking sad and alone. i tried to lighten the mood in the painting by using pinks. happy colors.
so today while painting my mom, i told her i loved her and missed her very much. that she needn't feel alone and that she could come over anytime------even uninvited.


Anonymous said...

She was a very special person. I miss her potato salad!!! Mmmmmmm

Anonymous said...

Lisa, I hope you know that I meant no disrespect, I was too young to know your mom very well. But, she made the best potato salad EVER!!!

Anonymous said...

Sorry I missed the potato salad. But I remember a roast that didn't get cooked while we were on a drive. And I remember her smile.

lisa bebi said...

no disrespect noted.
she cook really cook some great deep fried food - i always liked her cornmeal battered and fried eggplant.

do you remember me making abalone steaks ...they had to be hammered out - it took hours. (at least it seemed)
the batterd for abalone was beer batter...yummmmm that was during my scuba diving years. my dad helped me pound them.

fredg said...

Well I love the painting of your mom, my aunt. Whenever I saw her though she was never alone, she was always in the center of our mom's and dad's and her presence and energy would just electrify the air so seeing her alone doesn't seem right but it makes a very poignet statement (sorry for the run on sentence - - you can take a breath now). In the later years I especially remember her surounded by all the antiques at the shop and she glowed like the warm red oak of the furniture. It's fun and sort of sad to reminesce, huh. lol, f

lisa bebi said...

that is very touching comment, fred. Bless you for your kind words - however, run-on they may be.
love, lisa

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