My brother once told me that half of my not getting along with Mom was because I was so much like her. Which is rich because Mom let it slip that most of why she didn’t like me was because I reminded her of Dad. Growing up, which incidentally I did between the ages of 25 and 45, I had to hold a mirror to myself and dig deep to find inspiration as to who I was, where I came from, what I was to become, and honestly if I even wanted to hang out with that person. No one was going to do that for me. The contours of what shaped me were not handed to me. There are artists that draw and sculpt by carving, dissecting and populating the space around their subject. That is how I self-formed: I looked at the world I was in and became a being that walked in it. Paris taught me refinement and effortless beauty, New York taught me scrappy underworld artistry and danger, Miami taught me warmth in colours and freedom of riotous composition. I came to Ottawa still unformed. Ottawa has grounded me in continuity and tradition, but that free spirit, that rock with no moss that kept on rolling through life? I miss her. Change is chaos, but chaos is growth and expansion. We are little Universes being born every day. Failing, falling, fetching .. these are the movements we should hold a special place in our hearts for. They facet us. They make us luminous. Which makes us seen, lit up from inside. No matter that my mother did not hand over the love and nurturing from her bosom, she handed over worlds of great beauty and that in itself was her greatest gift for which I will truly and eternally be grateful.
