My mom was an artist. A very talented artist. She could draw landscapes and portraits with pastels that were absolutely breathtaking. I remember growing up with her artwork around us. She would have an easel displaying her most recent project. Art boxes would be laying open, with an endless spectrum of colored pastels. She would have a photograph nearby of the landscape that inspired her or a person she was drawing. Several times a day she would find her way back to it, working on it here or there. Some days she worked on them for hours at a time.
As she finished piece of work, I can remember how she wouldn’t stop until it was just right. Constantly fretting or going back to particular section or a nose or the crook of an elbow that was just “off” a bit.
I admired her talent. She was peaceful and calm when she worked. Focused completely on what brought her joy. And her work was beautiful.
Tonight I looked to the sky on my walk as I listened to meditation music and tried to find my center, my peace. The clouds were painted in the sky as the sun fell behind the tree line. I couldn’t help but think of Mom and her drawings. I felt close to her in that moment. As if she had sketched a beautiful sky for me tonight. I hope she continues her art in heaven and continues to share it with me.