This is only the smallest sampling. My mom, Amira, created art seriously (the work was a serious endeavour, but the content was not always.) for over 4 decades. Her entire house was her studio-- stacks of painting, every surface was covered with sculpture, she was more prolific than I knew. My mom always wanted to show her work, but then she was always immersed in making more, so where was the time to do it all? Her wish was that her art not be thrown away-- I could never do that, but isn't that any Maker's greatest fear? Her dear friends organized this show and these pieces and more were released in to the world. People were so happy to take a piece home.
It was overwhelming to me.
I grew up and lived with all of this "art-making" my entire life, and it all seemed so pedestrian (in a way) to me -- didn't all of your moms collect everything for their projects? Didn't they paint doll heads blue? Didn't your moms save spent firework papers to be fashioned into wings for a Japanese-inspired Kachina doll? and maybe not one, but 15 creations? Your mom didn't carve EVERY mango skin from EVERY mango she ate into a face? Your mom didn't dry those faces on the dashboard of her Datsun?
Now that she is gone-- it is hitting me how unique her view of the world was and how she reacted to it-- How THAT has shaped me and how I make things. I wonder what the future will bring me. She really "dialed it up to 11" and that is why things seem so "quiet" in my life now. Things just seem beige where they used to be an electric blue pastel.
I have to say that we didn't even show the best stuff-- it is stashed away for now, waiting for some breathing space for me and my family.