This painting hangs in my bedroom—among others by the same artist—set against a backdrop of a photographic gallery of portraits of Ireland, snapped by my photographer son Craig.
But this painting—now it has a story all its own. You see, this was created by my mother, who portrayed here the farmhouse where she grew up. I, too, loved this farmhouse, with the land and buildings that surround it. My grandmother was my favorite person in the world, and I still smile as I recall adventures and experiences played out on these grounds.
My mother passed away last year at age ninety-three. In the end, she could no longer paint, her hands arthritic with age. But I’m sure she thought about and enjoyed looking at her work. Just as all creative individuals luxuriate in the ambience of their creations.
This is my way, I guess, of highlighting how real memories inform our lives in numerous ways, and how the past walks beside us every day.