When I was a little girl, we lived next door to a man who tended the most beautiful roses. Brick walkways covered with moss led to a small but well loved garden. Rosebushes lined the beds… all colors, all kinds, identified by tiny tags sinking into earth. My favorite of all were the apricot roses…The most special in all of the garden, he told me. Sometimes, he would let me walk with him as he watered and fed them…I wasn’t allowed to touch them, too delicate, he’d say. But every so often he would bend a stem towards me so I could breathe that blossom in. And on the luckiest of days, I’d collect the fallen petals from the walkway and hold them in my hand so tightly till they were bruised with love. My very first treasure:)) I was enthralled with that garden and all that grew there. There was magic there. Every time I see a rosebush I remember:))
So much beauty and treasure in my life. I am so grateful for all the moments and spaces in between.
Lovely day, all… make it amazing ~
One of my fondest childhood memories brings me back to time spent getting lost in the pages of a set of old hardcover books that sat upon my grandfather’s bookshelf.
My grandfather was a serious, stoic man… hardened by the life he led…almost always gruff and slow to smile. I was often fearful of him; his voice stern and his words, sharp. Our paths crossed very little, except when I would get up the nerve to ask permission to enter his library and look through his collections of books.
His library was sacred space. A man of little means, he deeply valued his books and he spent his lifetime amassing a formidable collection. I was drawn to the space and learned early on that this was the way to his heart…he always allowed me to enter and choose a pile of books to quietly sit and sift through. He had one particular collection that always caught my eye…There were about 20 books. They were big, heavy, dusty…with cobalt blue hardcovers, each containing pages and pages of stardust swept stories of far off places; fairies in patterned petaled dresses and beautiful gossamer draped forest nymphs dripping with flowers and ocean waves tumbling with starfish and and seashells covered with glitter and always, always there were the most glorious mermaids with long flowing hair, it seemed. The illustrations were simply magical and they must have struck a deep chord with me as I sometimes catch myself adding, to the art I create all these years later, intricately detailed elements, not unlike those from the pages of those magical books .
This quick sketch from yesterday began, inspired by a photograph of a dancer that floated past me in the stream. As is my way for figurative sketches, I used the photo as a quick visual reference for shape but allowed my imagination and the free flow of ink to fill in the rest of the details. In the end, there is a joyful, illustrative quality that shines through in the lines of her … It brings me back and there is just something so lovely about that, I think ~