I sold

Recently I decided to enter the Linden Postcard Show , at the infamous Linden Gallery , in nearby St Kilda. I purchased the appropriate size canvas , enrolled online, and dutifully paid the fee . Scanning my studio I decided to create a Luna Park face based on a photo pinned to my wall . It was ink wash , a medium I am not familiar with but I mastered it, and left the work alone, rather than fiddle with it, as is my wont . The next day I added  grey lead pencil . Climbing the iron stairs at the back of the Victorian grandiose mansion, I was plagued with doubt . Was it good enough ?, all these other strident , confident artists seem to know what they are doing , I’m only a student after all . Dropping it off I was wished well and queried about my surname,  by the enthusiastic curator.

luna park
luna park

Luna Park” , nestled alone and forlorn amongst the shelves at Linden . My life continued . On Thursday at Tokyo Deli, with youngest child I received a text that ” Luna Park ” was to go to a new home . He had been purchased within half an hour of the show opening . I was sad he wouldn’t be returning to me but elated I had received validation as an artist . Someone else liked my work enough to buy it . A pivotal moment in my artistic career and a much needed spur to continue on my path of image making .

Thank you Linden and I hope you will be happy in your new home , ” Luna Park ” , x love from your creator .

Leaving

stk tram
stk tram

A vicious volley of words , slammed doors and hurled insults . It became obvious that the time to leave was imminent . Fleeing the family home with a clutch of possessions and a heart full of resentment , a lonely drive from inner urban madness , to semi rural tranquility , my oldest child has left home .

 

bub shoe
bub shoe

 

 

Illness had decimated the family home . Daily tasks presented monumental difficulties , happy faces were replaced with ones of foreboding , and personal space eaten up . A mother’s love , and sibling affection not enough to hold a young man to the family unit .

 

can
can

A kaleidoscope of emotions rage through my body as he arrives to pack up the remains of  a life  , shared with his family of 24 years . Collective memories of a firstborn ,   tinkling laughter , and the early shared adventures of a nervous parent and inspiring child  . Latterly , charting the child’s progression from boy , through gawky adolescence , to manhood. Harbouring a furtive pride in the genetic transference of same eye colour and wiry hair , of the compassionate and caring nature of  the man he has become .

 

street art
street art

He has left . A sense of desolation engulfs me in a sea of sadness , and unshed tears . I brace myself and know I must go forward , grateful for the life I have created and nurtured , ever mindful of  the lifelong journey of parenthood , the deep passion it evokes , and the unrepentant  task it employs .