When I became pregnant, my world shifted and tilted back towards art. I picked up my pencils and took the lead. I knew where I was headed.
June, July and August were spent in the park in Stratford, Ontario. I walked the river everyday, sometimes at six in the morning because the baby inside me loved walking as much as I did. Her dad framed up the pictures, and on weekends I set up my display of drawings and sold a few, then made a few more.
Over the past week, I’ve come to see how strongly the park figured in my pregnancy. The river and huge, gnarly black willows, the swans and couples who walked hand in hand. The regular early morning walkers and the Sunday theatre-goers. All summer long, the beauty filled me.
It’s been interesting to pull together the pictures from that time. The physical skill of drawing is one thing; making decisions about composition and design is another. What can’t be taught, or forced, is hitting a deep feeling so truly that it can be seen on the page. Only one drawing came out as beautifully as my daughter did that summer.