Interesting (for me, anyway) to see how different subjects written and thought about elicit different drawing styles. I'll continue to document the process of clearing out my mother's house over the next weeks. In this way, I can feel as though I'm keeping something of the details of her daily life, her house. It helps.
I love that you're documenting in your journal the momentos of your mother's life. How beautiful! The amaryllis sketches are rich with color and are just opulent(I had to sit and think for the word to come to me.) Very inspiring to me to visit your blog this morning.
Posted by: Deborah Lowe | March 26, 2011 at 12:36 PM
Thank you, dear commenters. I can't say enough how wonderful this journal is proving to be to me. I will have to do a whole post about it, once I've got a few more months' worth under my belt.
Posted by: Laura | February 21, 2011 at 08:22 AM
Lovely illustrations and a good way to work through troubled times.
Posted by: Helen Percy Lystra | February 16, 2011 at 10:23 PM
Lovely illustrations and a lovely memorial of your mother.
Posted by: Sue Pownall (aka travelingsuep) | February 16, 2011 at 07:33 AM
How nice to have a way to channel all of those emotions. Now that you have mentioned it, I think I do that a lot blogging. It feels like some people out there are connected to me and care what I have to say.
Posted by: Linda | February 15, 2011 at 02:01 AM
Drawing your way through all that difficult labor sounds just right, Laura... And keeping things you can't keep that way as well.
Your grandmother has a rather modern look. I wonder what year that is. The keys reminded me of how the kids ran off with the keys to our Empire buffet (or whatever it is called--the Empire monstrosity, perhaps) and lost them. I brought home a gigantic box of keys from a locksmith and sat on the floor trying keys for an hour until I had three, one for each door. Cute little car. Mike collects old key-wound toys, so toys always catch my eye. Wings! Army Air Corps? My father ran away to joint the Air Corps at seventeen. Teenage tailgunner. And the flowers are, as always, splendid.
Posted by: marly youmans | February 13, 2011 at 03:31 PM