She started painting when she was 50 years old (… which happens to be eight years ago).
Until then she could hardly draw a Christmas tree into my little book of drawings when I asked her to.
And then, one day, she secretly uttered that she would like to learn how to paint.
She said she surely wouldn’t be able to create anything worth seeing but she just would love to give some brush, paint and a canvas a chance.
That happened a couple of days before her fiftieth birthday – giving me a better hint on what to give her as a present than I could wish for.
So into a shop I went and grabbed the basic necessities for an aspiring and beginning painter.
I will never forget the wonderful sparks of joy in my Mom’s eyes as I was handing her the presents on her special day.
And since then… oh, SINCE THEN… nothing can stop my Mom from painting.
She herself wonders where it all comes from.
I had these pictures taken a while ago but waited to meet my Mom again and ask her for little descriptions to them.
When we met last weekend I asked her and got the exact answer I’d expected to get. She just said with this very shy tone in her voice: “I don’t really know what to say about it; it comes to my mind and I paint it; it just keeps appearing in front of my eyes, that’s all…”.
Well, I suppose my Mom might be a bit too humble.
She would probably consider talking about her pictures as a way of showing off – and that’s not her style for sure.
She rarely even names her picutes and she never signs them…
(Yes, right, those are artificial flowers you can see on the right. Though my Mom hates artificial flowers she will forever keep that bunch. It was a present from her own Mom for her – again – 50th birthday.
The thing is that my Grandmother hates artificial flowers too – which might make us wonder why she gave her own daughter this very much hated article. The answer is – her eyes, well, they used to be in better shape before.
When my Grand-mom found out what she had bought her own daughter for birthday, she started to cry… yes… she just collapsed into the state of utter despair. And my Mom started to cry with her… explaining that those were the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen in her whole life and in this whole galaxy of ours.
So they both cried and cried… which brings us to the end of the short story about my Mom’s bunch of fake flowers.)
Yeah, my Mom… I’d be so glad if I found such a talent in me one day too…