mexico

Mom traveled to Mexico after Dad died. It was her first trip alone after their forty five years together which included many trips to Asia. I know she wanted us all to think she was just fine. I was relieved when she accepted the invitation of an old friend to visit in Mexico. Maybe it would be fun, I thought. A new chapter in her life. She was a talented artist but she had put her role of wife and mother above all else. Now that her children were grown and her husband gone, here was a chance to spend time with her other love; painting.

The watercolors of Mexico are soft pastels on thick paper. My brother John has them beautifully framed in his apartment. They are very different from the strong blue oils used to paint the Canadian landscapes of her youth. She painted scenes of Lake Memphremagog and Owl's Head over and over again. Each work brought a different mood, different weather, different spirit encased in oil on canvas. Even grandchildren entered the landscapes in her later years; bending to pick vegetables in her garden, smiling grins with hair blowing off foreheads. In Mexico she painted the cove, the palms and laundry on the line. Sheets softly blowing in the breeze caught her attention.

I never really liked her "Mexico period." Each work is lovely; a testament to what a versatile artist she was. I just knew her too well. Without her muse, our Dad, to view them and to comment, the process seemed empty. She stopped playing the piano after Dad died. When I asked her why, she answered, "Who is there to listen?"

I never wanted those watercolors. I could feel the sadness in them. Both hers and my own.