Throughout my life, my personal mythology has been told by the contents of my pockets. Emptying my pockets out at the end of each day tells me how imaginative I was that day and what I thought and felt about my world. As a child I caught and collected “Sallymanders”, transporting them home in my pockets to add to a giant outdoor terrarium my dad built me.
Eventually my pockets bulged with evidence of motherhood – Legos, metal cars aged by scratched paint, and tiny plastic dinosaurs. Dinosaurs still make my heart go pitter-patter. Now that my children have long since left home, I have returned to collecting riddles that lead me to my own childlike fancies. Or, are these the pockets of a crone? Raven feathers, beach glass, and shards of bright blue and broken Robin’s eggs. My pockets beckon me to stay in my own wonderland. I catch snakes and salamanders to this day, but only to move them off the trail to safer passage. I yearn to remain in a constant state of childlike wonder.
What's In The Pocket of a Maiden?
10x10 acrylic on paper mounted board
What's In The Pocket of a Mother?
10x10 acrylic on paper mounted board
What's In The Pocket of a Crone?
10x10 acrylic on paper mounted board
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