This painting of my mother has been sitting, in this state in my studio for several years. It is meant to be the companion of one I did of my father a few years earlier than that. It is both my bane and my inspiration. I feel like as long as she sits in my studio, a 4x5 foot presence that confronts me every time I walk by, I have to keep considering myself an artist. I have to believe that I will finish that painting, and even show it somewhere, sometime even though portraiture has never been my strong point. (I'll certainly never hang it; I haven't got a wall large enough.)
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