I’ve spent the last two months trying to think up ways to make all the old posts cohesive and interesting in a group. That attempt was about as difficult as herding rabid three-legged toddlers. The only thing that comes to mind is to post about something which I’ve never written about on this blog: mi madre. The astute observer will have noticed that I’ve written about my uncle, brothers and sisters, and often about my father. Never about my mom. For those you know me better you’ve probably seen a handful of more or less roughly sketched portraits and paintings of the pater familias, laying around my studio. Some of you who know me worse might think I don’t have much of a relationship with my mother. You’d be wrong. Think of my dad as my face and my mom as my backbone. Both are integral but one is aesthetic and the other is structural. My dad gave me his nose, his sense of humor, and many of his skills. My mom gave me my ideas about justice and home. I’ve written and drawn my Dad so often because its easy. Big nose, beard, tired eyes: he’s a caricature. My mother on the other hand is a paradox. I could write about her about as easily as I could describe a square with no hard edges. Its such a strange mix of strength, and femininity, and grace and fairness, that I nearly threw away this document and almost decided to not even post this entry. Maybe I’ll try again when I’m smarter. So this is to Mom. My 100th blog post.
