Mum's the word

 "Look at what the little buggers have done...!  They've shit all down the wall!"  Mum was looking out of the side door and up towards the roof.  A beautifully constructed nest under the eaves was adhered to the apex with mud; the housemartins were well and truly at home here.  How lucky we were to have them - again!  Another Summer of their chattering and swooping and the wonder of tiny chicks to come.  Another Summer of having to sprint down that section of outside passage to avoid an unwanted messy shampoo from above, poo being the operative word.  But Mum, did you really have to say that to my new boyfriend on one of his first visits here?!

That was my mum, though.  She didn't worry about stuff like a few swear words, bugger and shit being her favourites.  Sod and bloody too.  Nothing stronger.  But it had been like that since my last few years in primary school and for a long time I was highly embarrassed by it - my friends' mums never swore. However, I think it probably endeared her to the boyfriend.

Anyway, yes, that was my mum.  And I was thinking about her the other day when I was sorting out some old portfolios and in amongst some of my ancient artworks was a very small selection of hers, even more ancient, which I had kept since she died.  It's a sad irony that her death was the catalyst, and provided a rare opportunity, for me to risk a complete change of career into something artistic.  At 35 with no dependants, the bereavement was the reason for my epiphany and I was young enough to take that chance, old enough to weather a failure.  You could say that the stars aligned, but... Mum, the one I had to thank for so much, wasn't there to witness it.

She was such an artist herself, always encouraging me, even taking me along to her art classes when I was a small nipper, where I could casually observe Joan and Daphne and Gerry magicking up vases of begonias in watercolour while I drew made-up story characters, princesses, cats, children and houses on scrap paper in biro.  Elbows.  Elbows were problematic, I drew arms which curved around with no joint until Mum's tutor stepped away from his paying students and showed me the  trick - dare to draw a sharp angle!  What a difference - never forgotten.  Then Mum witnessed all my personal projects through the years but never got to see me make it my livelihood.  She would've been so chuffed.

Before I put them all away again in a new portfolio I took pics of some of her larger studies from the '60s and '70s and thought I'd put them on here as a way to help preserve them.  There were so many more and I wish I had them, but they're now long lost to time.  

Bugger!