Making Memories

I think I started making art as a way of generating a more ideal reality. My childhood was amazing in some ways, traumatic in others.

To me, art is magic.

Recently my aunt sent letters my dad had written her when I was a kid. He died when I was seven, so reading them was more precious than gold.

This part brought tears to my eyes, because I remember these nights.

I keep a journal of my memories of my parents, and other people’s memories of them. My husband thinks I’m super sentimental. I suppose I am, but I think it comes from losing a parent so young – because my sister Sarah is the same way.

This illustration is for us. I know we both wish this memory had been captured.

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