I was 5 years old when I painted this picture. It was summer, and family & friends went on a painting day excursion. Mom drove out to the South Saskatchewan River, and we set up easels on the cliffs overlooking the river. As a little girl, I remember it being hot, really hot, with no shade anywhere. This was my only painting on that day – of the river running through the prairie below.
The adults painted most of the day, the kids finishing quickly, then playing up and down the hills, avoiding gopher holes and cactus.
I was so excited when my mom framed the painting, and hung it in our living room. I had painted a “real” picture.
From one house to another, through all the moves, this child’s painting has always found a prominent place in someone’s house. Then, 4 years ago, it was gifted back to me.
My feelings about this little painting have changed over the years. It started with pride with being included on the walls with my Mom’s paintings. Then moved to embarrassment as a teenager that it still remained on the walls for everyone to see. Finally, I was honoured – that my Dad had kept it all these years, and that he wanted to have it hanging where it could be seen as you walked into his house.
A little square of paint – connecting me to my Mom and Dad, memories and stories.
