Playing Outside

I just got back from Toronto, where I grew up.  I always come back feeling emotionally drained.

I didn't make any art when I was home, but I did look at a lot of art.  My art.  From when I was 4 or 5 years old.  My mother kept a box of my drawings from kindergarten, and boy was I a prolific artist back then!  Out of respect for my mother's careful archiving I took a photo of each one, kept a few favourites, and then recycled the rest.  We're in the process of cleaning up the house.

I love love this one.

Throwing things away is one of my favourite things to do.  It can be very liberating.  But it is also very emotional at times.  Not throwing things away is also one of my creative parameters, to reuse, to give new life to items full of memories and meaning.

I didn't draw anything when I was home.  But I looked at a lot of art.  My parents' house is full or art.  Art by so many people - my mother, father, grandfathers, auntie, friends, and myself.

It's funny to be able to look at your own works and marvel at it.  And wonder, who was that person, that little girl?  How did she get to be me?

She just loved to play outside.