I See You

Last month on the third Sunday I visited a new coffee shop. I usually like to go to the park near the university I teach at to people watch, but the rain shifted my plans. Now before you start thinking I’m a creep, I want to mention I’m an artist. Hmmm after hearing that out loud… you probably still think I’m a creep. Let me give you some context. When I was 9, my mother and I would go to the farmers market every Sunday. I loved it. The energy, the food, and seeing my mother in her element was something I will never forget. My mother had a corporate job for her 9-5, but her passion was jewelry making. She could spend hours twisting copper into beautiful spirals and each piece was unique. Sometimes I would even catch her twisting the copper with her eyes closed. That’s when my sketches switched from pictures of items to pictures of people caught in a moment, but I could never capture her beauty the way I saw it. That’s what frustrated me the most. Have you ever seen a sunset and tried to take a picture of it? The picture on your phone never ends up looking like the real thing. So, you end up putting your phone back in your pocket and enjoying it with your eyes before it fades away. That was my mom. She was beautiful. Her hair was dark like licorice, skin kissed by the sun and smooth like butter. Her style. So cool. She always had some nice boots on with a chunky heel and wrist full of bracelets. She even made elegant clips that she would incorporate in her hair when she did a high low style. My mother also had a warm aura that seemed to radiate from her. The farmers market was a place that she could be herself unapologetically with people outside of her home. I don’t think she could do that at her 9-5. I kept practicing and practicing, but I still struggled with capturing my mom in her element. I gave up and started sketching different people I would see at the market. My sketching got really good. Some people would even purchase the sketch I made of them. Seeing that other people also enjoyed my art led me to follow a career in it, but that changed at the beginning of the year when my mom got sick. I took a sabbatical from work, gave up sketching in my free time, and became my mom’s full-time nurse. I mention this because when she passed, I found out she left me a box. It was odd because even though I was always there by her side (even during her last breath) she never mentioned this box. I didn’t find it until I visited her jewelry room a week after the service. It was there just sitting on her table with a lavender bow. (That was my favorite color, but the real reason I loved that color was because she always smelled like lavender.) Inside there was a small black notebook, her favorite copper earrings, and a bunch of pictures. As I flipped through the pictures, I stopped at a polaroid my dad took when she was pregnant with me. She was sitting in front of the bay window my dad built. Her eyes closed, calmly twisting 2 thin pieces of copper wire. She knew me better than I knew myself. I think she never mentioned the box because I used to spend hours sketching. Although I love art, I love my mom more and there was nothing she could say that would convince me to take time away from being by her side. She knew I would find that box when I really needed it, and that day I really needed an outlet. So, early that Sunday morning I walked to the coffee shop with my small black notebook ready to sketch bystanders. I was surprised to see the coffee shop was rather empty that morning. I looked around for inspiration. I see the barista. He had on a cool hat, but then he dug up his nose and flicked it. Naturally, I am no longer inspired by the hat or interested in ordering coffee. I continued searching for inspiration. I paused on a flyer on the wall. It was for a competition for all forms of art. The prize was $20,000 and the only requirement was that it must tell a story. I put my bookbag in the chair beside me and pulled out the pictures from the box. Three stood out. The first one was of my mom getting ready for work. Her hair pulled back in a tight low bun. She gazes in the mirror putting on a pair of copper pendant earrings. She had added a small pink pearl. She figured if she couldn’t wear what she really wanted then she would add some sparkle to her accessories. The second one was the polaroid of her in front of the bay window. My favorite. The third one was of me and her at the market. Her hair was down. She was wearing a flowy dress, long spirally earrings (made by her of course), and then right next to her you see me smiling with my notebook in my lap and pencil in hand. I spent the rest of the month recreating these three pictures. Each painted on their own canvas, but I connected them using copper wire. Unfortunately, I didn’t end up submitting them. Not because I did not like how they came out, but because of the opposite. I love it, and creating it was a therapeutic process I didn’t know I needed. I usually embrace criticism, but for a piece so personal I wasn’t ready.

As I sit in that bay window 2 months later, the smell of my dad’s chili fills the air. I look up over the fireplace where my canvases hang. I couldn’t think of a better spot. This was her favorite room in the house. My dad walks in from the kitchen holding an envelope. Turns out he submitted my art. He must of saw my application on my dresser. I’m surprised but not really. My dad has always been my biggest cheerleader. He leans in and says “I know you can be your worst critic sometimes, but what you painted was beautiful. You truly captured each moment.” My eyes start to water as I open the envelope and begin to read it. I look up at my dad and all the tears I was holding in start flowing down my face. I won! $20,000! I can’t believe it. I won! “What will be your first purchase?” my dad asks. I thought for a second… “Hmmm I think a small black notebook for each of my students. So, they can always have something to freely create on.” I reply.