Bluebell: First Prize; collage by Gayle Pritchard |
There were a ton of kids to play with. I had many siblings, walked to the local school, received a great education, had a fantastic and progressive art teacher, and a high school guidance counselor who saved my life.
Detail of Pink House, an assemblage by Gayle Pritchard |
I think part of the pull for me is also my interest in family history. My parents died when I and they were relatively young. Feeling orphaned, even in my thirties, diving into genealogy research helped me to feel connected to the greater history of my family. I felt part of something larger. It was comforting. It still is. Decades ago, I wrote this poem, Voices From the Past about that feeling:
Voices from the past call out to me;
They are my
roots and my beginning,
but they are
gone.
I see them in
misty vapors,
in clouds which
I cannot touch;
deep inside, I
feel them.
Their voices
echo in the woods,
Calling out from
distant places,
yet they are
near, within.
Faded smiles in
aged photographs whisper;
Glinting eyes,
which hold secrets not revealed,
will not be
silent.
Our voices join
in the chorus of remembrance,
together
harmonizing in the deep unknown
before stillness
falls.
Pink House, assemblage by Gayle Pritchard |
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