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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.
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Pink House, assemblage by Gayle Pritchard |
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