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A Tribute to My Mother - A Fellow Artist by Joan Stillar HamiltonThere are many words I could use to describe my motherAs Mother's Day approaches my grief over my mother's death on February 28, 2011 takes on a new face. One I hope she would consider appropriate. My mother was an artist in so many ways and although her life was filled with long hours of often tedious work (the ringer washer never stopped all day long it seemed when I was a child) she somehow taught her fourteen children to love literature, art, music, and history. These were always my best subjects in school, and many of my siblings are the same. She painted a little bit as a young womanThe Kingfisher painting of hers below hung in our home all my childhood.
 Kingfisher by Rita Antonette Stillar Copyright Rita Stillar
My brother who has the original painting in it's frame told me he found this one of the bird on the back of the Kingfisher one. They were both attached to the same board. I have a feeling I may have seen the bird one before, it looks familar somehow, but I can't remember if I knew it was there, or saw it as a child.
 Bird on the Pussypillows by Rita Antonette Stillar Copyright Rita Stillar
These are obviously pretty old and were not adequately protected in their frame, but I kind of like the sepia tones. Her style is similar to mine as well. Who knows how far she could have gone with her painting, if life hadn't intervened.
The following is an excerpt from her Eulogy which was written collaboratively by family members. I was very honoured to read this section at the ceremony.
"With more leisure time mom found whole new ways to be creative. At first she turned to rug hooking, joined the Hooker’s Guild, and even had an illustrated article published on the technique. Then at sixty she went back to school, taking English courses at the University, free for seniors. It was a brave move, catching a bus up Thiboult Hill, rubbing shoulders with young students in the busy hallways, daring to believe that she had something unique to say. Summer Artsperience courses had whetted her appetite for writing and motivated her to become serious about her work. In her own humble way she wished to contribute, as she put it, “her drops of water to the lake of literature”. A new world opened with her membership in The North Bay Writer’s Group. She enjoyed engaging with other writers and thinking critically about her own ideas. Mom got enormous satisfaction from crafting stories of her childhood, and recording the histories of our ancestors. She also wrote deeply personal poetry describing her thoughts and feelings on growing old, on relationships, and life’s purpose. She struggled to express the depths of her experiences. We all encouraged her and value the written treasure she has left us. Some of us have even been inspired to carry on where she left off. Life did not always flow easily for her, yet somehow she manoeuvred the rapids for almost a century. She had her joy and pride in all of us to temper the hard work and inevitable heartaches through all those years. We have the example of her strength to carry us along in our own “life’s flow”. She knew she was loved, that she had done the best she could. In her last days, comforted by family, she was ready for the end of her story, and a final, well deserved rest." In the past six years that I have been painting and blogging I often spoke with my mother about itWe talked about how having a creative outlet seemed necessary to our personal sense of fulfillment, because there are strong feelings that need some kind of creative expression. My mother's poetry was published in literary magazines and highly valued by her fellow writers group and teachers. We enjoyed talking about writing and she was proud of my blogging and my art. Even though she had little understanding of how I could paint with a computer, she believed me when I said I could and that I was the one making the mark on the paper, not the computer.
Several of her poems were in the Program my sister Emily and I designed (my artwork and her designer eye!) for the Mass of Remembrance and Ceremonies at the Cemetary.
I am taking the liberty of publishing some of them here because I believe my mother would not object. She understood the thrill of having your work read by other people, and knew what it takes to have the nerve to put your art and writing out there in front of people and deal with people's reactions to it.
I am also incredibly proud of the poet/writer she was and want to tell the world about her.
Bliss
I want to fly unburdened soaring in free space
I like to dream unrestrained striving for that painless place suspended within a gold rimmed card where only angels dwell Rita Stillar ~ 1987 All rights reserved A Still Morning
bright sun lift
early morning mists
sky and lake unite
mirrored in the water
stark firs and leafy maples
vainly vie with sentinel white birch
watersprites skim
the surface of the lake
creating jeweled bubbles
as they skate
Rita Stillar ~ 1990 All rights reserved
I haven't read these poems for many years,
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Jane said:
What a lovely tribute to your mother. I envy those who had such a relationship with their mom, not so with me. That is why my relationship with my son was so special...