My mother hated the camera. Her smile that came so easily face to face, struggled in front of the lens. It wasn’t until I started painting her that, I watched that fear disappear. I’d like to think that’s trust. What she was giving to me was real. What I bounced back to her was admiration. 

First it was her birthday poem. . Then in the cards. The magnets. Her face. The one where she said, “I meant no, but it came out yes.” The woman at the phone who said, “There are no operators standing by…” And she saw herself. And we laughed. She was the woman behind, “I signed up for eternal bliss, I must have gotten in the wrong line,” and “Yesterday I was so tired I could barely think straight — thank God I was at work.” Because it wasn’t about a perfect reflection, it was pure joy. Even when the truths were difficult, like in the poem, “I saw the truth about you…” it was still joy. Joy to be seen. Joy to be heard, connected. Revealed, and still loved. Perhaps loved even more. 

When I painted her portrait she looked at it and said, “That women doesn’t look like she needs to be afraid of anything…maybe I don’t either.” It’s that portrait I see when I look in the mirror. Those words I say when I look into my heart.

There are a million things to be afraid of in this world, but our reflection shouldn’t be one of them. And if we can do that for each other, for ourselves, take away the fear of being, of being seen for who we truly are, then I think we have a real chance — a real chance at joy.