I don’t know if it was a conscious decision, or just the body’s way of coping. I didn’t have the words for it then, nor the thought to question it. But within a week of moving her family from Minnesota to Texas, my Aunt Sandy adopted the southern accent. And just as easily I suppose, I changed the northern pronunciation of aunt to “ant”. And that’s how she remains. 

Maybe everything is just a choice. Right down to how the day is going to be. 

Each surface that I paint on accepts the substance so differently. How it holds, smooths. I can say, well, that’s not how you did it yesterday in the sketchbook. And it doesn’t care. This is how it is, it says. And so I make the adjustments. And I don’t fight the rough surface of the hand crafted paper, but it embrace it. Doesn’t it add to the character? Not imperfections, but details. And they are beautiful. 

Singing along to the Spotify station in the car yesterday on a French highway, how easily I Tanya Tuckered into Delta Dawn, and I thought of her, my Aunt (Ant) Sandy. We’re all characters, rough and hand crafted, and isn’t it beautiful?!