Wilma Banks Temple Portrait
Matriarch
Matriarch
One of my first memories of my Grandmother was laying on the floor across a velvet soft burgundy,navy and gold rug. It had these intricate designs like a fleur de lis or paisley. I'd often lay across the floor and draw pictures on old white cardboard inserts from her panty hose or stockings.
I can still remember the feeling of the cold hard floor beneath that rug and the intensity with which I drew my pictures. That is my measure of joy. My moment of recall which dictates to me whether or not I have lost myself in the moment and am truly one with my work. If I can leave myself,my surroundings as I did on those occasions and transport my being into mark making without thought,without time and feel so settled and at peace that those tiny grey and white walls could not hold me then I have simply just become my creative energy. This portrait is a tribute to her,Wilma Banks Temple and my first memories of art making in her apartment.
I can still remember the feeling of the cold hard floor beneath that rug and the intensity with which I drew my pictures. That is my measure of joy. My moment of recall which dictates to me whether or not I have lost myself in the moment and am truly one with my work. If I can leave myself,my surroundings as I did on those occasions and transport my being into mark making without thought,without time and feel so settled and at peace that those tiny grey and white walls could not hold me then I have simply just become my creative energy. This portrait is a tribute to her,Wilma Banks Temple and my first memories of art making in her apartment.
