My mom was brought up in the depression, under less than ideal circumstances. This was the era of women suffering in silence. That's all I'll say. This portrait was done from a photo, that I will guess was taken around 1950. It's bl. & wh., and the edges are all soft. I love old photos. She's standing on a ladder outside her parents home in cabbagetown. One of those tall old rowhouses. In that time, this wasn't the neighbourhood to be from. Now, cabbagetown (downtown Toronto) is a very classy affair. In fact this rowhouse is all fixed up and it's probably worth a fortune. (My daughters and I visited the street on a recent visit.) My Mom would never talk to me about her sufferings, but the damage was always obvious to me. I hope to express a little about her sufferings in this piece, but also her sweetness, and innocence. It's never simple, when describing someones personality, their complex story of a life lived.
Ironically, My Mom has Altzheimers now, her personal freedoms have been taken away from her, replaced with safety. I can honestly say, she is peaceful and content, and lives in the moment in a way that was impossible while I was growing up. Poignant.