The Hokusai Mountain
Mum was born in 1906 on a farm at Purekiriki
Behind the left cleft. It took them four hours
to get to Owaka on horseback. In 1912 they
moved here, into one of Owaka's two flashest
houses. Built by a Latter who ran a sawmill.
Moved over the hill from the first Owaka
township, when the railway line opened.
Ann Pibal and Roselary Collier sent me every
book the Correspondence School had about art.
That's how I found this was the Hokusal Mountain.
The same Prussian blue in late afternoon. The
first time I "got it right" I was ecstatic.
1994. They've buried Mum facing it. Last night I
weeded my front garden, and brought in two very
old floppy dark red roses. The kind Mum adored.
I am reminded I have Mum's sense of fun, her
love of people who were good to her, her courage
and vulnerability. Her creativity.
I'm clutching them in my left hand, close enough
to sniff. I hope that is how you paint them. Mum
was not a conventially nice person, although
she felt she had to be. I'm making those spikes
razor-sharp, the kind that rip hands/people to
bits. I want the moon, and we just can't get this
soft lemony silver toenail size sliver to show.
My Mum at Arrowtown
1975 acrylic on paper 600 x 840mm