My mother is not only the World’s Best Mother and Grandmother, but she also happens to have many other talents, such as painting.
However, as she is also one of the most modest people in the world, she doesn’t think her paintings are ever good enough to hang on the wall.
This strikes a chord with me, as I always feel as though my writing is never good enough for public consumption (I play a mental game with myself that nobody actually reads
my blog except for my family).
Why are we always – especially women – so critical of our own creative output? Why is it so difficult to feel 100% proud of something awesome that we have produced, with the exception of our children?
Have a gander at the painting of the Abbaye de Sénanque
that my Mom painted for me, and which we have now hung in the lavender bedroom of Le Relais du Vieux Beaune
How could she think this isn’t good?
Just for the record, I would give my eyeteeth to be able to paint like my Mom, just like I would give one of my thumbs to be able to sing like my oldest sister or understand complex mathematics like my youngest sister.
Enough of this modesty, Mom. You are an AMAZING painter, and I will be hounding you to paint more from now on.