My mum was amazing. She used to paint, make puppets, collage, pottery, poetry, write stories, draw, make jewellery, knit, sew, oil pastel. Some of her pottery work went into a local art gallery in our town. It was a beautiful thing because her entire life was mired by hellish mental torment but she remained gentle, kind funny and creative despite being treated like a failure.
My dad made (still does) amazing meals, wooden sculptures, wrote songs, played guitar, oil paintings, made candle stick holders from scrap metal with cogs and amazing springs and sprayed them black. He now makes candles from his bee hive wax, soaps, hand creams, turns wood on a lathe and has made lots of beautiful wooden bowls/ egg cups walking sticks. He makes incredible fudge and is such a genius with his hands despite being written off by his stupid school and being a single dad to my sister and I from when we were both under three.
My granny painted, designed board games, wrote poetry and children’s books, made rugs/ tapestries, spun wool and made beautiful clothes and knitted stunning cardigans. She made a rockery herself in her sixties and was still drawing every day until she died sharp minded at 101.
It’s been so wonderful to teach my daughter the healing powers of creativity. All of our time together is spent sewing, crafting, clay, writing poems, drawing and painting and it’s just so lovely to be able to pass this wonder down to her.