So I have a “challenging” relationship with my mother. Two years ago for her birthday, knowing she is a tad vain, I thought the best gift would be a portrait of her. Truly a tricky thing for me, as I have (and had even less then) little experience of painting people. I left her face til last, as I knew it was going to be the hardest bit, and it was only about the size of a penny (a quarter?!). I laboured over it, looking and looking and took a bathroom break about 3hrs in. When I came back I was shook; it was like *she* was really there, staring at me. Not like a photograph, like a haunting. And I broke down. She has never been a safe place for me. At least not that I could trust. She is old now, and very sick with Parkinson‘s. I lost my father in 2019 and know she won’t have long. And I knew when I looked at the picture that she was living in it, that in effect she would always be there, I caught her, in a form I could trust. She has the painting now, and loves it - but one day it will find its way back to me.