December 2020. Acrylic on canvas. 12 x 16 in.
My mother, near the end of her life, was endowed by her illness with a truly awesome power of fury – a fury of which there had been little indication during her prior 90 years, and whose aura extended exponentially beyond her tiny frame. At that time she was truly fearsome to those around her, no matter how young or how strong.
My own fury at the ongoing losses and injuries caused by a malevolent and incompetent Administration does not have near the power hers had to affect anything except myself, I fear. But it does affect me, corrosively.
The Furies do not come to rest without leaving damage; it’s their job. And they are loose in the world now.