Monday Mother's day

In Oxford last week I stayed with an old friend who never shies from asking what she wants to know and this time she questioned me about my mother. That felt strange because usually it's  my father people want to hear about: he was Russian, I bear his name and that piques their interest - do I speak Russian? (no), have I spent time in Russia? (only one short visit) and so on.

But my mother... she died when I was 26 and there was much that was left unspoken. I've often felt I missed the chance for the more adult relationship we might have had - or not - if she had lived longer. I had not turned out as she had hoped and I was still a source of anxiety and concern to her when she died, which left me feeling guilty.

So I've decided to devote some Monday blips to her and this is the first. It's a painting by her "of" her, a self-portrait in the style of Modigliani, that she must have done in her late teens. She wanted to go to art school but insisted only the Slade would do. Her father wouldn't agree (cost? reputation? I don't know) and offered the Central School instead - she refused.

She was disparaging about this painting, which represents an idealised version of herself as the sophisticated, cultured, knowing young woman she would have liked to be at a period in her life when she would take herself off to her bedroom with Turkish cigarettes and French poetry to escape the noisy, conflicted family life below.  The battered old canvas followed her around subsequently but was always stashed away out of sight until I had it framed a few years ago. Now this youthful fantasy version of my mother meets my eyes on the stairs every day and I'm older than she ever got to be.

Something about my mother's family background can be found here.
If anyone else would like to join me in posting a Monday Mother's day blip - or a Friday Father's day for that matter - please feel free.