Garden Child, The Latest Rosamond

A while back I wrote about two of my favorite prints I’ve had for years which hold much meaning for me The Rosamonds. The paint in the bedroom is long dry now and I restored the prints to their places of honor. The Rosamonds hang once again on their respective walls, close to each other but with a distance appropriate to the chapters of my life each represents.

There is a new addition to the collection, a lovely print I received last year as a birthday gift from my most devoted and faithful blog reader. Who happens to be related to me. We share the same parents. He is younger, quite charming and handsome, and as my first younger brother holds a special place in my heart. As does the beautifully framed print he gave me.

The Rosamonds that have hung on my walls over the years bookmark where I’ve been in life, major turning points in relationships, emotional places I’ve visited but from which I have graduated. But “Garden Child” points to where I am now, having fun with the newest generation of those I love who will hopefully feel the influence of my life and legacy. The drawing is of a child, a little boy of possibly 4 or 5 years old, peeking out from behind leafy vines of what must be a lush green garden. His eyes, like all of Christine’s drawings, are telling, portraying a depth of curiosity and intelligence. He is sitting among the leaves, one knee laying on the ground, the other up in a kneeling position, as if he is watching something intently but ready to spring into action to investigate. What I love most is his hair. It’s thick, light colored and frames the boy’s face so tenderly. So fitting, so boy-like. It reminds me of my son at that age, and now his son who turns four this month. Their shared sweet spirit is evident in this sketch.

Both are inquisitive, intelligent and very tender hearted. So much so that those in relationship with them must be careful to tend their words carefully, thoughtfully. Garden Child gives the impression that outwardly he can withstand what he encounters, but inwardly the pain of life could easily crush his spirit. I want to reach out and touch his cheek, stroke his hair, and tell him I will be gentle, speak truth in love with realistic expectations, and always protect and love him.

Once again a Rosamond has done its work. Transforming a blank space on a wall into a place of feeling, connection and wonder. This one hangs in the bedroom also, but closer to me, close to where I pray and sleep and dream. Close to the heart.