8x10 Charcoal Fine Art Print on Epson 300g- Signed by Artist
 
What woman doesn’t have a memory surrounding the braiding of hair? I remember watching my grandmother braid her hair in what seemed like an act of pure function. She needed to tame her long, white mane so that she could tuck it up and away for the demanding work of the day. The expansive garden and the sweat on her brow would not welcome invasive tendrils. Then, there were the summer trips to camp on the Knik river. I grew up in Alaska and summers meant salmon fishing with my family. My mom would braid my hair in two tight french braids, eliminating the need for hair washing or hair brushing. To this day, I can recall the sense of wild playfulness associated with those braids. This was a time for adventure, not delicate vanity. And yet, somehow, as braids always do…I still felt pretty. I was wild and pretty, and isn’t that just the perfect combination?