I had seen him on tv in bygone times

Finding his art entrancing in my childhood

He seemed a little mad and I liked that

Wanting to understand

My mother became my oracle of knowledge

She also worked herself as an artist

Teaching me together with discussions aplenty

I came to know him a little

 

Fast forward into the noughties

Persistence of Memory seen small as life at last

Melting clocks in MOMA New York

Perhaps expectation was too strong

 

This man was my childhood hero

Like him I have always done my own thing

Getting out of my own way when I created

I sense he did the same

 

Mother’s Day ten years ago seeking inspiration

Saying no to cut flowers that wither and die

What better than something truly from the heart?

After Salvador it is then, this gift of art

 

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