My parents.

By Paul D Robertson

Oil on canvas, 165 x 100 cms.

My mother does not have me in her arms but my sister and this was painted from a photo from around 1970. They are standing in front of a church that is an architectural travesty and I believe has been torn down. Next to them is their white cortina.

They didn't know what the hell they were doing, like you, if you have children, or hey even if you don't - my father was 23 or 24 at most...? I am 36 now and I still don't have a clue.

But they were an ideal of parenthood, of familial love. They knew that if they loved us ENOUGH, we may, eventually, love ourselves. I cannot imagine having parents who gave more of themselves and their lives. I cannot imagine any parent coping and loving through what became our childhoods, with more humanity, dignity, compassion and wisdom.

I think now that I am no longer being told that I cannot paint by a bitter academic, that I should finish this piece.

Yes.