"Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play."
“Like the young man in the poem, I found myself in a similar state one spring. It was a sunny April morning, and the shadows of dried Lunaria, resting on my window sill, fell across my drawing table. I stood in the doorway awhile, fascinated as I watched the subtle shifts of light and shadow upon the clean white flat surface. Memories of my mother, who had passed away thirty years ago flooded into my mind and I was overwhelmed. It was as if each shifting shadow shape contained a memory of her with its borders. I knew I had to try to capture those shapes before they disappeared. Grabbing a stack of drawing papers, I spent the next two weeks creating a series of Lunaria shadow drawings. The drawings stopped with the spring rains. This drawing is the last in the series.”
— Jayne Lawrence
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