Expectations

Who didn't meet their parents' expectations? Raise your hand!

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Every parent wants the best for his or her child, but not everyone is able to step out of their own way to see what is right and good for their child. It is very easy to miss the moment when you should stop reprimanding and lecturing your child, because you are facing a mature adult and not a snotty child. For parents, we are always children, which is quite obvious. Nevertheless, they sometimes have an image of their children in their minds that has nothing to do with reality. It is a creation they make for their own needs.

A creation made out of expectation, hope and deep faith.

An image that has so little to do with reality that it creates a barrier between the parent and the beloved child. A barrier which, when nurtured by insinuations, silences and silent anger, begins to widen. It turns into a deep sinkhole of anger and sadness. If we are not sufficiently attentive, it will turn into a ravine that cannot be bypassed. A crater over which we can no longer build a bridge. The shores are too precarious and sandy.

So perhaps we should get out of our heads for a moment. Let us get rid of fictional sons and imaginary daughters. Pink glasses may be worn to colour reality a little, but let us not wear them all the time. Self-improvement usually means living up to our own expectations. But what if our expectations of ourselves and our parents' expectations of us are completely different?

What if every time we hit a crossroads we have to tear ourselves apart internally, because instead of just choosing for ourselves we have to choose what 'should be chosen'? How thick is the umbilical cord between us still?? How much of our movements are our own?

How much of ourselves is in us? Or a fraction? Or half and half? More mum or more dad?

As I get older, I notice more and more of my parents' characteristics in me. Even though I moved away from home at a very young age, even now I use similar sentence structures, hum the same melodies under my breath, my gestures are lifelike from my parents.

And my determination to be 'self-made' human blurs, dissolves. I feel that my efforts to be 'someone more' or even 'someone else', have come to nothing. Even though I live in a different country, a different reality - from time to time I feel the threads guiding my movements. How is this possible?

Independence also means detachment. But is it possible to be part of and to be a separate entity at the same time? How much inner conflict can one bear?

About the drawing

My parents are not very fond of my crude drawings, especially if there is more nudity or, heaven forbid, gore:) However, they really like my series with the dancers. I think these are the first drawings of mine that they really liked. I gave them two pieces with dancers, and when I visited them, my Mum asked for a drawing of a dancer again (a woman for a change).

I tried to document the stages of the work as usual, but at the family home I have neither an easel nor a good background for drawing - so the light in each picture is quite dramatically different. I hope you will forgive me for this:)

How are you my dear Hivers?
What's new?

Yours,
Strega Azure

I used pencils: 6B, 4B, 2B, 4H, 7H.

Reference Photo

Drawing & pics are my authorship if not stated otherwise,
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