She took a look around, taking in all the new art work. It hangs on the walls, and stands propped against surfaces. For me it is prolific. I do not usually produce that amount of work in such a short period of time. I stood quietly behind her. I was proud of my work. I would not have brought her into the studio if I wasn’t. She was quiet. Too quiet. She shakes her head. “They are sad”. I glanced around me in the sun drenched room. I looked over each of my pieces. I saw a glimmer of what she saw. I did not see it. How could I? My life is sad these days. I could not see my suffering I had laid bare on my art. I am that sick? I am that depressed that the art I am producing is mirroring my inner feelings and I cannot even “see” that? I just stood there quietly thinking. My heart sunk just a bit. Where I saw beauty, she saw illness. Is anything clear? Is the lens I am looking through unfocused? The depression shifting the focus and making my world appear quite different than everyone else sees it? I am just sad and confused. I love my work. I do not set to work to put my sadness on paper. I just don’t see it. I know I should not let her reaction throw me, yet is has. Guess my mother still holds much power, even if I see her so little these days.