62 - STREAKS OF SUNLIGHT

STREAKS OF SUNLIGHT

21 x 28 ¾ inches

(Memories of our milk barn)

Our milk barn smelled of sweet aromas of fresh milk and musty hay intensified by warm streaks of sunlight. I was mesmerized by the light and shadow of the barn interior. This is one of my earliest memories of the strong contrast of emotions that I felt, but could not touch. Clearly, the light became stronger when surrounded by the dark.

Bossie, our only milk cow, was like part of our family—I thought of her as my pet. She had large brown eyes and long lashes. When only four years old, while dodging swooping swallows in the milk barn, I tried to milk her while balancing on Dad’s three-legged milking stool. The treasured milk was for my doll that wet when she was bottle-fed. Bossie was huge—she could have easily sent me flying with one quick kick, but she was patient as I fumbled to milk her.

Now, as an artist, I am keenly aware of light and dark interacting with each other in rhythm.

Often I would climb the loft ladder for further exploration. Lost in the thrill of independence, I ignored Mom and Dad’s warning of the danger of the brittle hayloft floor. Oh so gently, I moved forward with light flowing steps, so as not to snap the old, rickety floorboards. The crackling sounds of the shifting floor as I inched along kept me alert—I became acutely aware of my surroundings. The hay dust, stirred up by each step, danced in the streaks of sunlight that came pouring through the cracks of the walls.