Not long ago, and a lifetime ago, my kids were glued to me (and each other) like barnacles on a whale. Mothering three young children felt like a Sam Gilliam painting with one vivid colour bleeding into the next. We were fused together with an adhesive of bodily fluids, love and survival. Blues blurred with yellows and purples and greens to the effect of something chaotic and serene, still and wild, rich, joyful, intense and consuming. “My drape paintings are never hung the same way twice. The composition is always present, but one must let things go, be open to improvisation, spontaneity, what’s happening in a space while one works.” Mothering three older children still feels like a Sam Gilliam painting, only my perspective is shifting.