Our sweet calico lived to be 17 years old, pretty good for a cat. My husband, Mark, already had Wilma, before I moved in with him. That’s something that attracted me to him , his love for animals. Wilma was a very affectionate cat with a beautiful, long, silky, coat. She adopted me right away by taking residence on my lap and purring up a storm. Years later, on the night before she died, she climb onto my lap and fell asleep. I didn’t want to move her. Her body was so frail at this point and we knew she wouldn’t be around much longer. I slept all night on the couch in an effort not to disturb her. She died the next morning. My heart aches when thinking about losing a beloved pet.
Mark, who is also a pretty good photographer, shot a photo of her several years ago while she sat in the sunshine that was streaming in through the window on a cold winter’s day. I always loved that photo. So Wilma became the subject of my second collage that used magazine paper as paint. For my early collages, I cut every piece. Now, I mostly rip the paper.
Some my art looks better when seen from a distance. I don’t know if that is a good or bad thing. “Wilma” is one that looks better from a distance of ten feet or so. The right side gets a little funky close up, but makes sense farther away.