December 21, My 57th Birthday 2008
When I was seven, my parents took us to Spain.
I saw my first bullfight and the matador was gored and died.
It was a very small venue and all hell broke out. The bull got out of the ring and we ran up to the top layer of benches which wasn’t very high and waited as the picadors tried to
direct the bull out of the small wooden fence. It was bedlam.
When my mom found out she had cancer I did a painting of
the matador being gored. Now that it is two years since she died, I thought I would do a painting of the matador doing a successful pass and the bull not challenging.
I am at peace with my mom’s death - though very sad.