Denise J Howard

While emptying almost 70 years of history out of my family’s 130 year old farm house, I found the baby crib in a dirty, dilapidated attic room where most of the plaster and wallpaper was water-stained, faded, cracked or fallen. The crib was pristine, though, because it had been lovingly wrapped and preserved in anticipation that it would be used again someday. The juxtaposition of the light and the crib with the terrible condition of the room became a visual metaphor for how childhood memories remain bright and clear while in reality the world ages and crumbles. Or a metaphor for lost childhood, or for a lost child. You get to decide what it means to you.

Colored pencil and wax pastel on Fabriano Artistico watercolor paper

Faber-Castell Award for Excellence, Colored Pencil Society of America Explore This! 20, 2024
2nd Place Drawing, 28th Arts North International, Hopkins, MN, 2023