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Meghan Sours
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      I hold a fleeting moment as I tie back my daughter’s curls with a ribbon. She drifts through her own quiet thoughts, unaware of how swiftly her childhood is passing. Her growth is like water in my hands, both precious and impossible to hold. I know there will come a day when she no longer needs me for the simple things, like tying back her hair. So, I treasure these small, ordinary rituals, these threads of connection woven between us. Perhaps, one day, she will treasure them too.
      After finally catching up on sleep and taking time to reflect, I’m filled with gratitude for this past weekend. I was so nervous though, that I didn’t realize until after the event that I hadn’t taken a single picture! Thank you to @emilyfossumart for this lovely walk-through of the finalists; what an honor to be surrounded by such masterful work. A massive congratulations to @frances_bell_paintings on the Draper Prize (I knew it would be you!).
      For the past ten years, I’ve been applying to the @the_portrait_society International Portrait Competition. Sifting through my email archives, I found a decade’s worth of rejections. But this year was different. On my birthday, of all days, I got a phone call. And instead of answering with any semblance of decorum, I immediately burst into tears.
      My hands search for something to hold when they should have cradled the weight of new life. If I let go of myself or my daughter, I might fall to pieces. Clouds gather in mourning, when a new chapter should have dawned. My firstborn clings to me, in both comfort and protection of her mother, which a child should never have to do. She clings also in hopeful need, but I turn away to my own secret sorrow. I carried life…then death inside of me. I was responsible for my children’s wellbeing and ultimately failed at what it means to be both a woman and a mother.
      My family made a big move this summer. We uprooted our home of twelve years in beautiful, rugged Utah to move east. It was a painful decision. I remember how God perfectly planned our path out west so I could mentor under William Whitaker. @bryanoyo found family at @waldenmiddleschool . Our daughter was born there and says “moun’ains” and “pellows” with a proper Utahn dialect. A remnant of my heart will always be in the valley beneath the shadow of Timpanogos.
      Sad beige family. Merry Christmas!
      My heart and muse, happy birthday!
      Another recent commission. “Joanna,” 16x 12,” Charcoal and white chalk.
      A recent portrait commission, charcoal and white chalk ➿
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