My husband was once a child in Hungary. His family, like countless others, was injured by forces beyond their control including World War II, the Holocaust, forced labor and revolution. All they wanted was to live and love within their culture but what they got was death, loss, discrimination, rejection, disruption, and in some cases, an opportunity to build again within Hungary, New Zealand, Canada, Israel or America. Hooray for countries when they open their arms to people in need of help.
We have been meeting with distant cousins and catching up on family history. Since I do not understand Hungarian, I pull out my sketchbook after dinner for quick sketches that help me listen visually. The controlled facial expressions of this trio contrast to what their hands express and to me communicate the futility of trying to make meaning out of what happened to their family.
This is a pencil and watercolor sketch on watercolor paper.