It is not necessarily representative in that logistics play a large part in determining what is documented and in what order --as to location and size of several hundred paintings and due to the current storage of probably more than a thousand prints and drawings. In addition, a number of works were given away to family and friends and many were auctioned off in fundraisers over the years; some effort is required to locate them and or to properly photograph them.
For that reason what has been done is representative of my mother's work but may not include some of her best and it does include unfinished initiatives over her last few years; documentation will be on-going.
Eventually the Archive will be organized as simple as possible to view either the paintings or her prints in an index. There are references, sketches, trials and errors, ideas piled up and put into boxes. It will probably be too difficult to organize by decade as it is simply not always possible to determine when some works were completed.
My mother was born into a world in which the auto and then the telephone were entering daily life. In New England, the population was not large and people seemed either relatives or friends of friends. She went from a world in which things were made to last to one of built-in-obsolescence, multiples, mega perspectives. Her 'home town' didn't change much, but there were huge population increases in the region so that what she would at one time adventure out to find had ventured in as part of a community 1,000+ times larger. She was keen about it all. Never lost a beat. Was always up for the show.
My mother's pursuit of 'art' --and mode --was courageous in the 1930s, 40s and 50s . . . . then it became a common reality, multi-faceted, highly populated, and career-orientated. She did what she could from the dining room table at the age of 92 after giving up her studio . . . was it ok for her to paint? Her one place of exploration, process and reference . . . . the studio . . . . had not been temporary but something forever. She looked at me incredulously as we, together, moved her prints from her work table into archival boxes. She couldn't get up to the studio, after that . . . . Could she go into the cellar and see her work . . . . ? Her work was on the iPad and a screensaver on the TV . . . . What really counted was doing it . . . . Her last painting was blossoms drifting into a current.
Holly Larner