-

 Jutta in 1959 

In this photo my mother is 31 years old. I was six then… 


As a child, I am convinced that my mother is the most beautiful woman in the world.  Looking back, I was right. We were an outsider family of very little means in the fifties and sixties. And in very homogenous West German postwar society we stuck out on all accounts. But what a beautiful mama I had – I felt pride. We did not have money or things, but we had poetry, music and art in our home. Everything was handmade, clothes, furniture, lamps, toys, gifts. So different than anywhere else. Mama was the craftswoman and artist, Papa the engineer and builder. We lived in a different world. Till the very end Mama was highly original, unique, full of creative projects and ideas. She lives on in the many things her hands made, and touched…. She lives on in me… as my ancestor. I bow to her in great gratitude and admiration. Her birthday is today July 21 – and I am celebrating her!


One of Jutta’s many woven wall hangings 

 

Her necklaces with hand rolled and colorfully hand glazed ceramic beads (see in photo below) – I have three and wear them often. They feel soft, comforting. And people will comment on them often. The other day on the farmer’s market, when the young man at the mushroom stand asks about my necklace, I reply: “My mother made it, hand rolled beads… I like wearing it, the beads feel good, warm, reminding me of her.” He smiles sweetly and with an East European accent pensively remarks: “You can feel her fingertips touching you…” For a moment, time stands still, I smile back and nod; I am stunned that he understands. We are together in a reverie; he pauses, we linger... Does he remember his mother? His eyes dreamy… but there is a line of several customers waiting.   

  

Mama at age 78 – she would have turned 94 this year

 Throughout this blog you can find pictures of her various art, like her small enamel figures in entries of May 15 & March 10, 2022, and Dec 24, 2021.  


More here about Jutta: 

https://karinalandriver.blogspot.com/2021/07/today-is-my-mothers-birthday-she-would.html 

Comments

aysha said…
She is beautiful... and her art is incredible. I can see this window into the magical world you inherited
July 22, 2022 at 9:53 PM
Karina said…
i so related to her art always... in fact i was and am crazy about it, my two sibling were luke warm, i sold many pieces in a fashion & jewelry store i had... she was born a woman at the wrong time and suffered for it, that's why we must always live fully what our mothers for any reason could not fully live at their times. We inherit their strengths and unfulfilled dreams, so ready to burst forth into life and the world – you know what i am talking about, Aysha!
July 22, 2022 at 10:56 PM
Alex K said…
Your mother is beautiful-in that photo I see someone lively, curious and fun. I can see the legacy of your parents in you with your creativity and unique and courageous view of the world around you. That episode with the young man at the mushroom stand touched my heart-to me it illustrates how you live with your soul close by inviting others who can see to join.
July 24, 2022 at 4:51 PM
Fern said…
I could also feel time stopping thru the words spoken at the Farmers Market. What a powerful moment. It is in these moments that we understand the power of the present....as it wraps around our memories from the past. I love it when you wear that necklace, now when I see you wearing it I will know the story behind it! Thank you Karina for sharing!
July 26, 2022 at 7:30 AM
nicole gervacio said…
magical origins of Karinaland
August 1, 2022 at 11:46 AM
nicole gervacio said…
These photos of you mom are so beautiful, I love seeing the resemblance of you in her and her artwork! It's always a pleasure to hear you share memories and stories about her when we come upon something she made in your house. It's like learning about Bob through his notebooks, handwriting, lists, typewritten letters, and papers, but with your mom it's soft colorful paint, sculpted roundish objects, fabrics, small treasures, and hand-made...your stories & memories fill in the life around these objects.
August 1, 2022 at 11:52 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

-
Image
  Immigration On Friday morning of September 20, I am spending a couple of hours for my naturalization interview in the federal building  on 630 Sansome Street in San Francisco  that houses the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. Then later at 1 pm, in the oath ceremony, I am reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Standing, holding up my right hand like everyone else, repeating the words after our master of ceremonies, I am engulfed in a chorus of immigrants’ voices from all over the world. Out of maybe 80, only two are Caucasian. The man leading us through the 20 minutes ceremony, is most likely a judge, but without his robe. He is an elegant, kind, and personable elder. We can hear the genuineness in his voice, and we are genuine, too. As we pledge allegiance to this country, the English sentences might ring slightly different for each of us. In another minute we will be citizens of the United States. Something in me is expanding. I am swearing to be a responsible an...
Read more
-
Image
  Last Dance with Uncle Oak This time, to honor the loss of another member of my ancient live oaks, I want to climb into the tree. Like I used to do 32 years ago, move, touch, feel – suspended in the air, resting on bark, sensations to be remembered. Perhaps documenting it? I ask around last minute, and find a good match in photographer  Rebecca Weinstein  to take stills of my last dance with old Uncle Oak. Once my naked feet touch the rough bark, a dynamic joy starts spreading through my body and limbs. The surprising urge to elongate myself within the safety of his sturdy arms. Next morning in a different light, I dress for another chance of closeness, envisioning my smallness to be captured. The freedom to grow into a tree, become tree , get an oak’s view, blend well, and disappear eventually. Uncle Oak, has been leaning for decades, growing northward horizontally, reaching far over into the neighbor’s yard. Now that Mama Oak has left, his malaise is more apparent...
Read more
-
Image
  “I Wanted All Of Society To Be A Witness.” These days, when tears spring up in the eye so quickly, so readily like tiny wild strawberries, each time I know the heart is touched whether I want it or not – the silvery breathy voice of the young science writer, the shy bowing of the singer receiving her applause, the sweet smile of Cecile after an exquisite concert, the fiercely angry voices of French admirers of Gisèle Pelicot. And then of course: the grandson, one arm around his 72-year-old grandmother’s shoulder as she gives her brief speech to the press after a grueling months-long public trial of rape. He admiringly glances at her, with utter calm, concentration and confidence, soft support in his face and body language, nothing restless, over bearing, pitying – only admiration, respect and love. And I burst into tears! This rape story is not about a celebrity, starlet, beauty queen, but about a retired manager, married mother and grandmother, having been drugged unconscious an...
Read more