Maternity Notes. For a decade, I could not draw my children. It felt as though a spell had been cast upon us.

Every time I opened old photographs, I would dissolve into tears for vanished years, anxious over lost hard drives carrying thousands of irretrievable memories. And somewhere inside that grief lived another quiet despair: after ten years of motherhood, I still could not bring order to the archive of our lives.

The drawings became a way to reconcile past and present, to gather the scattered fragments into something tender and lasting.