That's my piece in the center, the girl with the bow atop her head, the suggestion of a panther's powerful leg and torso across her delicately sculpted center. The red dot on the wood block signifies "sold"—to me. I enjoyed the details of so many of the pieces, but I kept coming back to this one. Maybe it was the sweet bow that reminded me of the way my own mother used to tie ribbons in my hair when I was a child. And the power of the panther at rest. This piece spoke to me, and happily, I answered.
Janice taught our girls art for ten years, and that is how we came to know each other. Our two daughters were there last night, both of them exhausted from a long school week, and sort of laugh-happy, dissolving into giggles over everything. Janice and I watched them from the next room, delighting in the way they still play like they did when they were little, spilling across one another, like puppies we used to say.
Eventually, they both fell asleep on the couch, entwined the way they have never stopped being since they met in first grade. They were born ten days apart, the same year. Their mothers were born five days apart, the same year, but on opposite sides of the world, Janice in Durban, South Africa, me in Kingston, Jamaica. We see in these details, and the distance overcome, the assurance that our two families were meant to slip into easy comradeship and become fast friends.