Sarah Brady

Sarah Brady.  So many places to start, with Sarah--but she posted this duck on her Irish Soda Bread site--so why not? First, it's modest and appealing, but there's a touch of edge in the way she's turned its head--very much like Sarah herself. And you can see she loves these creatures, human and otherwise.

We met when she started my ED11A drawing class--that was Fall 2009, and as it turned out, the last time I did the course--so Sarah's presence was very fitting. She was a good drawer throughout, but the final project, Ancestral Realm, was the one that really engaged her. An Irish family on the slopes of Mount Shasta--that was Sarah's growing up. American, of course, but her Irish roots were close--the Soda Bread came from her mom (and her grandmother prior) both of whom figured in the wonderful set of drawings she made. The women's side--not exclusively, Sarah often spoke of her father, too--but it was the recipes and the cooking and the home-bound part of her past--a Shasta cabin in the rain, the muddy roads down to Redding for school--the Irish Soda bread--these were Sarah's anchor. Very far from my own realm, but we connected immediately--maybe because I immediately appreciated the strength of Sarah's own sense of connection. Which she later called "the sacred qualities of everyday life." That pretty much covers it for me--said so simply and so beautifully--so like Sarah.

After the semester she made the trip to Ireland. There were relatives and family places--her notebooks are filled with Sarah's wonderful drawings--but again, what you feel most is the connection. The necessity of being there. Which also means the necessity of just being.

I have many many Sarah stories, maybe because we did share so many things. (They're part of my treasure!) Like the Thursday evenings after class, when I'd give her a lift back to Lothlorien. We'd drive down Piedmont at 10:30pm,  past all the re-founded fraternities and sororities--their participants out on the street in party clothes, some with drinks in hand, moving in pairs and trios and clusters towards the un-designated tour buses parked on the circle at Channing--to be whisked off somewhere into the night. I saw Sarah watching, through the window of my ancient VW bus--we both felt that this was foreign territory. "Fort Apache," I said to her, "that's where we're heading. Get you through all this, M'am..."

Sarah smiled--she knew what I meant--but I think she also saw the people just outside...


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