From my desk, this painting is in my line of sight. It sits atop our kitchen cabinets. My eyes drift to it when I'm thinking about something I'm writing or want to relieve my eyes from looking at my laptop screen. It's almost four years old, but I can remember the space I was in as I painted it. There's no distance between now and then in my memory.
Like a photo can instantly transport us, art can hold a space and time portal open for us.
A lot of my work is intuitive, which means (for me) that I often don't start with an end in mind. This piece was different. I didn't have a vision for what I wanted the painting to look.
I did see the journey and conversation I wanted to have while working.
I was filled with thoughts of processing how life goes, regardless of whether it happens as we want it to.
Most immediately on my mind was Dad. When I was working on this, he was living the last months of his life. It was a difficult season of partnering with Mom to make the best decisions we could for him. It was challenging and painful for all three of us. And in the middle of dealing with it, I was still processing and grieving what I thought might, could, and should have been. There are moments when I think on it that I still feel anger for the injustices that were heaped on my mom and dad over his last years, months, and days. Even so, I'm (mostly) at peace with it. And, I'm grateful knowing Dad is at peace.
As I've been getting more into my artwork again, I had an idea that grief wouldn't be a part of my themes moving forward.
But, I'm starting to suspect it's inescapable. To be open to what's possible, beautiful, generative, and hopeful, I must feel my griefs of all sizes.
With creativity and hope - we continue.
Janece
