grief. a familiar friend. (journey series reflection...8 years later)

When I first conceptualized the Journey Series, I did not know where this road would lead. No pun intended. If you look closely at my work, most pieces have a path cut through them. Intentionally, I want you, the viewer, to experience stepping into something. What that something is…well…that’s for you to decide.

What I did not know when creating the series was how much I had not grappled with, how many emotions I had left out, or really, how I bypassed myself on the way to purpose. On the way to the bright side. I did not hold space for grief, anger, or sadness. Perpetually looking up, I missed the road in front of me.

I tend towards melancholy. You wouldn’t know it if you met me. Funny isn’t it? A state of being I am comfortable soaking in would miss something so large as grief.

Many of us look for the best in bad situations. Tell ourselves it will be used for good. Someone will benefit. Maybe even us.

But we miss something. On preemptively deciding to make the best of a bad situation, we miss our own unfolding.

I missed it.

For years.

But, now, with time and attention spent on the very state and emotions I neglected for so long, I am seeing it.

I was afraid to grieve. I was afraid to start. If I did, I was 1000% sure it would swallow me whole. I would never recover. I told my counselor this one day. And I believed it.

For me, grief has been a slow dawning (or setting). It has come in bits. Pieces. One tear at a time. It didn’t happen in the flood I thought would drown me, but a soft Irish rain.

It hasn’t swallowed me whole. But it hasn’t left me either. Maybe this is a comfort. Maybe this is me being ready to let it stay as long as it needs to. Like a dear, old, kindred friend.

And I am leaving the door open. It is now welcome in my soul. To come and go as it pleases.

So back to the Journey Series. I thought about rewriting their stories. To retell the narrative with this new understanding.

But.

To do so would discount the place I have come from. We can only operate out of what we know. So I am honoring that place, that girl, those pieces.

There is a sense in which the Journey Series is not finished telling their stories. Eight years since their entrance into the world, new life is being breathed into them…or maybe it’s the whole life they wanted to begin with.

Something is brewing. A wonderful thundercloud building to a crescendo. It hasn’t fully taken form, but I know it’s there. And its story is waiting ever so patiently to be told.

journey 5

The sun is setting and the clouds are but the master’s touch in the glorious sky.

That sun, which once shone so bright, has picked up its full glory again. It illuminates all. You are coming out of the forest. The darkness. Peace is abiding.

Take these last few steps slowly; or run the last leg if you like. It matters not. We all respond to how our hearts lead. Some stand on the edge and breathe deeply. Thankful for the end as well as the beginning. Some run into the sunset…chasing its glory and beauty. Run on, friend. Don't stop.

All the things you have learned through this journey. All the moments. All the pain and suffering. There is beauty in strife and struggle. The lesson of perseverance. Refinement of character. It was doing good work for you…did you feel it?

You have reached the end. Maybe it has been hard. Maybe refreshing. Maybe it is preparation for something on the horizon.

Whatever it has spoken to your heart, know that you aren't in this thing called life alone. There are those waiting to walk alongside… if you only invite them.

journey 4

There it is. Just shining down. Stand and bask in it. In those glorious rays. Gaze into the beauty. The sun breaks and is parting the clouds. Breathe in the fresh air…the one right after the rain; the storm. Can you feel it? Smell it?

A land made new.

Maybe you feel a sense of sadness…like mourning. Even amid the beauty. There is the loss of something. Of certainty. You knew how to walk in the valley you just came out of…in fact, you became quite good at it. Now nothing is certain.  

Stand like a child on the top of that first crest. Look at the sky. What do you see? Do you see those clouds taking shape? Begin again like a child…full of awe and wonder.

Small steps.

This road is hopefully a long, beautiful walk through a land of renewal and strength. Each step gets a little more sure. Maybe there are still details you need to work out.

That’s ok. Let them be worked out.

journey 3

Before you can move on from that storm, there seems to be a melancholy that settles over you.

The path is soggy and bleak.

This can be the hardest part. The one where everything seems hopeless. Gray. Lonely. Oh the loneliness…it can be suffocating at times. No one could possibly understand.

But what if.

What if, in this season, this grayness, that we allowed someone in? Or spoke up. What if it isn't about us? What if it touches just one person? Or we allow just one person to touch us.

Could this change the course? The outcome?

journey 2

You see it coming. Just beyond the horizon. It’s moving fast and sure.

Another storm.

Some you watch build; some take you by surprise. You can’t outrun them…it’s part of life. No matter how they hit, the devastation will be the same: the disappointment of lost dreams, years of work, or a relationship.

These storms are all about how you weather them. EVERYONE is either coming out of, going into, or just on the brink of a storm.

What do you do when they hit? Will it affect life as you know it? Certainly. 

No matter the storm, there is always hope on the other side. You can see the brightness. If you can just hold on a little longer, friend, I promise you will see it.

Sometimes cleaning up the aftermath is all you can focus on…keep going. The sunshine will break again.

journey 1

There it is… a new horizon. Fresh, certain, full of hope.

Can you feel it?

The sun is bright in your eyes. Maybe you can’t see that next step, but you know it’s going to be good. You are about to make the most of this opportunity.

The road is barely visible through the rays. That’s ok. Just keep walking. Sometimes that path isn’t the visible one…the “every detail laid out” one. It requires a lot of faith. One foot in front of the other. Trust in the things unknown.

The sky seems to speak of things yet to come. All you can do is look up. Everything else is in shadow.

Just keep looking up.

behind the scenes (with a little perspective)

Well. Things change, don’t they?

As I have grown and adapted as an artist, my work has morphed…transitioned…evolved. It has gone from painting the places I love and cherish to a more universal perspective. One that includes all of us. Who isn’t awed and touched by the sky? Who isn’t overwhelmed by the vastness of color, dimension, and movement? Quickly changing. Shocking. Connecting.

I have found that, in speaking the language of skies, I have been able to communicate pain, sadness, joy, hope, struggle…perspective. Holding all these things with overflowing hands.

My skies bloomed out of heartbreak in my life. Through a time I still don’t fully understand. A time I am now learning to grieve.

But what this time taught me, and as I have reflected on it for years, we all have some tragedy in life. We have something that shatters the world as we know it. Redirects our path. And, if we are willing, allows for a shift in our perspective. Greater empathy. To ourselves and others.

But the work is hard. Ever-changing. Multi-layered.

Like art.

So, if you are willing, I would love to go with you on this journey. I will share with you the stories of the paintings. Where my heart was and what I hoped would draw us together. These will be short and simple reflections. Use them as you will.

Know you aren’t alone.