Visual Lullaby

This Present Moment

2011-08-17T18:40:00.000-07:00

I have spent a great deal of time over the past few months re-considering my goals as an artist and have gradually realized how far I've deviated from my original intent for Visual Lullaby. More and more, I'm recognizing my inclination leans more towards message-centered art rather than any career/commercial-centered ambitions. I had hoped to draft an artist statement explaining why, exactly, Visual Lullaby? What started it, and where had I hoped to go? Ever increasingly, I find myself convinced that the most destructive disease in America is not cancer or heart disease or AIDS, but loneliness. The culture of "I" and individuality has more often than not created the scenario of infinite islands drifting ever further apart in a vast sea of insecurity, arrogance, fear, and a misguided instinct for self-preservation. I had originally envisioned Visual Lullaby as a vehicle for building bridges between those islands, to create an opportunity for creative collaboration and remind people that even trees that stand alone often have roots that connect themselves underground. I wanted to focus on the concept of lullaby - that mystical portal to the world between waking and sleeping wherein lies a space safe enough to dream any possibility and imagine any impossibility as reality, yet still exists outside a realm where the body succumbs to fatigue and passivity, a space wherein action is not yet impeded.

Unfortunately, the circumstances of my life have been very different this year than I might have hoped or expected. It is with mixed relief and great sadness, therefore, that I write this instead. I am for the present backing away from Visual Lullaby. Building a new foundation for Tadpole and I has been consuming all my time and energy, and as this is what I really need to focus on right now, it leaves nothing else for any other endeavors. This doesn't mean that I won't still post projects from time to time. It just means I can't work on anything regularly enough right now to make or keep the dialogue Visual Lullaby had hoped to spark viable. The events that shook us several months ago have apparently impacted the little one more than we initially realized, and we both require a little intervention. I need to be present and supportive for her as much as possible during her waking hours, but that can't happen if I'm running myself down during her non-waking hours, as has been the case lately. I deeply apologize to anyone who will be adversely affected by this decision. I love you all dearly and continue to be grateful for the blessing of friendship that has been so abundantly revealed to us during this hardship.

Back to the Start

2011-03-08T17:43:00.000-08:00

Dear friends, it has been so long since I've been in touch, and life has brought many new things since that time, as well as renewed some very old things. My husband badly injured his back, which has required me to rejoin the traditional workforce. As my traditional work history is rather laughable, finding employment was certainly an amusing adventure! But I am pleased to say that after casting my net with several temp agencies, I was fortunate enough to land a job I love amongst a great group of people I have quickly grown to adore. So now I earn my keep as a data entry clerk by day, and am very pleased to report that all the piano lessons have finally paid off. I haven't entirely given up on the art scene, but I have switched gears a bit - I opened a second Etsy shop (www.thefaerytrove.etsy.com) selling handmade jewelry and home decor, a love of mine from well over a decade ago! - and have been very blessed with a couple private custom jewelry commissions from very dear friends. And... with the formation of a fabulous small press publishing company in Vermont (www.branchhillpublications.com) by two amazing, amazing people, I have been given the opportunity to return to my roots by painting book covers. I say back to my roots because book covers were exactly what started me seriously on my artistic journey. I was a writer first, and took up art as a means to illustrate my stories. In middle school, shortly after I started laying out my fantasy novel, I happened upon Dave Duncan's "Handful of Men" series, which sported the most gorgeous, intricately designed covers I have ever seen, and since that time I've been hooked. My first attempts were more cut and paste layout sketches for stories I was working on at the time, but I always hoped one day I would be able to paint my own covers. Well... now I am very excited at the prospect of being able to do so for other actual accomplished writers!
For the first book, I was commissioned to design some promotional concept art for a beautiful collection of poetry by the very talented wordsmith Phibby Venable titled "The Wind is My Wine" (please do kindly check it out here: The Wind is My Wine), with really gorgeous interior illustrations by artist Mel Stevens. Needless to say, I am excited for my official signed copy to arrive! Anyways, here is my feeble attempt to capture some of the freedom and expression only Phibby's elegant words could truly convey, and I certainly hope I gain more competence as time goes by.
In other news, my dear Tadpole is (much too quickly) approaching the two year mark and growing so very quickly! Her vocabulary is rapidly expanding and now includes several animal sounds as well as the essential "mommy", "daddy", "hi", and "more", although I must confess she has commanded a mastery of "No!" much sooner than I had anticipated (and rather hoped). Nonetheless, she remains my little microcosm of everything good in the universe, and we are so very, very blessed to have her here. And I think that covers everything.

As Days Go By

2010-06-03T18:59:00.000-07:00

Days seem to fly by now and I scarce know where they go. I can hardly believe my beautiful little girl is nearly a year old! She seems less like a baby everytime I look at her and more like a distinct individual living in a little body--quirky, lively, cheerful, with a sparkling humour and a smile that fills the room. I can't imagine what we ever did without her (well, except for maybe sleep in every once in a while!). She's amazing, but she does keep our hands pretty full, so I haven't been as productive artistically as I'd hoped. Nonetheless, I have managed to finish the Haitian relief commissions, so I thought I'd share those. The first is a pastel still life for an extremely dear friend back home. She is a very talented novelist with a very eccentric muse whose first book is being released in late summer or early fall. She's also a professional photographer, an avid consumer of coffee, and loves to play guitar, so when she described for me the image she wanted, I was rather excited. Thus ensued, "Where the Muses Dwell".
The second commission was much more challenging for me, even though it's more of a watercolor sketch than a full-blown painting. I'm not a landscape artist by any means, even though I enjoy looking at them, to be sure. I just figure nature is much better at putting in all those little details than I could ever be, and I think it's best left that way. However, the image I was asked to render happens to be one of my favorite photographs ever taken by husband. I had painted it previously with dissatisfactory results and always hoped to revisit it, so when the winner of the bid requested it, I thought now might be a good time. Well, I thought wrong! I sincerely hope the recipient likes what she receives, but as for me, I am content to admit the genre isn't for me and leave it at that!
On the whole I find myself increasingly dissatisfied with my current style. There's something too static about my method and nothing I create seems to have the spark of life I hope for. This isn't a bad thing, just a sign that I've grown complacent and it's time for me to move and grow. Next week will be spent prepping for June 12th's art fair in Edinburgh--if anyone's in the area, feel free to stop by and say hello! After that, it'll be straight back to the drawingboard, literally, experimenting with materials, styles, and methods. Hopefully I'll reemerge with something that feels more like me, something more worth sharing!

Dream

2010-04-16T17:19:00.000-07:00

I can't explain what about cutting and arranging tiny little pieces of paper thrills me so. Paintings may bore or frustrate me after a period of time until I am either inclined to put them away for a while or declare them finished, but I never tire of paper crafts. I suppose it's related somehow to my love of books and the book arts in general, the weaving of a truly good story. Flat illustrations and paintings make good windows through which to peer into a storybook world. But the building up of layers of paper into something three-dimensional seems to draw the fairytale through the window and into our actual physical space, much the way the expert crafting of words in a great novel does.
This particular papercut has its roots in a rather roughly executed watercolor collage from a decade ago. The original ideas actually centered on what it meant to be a woman, and the imagery centered on what I felt at the time comprised her true essence--something natural, wild, undeniably powerful and quietly strong, both familiar and mysterious, pure, earthly, and sacred. Only a small part survived when I constructed the new drawing this papercut is based on, but it is a topic I will undoubtedly continue to explore. I honestly don't know much about this woman's story, or what other grand adventures await her in and beyond this dream. There was just something so enigmatic about this particular moment in the dream, I felt myself continually drawn back. One thing that fascinates me about dreams is their ability to sometimes reveal more about a person's true nature than the events that occur in waking can. In dreams, seemingly disparate parts coexist harmoniously, however illogically. In our waking selves, it is not always so. We are made up of so many faculties with such varied functions that can seem so opposed that, combined with the constant barrage of images and competing, often contradictory information society throws at us, it can be easy to feel lost and fragmented. But in dreams, our rational selves are turned off just enough that our bodies and imaginations remember that all these faculties were naturally made to work together, and however briefly, all those disjointed pieces come together and reintegrate--into something strange, perhaps, but certainly into something splendid. No matter how ridiculously we might feel about it in the morning.

Awakening

2010-04-13T17:19:00.000-07:00

New tendrils stretch in the blush of sunrise
as strings of dewdrop pearls glimmer
on silken strands spread by faery hands
Whispering winds an ancient aire murmur,
the bitter cold stone of winter consuming
'til my spirit takes flight to vertigo heights
where leaves cascade in rustling showers
of golden greens muted against painted wings
fluttering graceful by through the azure sky,
and I surrender my soul to the embrace of spring...

April is National Poetry Month and I honestly can't think of a better time of year to honor one of writing's most historically romantic genres. Blossoms are stretching forth and opening, birds are singing, little critters scamper and frolic playfully as budding branches gently sway in warm, gentle breezes. Lawns once blanketed with snow are newly blanketed in green. The cold, hard ground is softening from the bitterness of winter and our hearts soften with it. Seeds long buried now spring forth in an explosion of color, and seeds of thought spring explosively from our imaginations as our emotions reawaken to the celebration of life around us. If this new season has planted a song in your heart, I strongly encourage you to write it down, whatever it is. The beauty of language and the written word is that they enable us, no matter how similar our experiences, to paint them vividly in colors and strokes that are entirely, uniquely our own. If you're looking for inspiration or just need an extra nudge, be sure to check out Key Publications Network, a highly supportive online community of fellow writers in all genres. Several poetry form workshops and inspiration prompts are currently running there in honor of National Poetry Month. And while you're at it, be sure to visit a couple of my personal favorite poets: HFU Poetry and A Musing Place. Have a wonderful spring!

Back in the Studio

2010-02-09T19:07:00.000-08:00

     So after a nearly eight month hiatus (read: maternity leave), I am finally back in the new studio and painting again. It's been a rather odd experience, half like coming home and half like greeting an old friend after a long absence and wondering whether we still have anything in common. I honestly feared that somewhere in the process of childbirth and rearing and adopting my new roles as master feeder and diaper changer it was possible that I would forget how to paint and wile away the hours staring at a blank sheet of paper trying to remember what on earth I'm supposed to do with it. Fortunately, I still had a couple loose ends to tie up, which has helped me ease back into things. Two highly productive days followed by a series of immensely frustrating and fruitless days (which left me with a flat forehead, a dented wall, and a killer migraine) quickly reassured me that the old process is still intact--ah yes, I may still be an artist after all. "Sky Woman" is finally complete (yea!) after quite a long journey, and I have just one more WIP to wrap up before moving on to a series of new projects (also yea!). So I'm pretty excited!
     I hope eventually to post some pictures of the new workspace when it's not in such a state of disarray, but for now I'll just upload the completed version of "Sky Woman".
     And thank you so much to the generous people that have contacted me about commission bids to raise money for Haiti! I'm going to continue taking bids for a while longer; if you'd still like to bid, you may either comment on the blog below, or contact me privately via mary@visuallullaby.org. The two highest bidders will receive customized art with the content and media of their choosing. Thanks!

Haitian Relief

2010-01-20T17:19:00.000-08:00

     Oh, I always dread the question, "Why does God let bad things happen to good (or poor, or helpless) people?" A long time ago someone very matter-of-factly gave my youth group the answer, "So other good people can help them". That answer has never sat well with me. How can a conscience justify why such a terrible tragedy would fall on some of the most helpless people on earth? Just so other people can earn their crowns? Is it because if bad things only happened to those we felt deserved it, no one would ever care? Can only the suffering and destruction of the innocent shock us enough to take a good look at our world and our lifestyle choices and try to make things right or at least make them better? I'm certain I don't know. I am heartened by how many people from so many nations around the globe have been rallying to bring assistance to those suffering from the effects of the earthquake in Haiti, but I am so, so saddened by the sheer number of lives devastated by one single force of nature and all its aftershocks.
     And feeling really helpless. With the economy here, I have absolutely no monetary resources to send aid. But I do still have two hands and they can still make art. I am starting by opening two commission slots. Anyone who would like a portrait or a painting from a personal photo or some illustration or fantasy image of your choosing, place a bid in the comment section or privately contact me. The two highest bids will be chosen and all proceeds will be donated to a local organization gathering supplies to send to Haiti, unless there's a special group you trust and specify that you'd rather see the money go to. No pornographic requests, please. If this goes well, I'll open more slots. Otherwise, feel free to visit my Etsy shop (link), where 25% of all digital print sales will be going to aid relief efforts in Haiti.
     And don't forget to pray. We may never see how much of an impact our simple petitions or good-willed thoughts make, but the collective voice of a people never goes unanswered. Stay well, dear friends.

Visual Research: Fae Dwellings

2009-11-22T19:14:00.000-08:00

     A couple years ago my husband, photographer Keith Yox, came across this fabulous little fungus while wandering with a camera through a local park. It was near sunset and light was glinting golden off beads of sap gathered on the underside. When he brought this photo home, my first thought was, "Wow! That would make an impressive home for a faery!" Thus ensued a new adventure for me in visual research and illustration--the hunt for natural forms that could comprise magical little homes. My husband's picture gave life to the first painting. But it wasn't long before my own camera started capturing fungus clusters of its own.
     I started the first of the "Fae Dwellings" series while I was going through a stained glass phase (which will most probably be revisited at a later time!). I'd been doing research on Dale Tiffany and certain Art Nouveau stained glass designs for a children's book project, and since I'd never really focused on linear work before, decided to give it a try. I really wanted the ink to mimic that old leading and play with salt, alcohol, and other materials to replicate some of Tiffany's more interesting glass textures. Unfortunately, I think the end result was more cartoonish than elegant and the luminosity and texture I had hoped for were lost. But on the whole, I still find the idea captivating.
     When I first started, I enjoyed the intrigue of stumbling upon these little dwellings as an outsider with no knowledge of the habitants, like an archaeologist stumbling upon living ruins. Who would populate such a dwelling? Could their phsyical form be guessed just by looking at what kind of structure they live in? Or are outside appearances completely deceiving? How would the inside look, what kind of decoration would it contain? Would we find a miniature version of our own suburban or urban lifestyles, just reinterpreted the forest way? Or would the mere condition of living in completely natural elements automatically denote a more sustainable way of living? What kind of stewardship or involvement would these creatures have with the environment around them? How much would the sheer difference in scale affet their concept of the world? What would it be like to live in something living? And how would it work, anyway? Would they be magical creatures whose magic kept their dwellings alive? Or would their fungus home follow its natural course and die, leaving them to regularly have to move and find a new place to live? How would that kind of semi-nomadism alter their culture and lifestyle?
     Of course, I have no answers to any of these questions, and if I ever meet one, I'll be sure to ask. But for now, it's fun just to paint and imagine!

Resource Photography: the Beauty of Autumn

2009-11-17T10:01:00.001-08:00

     I never appreciated autumn until I moved to the Midwest. The whole experience of the full cycle of seasons was lost to me growing up in Florida, where the only seasons are pre-summer, summer, extended summer, and a slightly less warm version of summer. Where all the leaves randomly turn brown in late December and fall off the trees in the same week, except for those on the orange trees in our backyard, which would of course be bearing fruit for the third time that year. Now I absolutely adore the fall. There's something uplifting about watching the natural world start over every year, shedding off dead weight in a glorious, multi-hued ritual of self-renewal before passing the winter in quiet reflection and anticipation of how it should be reborn come spring.
     The weather this weekend was unusually sunny and mild, so my husband and I headed down to Brown County to admire the changing foliage. Naturally, we both brought our cameras. Now, my husband is absolutely brilliant and captures the most beautiful art photography. I, on the other hand, am merely a resource photographer. I only use my camera as a research tool, a means to take notes for stories yet to be written by my paintbrush. Rather than framing a single aesthetic composition, I take a series of photographs to remind myself of a certain ambience I may have experienced, snapping the same thing multiple times but changing the lighting and area of focus each time. Then when I'm back in the studio, I'll weed through everything to decide what detail to discard and what I want to retain, but at least I have all the information present. And I rarely take a shot as a stand alone, something to be viewed and appreciated in and of itself. Instead, every photo I take acts as a potential backdrop, a stage for characters who have yet to arrive. I always ask myself, "Who would be standing there? What would they be wearing? What are their thoughts and expressions and postures as they gaze on the scenery I'm beholding?"
     Of course, my favorite game over the past couple years has involved looking for natural elements that could act as dwellings for little magical peoples. Any mushroom, rock formation, or tree crevice that looks like it could house a gnome or leprechaun, any little stream that could carry a leaf canoe ferried by a fairy gets photographed for my visual reference. And what better place to hunt for the dwellings of magical peoples and creatures than amidst the magical beauty of autumn?

Falling

2009-10-28T10:22:00.000-07:00

I was watching my four month old play around during tummy time today. She had a toy in her mouth and, in her excitement, fell to her side and rolled over, completely by accident. It's only the second time she's managed to flip herself from her stomach to her back. For the next several minutes she tried to deliberately repeat the event, but every time she felt the sensation of herself falling over, she would instinctively catch and stop herself. The same thing happened when she first attempted rolling onto her side. As long as she was distracted by a toy or some object she wanted to reach, she moved to her side smoothly and naturally. But if she focused on the act intentionally, each time she felt herself falling over, she would roll straight to her back, preventing her own success.

I once worked with a program director who taught middle school students how to defend themselves peacefully. He often opened with a discussion on walking, explaining how walking was just a series of falling forward. By constantly shifting what foot we fall forward on, we are able to get where we want without meeting the pavement. He then went on to show his students how by constantly falling into an opponent's blindspot while asking certain questions, they could nonviolently avoid a physical confrontation until their opponent was calmed down enough to talk it out instead.

All my life I've associated falling with failure. Falling off a bike was proof of a skill not yet mastered. The fallen state of man, falling from grace, falling short, falling from the top were all phrases I was taught growing up that somehow equated to failure. Even falling in love carried a negative connotation, since it implied a rash, superficial, soon-to-dissolve bond or union rather than the slow maturation of love. When I started art school, though, our professors encouraged us from day one to experiment with our media and techniques. We were taught to regard attempts that didn't work out quite the way we planned not as failures, but as opportunities to learn and try something new, to discover possibilities in our "mistakes" that would actually make future work even better. Sounds great in theory, but if only we were graded that way! When it came down to it, we were graded based on outcome more than effort, and an "F" on paper still translated as "failing" in the transcript and degree department, no matter how beneficial or enlightening the process may have been. Had I enough time in the completion of a project to dedicate to the whole experimental trial-and-error gig, I certainly would have. As it was, so many assignments and deadlines afforded only enough time to "get it right" the first try, so many of us opted to play it safe in the hope of a decent grade rather than risk complete failure in the pursuit of something phenomenal. It is only recently I've come to realize how much better an artist--how much better a person, even--I'd be now if I'd only given myself permission to fall from my usual way of thinking, to "fail" every now and then.

And now I watch my little one again. As she grows, she will certainly feel many pressures to succeed, avoiding so-called pitfalls and perceived failure at all cost. Undoubtedly, much of it will probably come from me. But watching her today, I found myself repeatedly thinking, "Just let yourself fall over, you'll be all right. I know you can do it!" I never realized before at how young an age nature tries to teach us that we can't move anywhere unless we first overcome our fear of falling.

From the Realm of Dreams

2009-10-13T19:16:00.001-07:00

"Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed."
~G.K. Chesterton

     I think children learn fairly early on that life isn't all sunshine and roses. As much as we try to shelter them--and ourselves--from the harsh reality of the fallen state of this world, the existence of suffering does not escape unnoticed by our little ones. The difference between them and ourselves is that children are unburdened by the rationality of the adult mind. Therefore, to children, there is no such thing as an impossible solution, no obstacle that is insurmountable, and ultimately they are able to retain faith in the truth so easy for so many of us to forget--that no matter what, good will always triumph over evil.
     Ever since I was a little girl, my mother warned me about my superbly active imagination and tried to quell my desire to write and draw fantasy. She was afraid too much time spent daydreaming would cause me to lose sight of the distinction between fantasy and reality. Oh, I knew the difference, all right. Fantasy was this fabulously beautiful place where no matter what dangers I faced, I always triumphed safely and courageously in the company of a handful of role model friends I had created for myself who would never abandon me, where everything was magical and adventurous and I could take full control of my destiny. Reality, on the other hand, sucked. Countless moves (oh the joy of military life) meant learning at a young age not to grow attached to the people I cared about because I'd only have to leave them again. Then my favorite grandfather died, my own father nearly died in an explosion a year later, my mom spent years battling one health issue after another, and my sister and I passed the majority of our childhood and adolescence listening to our parents bicker nonstop while dodging my father like the plague. And that was just at home. In the world at large, things were chaotic. Desert Storm was going on. There were famines in Africa, persecutions in China, the constant fear of Cold War remnants hanging over our heads, AIDS was a huge pandemic scare, ebola was soon to follow, and even without the dinnertime reminders, we were keenly aware of how many children in the world were starving. Oh yes, I knew the difference.
     So I ignored my mother's warnings and guarded my imagination as my most treasured possession. I think the most valuable lesson I learned over the years was using it not as a means to escape unpleasantries, but as a tool to evaluate my problems and face my fears. I couldn't control many of the situations in my life the way I could the fantasies I devised, but I realized that using fantasy as a construct for recreating my problems in a completely fictitious setting helped me separate myself from them enough to look at them objectively and arrive at solutions I wouldn't have otherwise. I often found myself asking "What would this character do in the same situation?"--and surprisingly found the answer was often very different from what my own impulse would have been, and often much better. Sometimes, I even discovered that what I had perceived as a problem really wasn't a problem at all.
     Nocturnal dreams were a different story. I couldn't control the content, to be sure, but they were generally pleasant enough. The big thrill, though, lay in trying to interpret what they communicated about my psyche--as though I was sending secret messages to myself. I made a game of mentally documenting all the recurring themes, the various roles I played, the worlds I explored and people I met, trying to figure out what kind of person I really was, and what concerns I had managed to hide from myself. And if I was really, really lucky, an unexpected dream would even give me inspiration for a new story.
     However, of all the dreams I've ever experienced, I think nightmares continue to intrigue me the most. They are the one situation in which we are absolutely convinced we are in danger, without ever really being so. The place where we have absolutely no control over anything but our own actions--the only place, perhaps, where our true substance is revealed. I have often wondered, were I able to make more conscious use of my nightmares, if I would be less of a coward in real life. But being consciously aware of nightmares would defeat the whole purpose. I have also thought that it is not so much the large things going on around me that terrify me most, the monsters that I can at least attempt to run and hide from. What scares me most are the small things I find within myself, things I cannot run from. Things that only go away when I muster the courage to face them. Or perhaps what really scares me is the fear of not knowing--not knowing whether I'm meant to slay those dragons within, or befriend them.

A Work in Progress and Musings on Myth

2009-10-12T17:45:00.000-07:00

     Late in January I had the opportunity to participate as a visiting artist at the Eiteljorg Museum's "Western and Native American Reflections in Comics" event. I'm not really a comic artist, but eager for the opportunity to delve more into a part of my heritage I know regrettably too little about, I started an illustration derived from the Iroquois legend of Sky Woman. Since that time, life happened--buying a house, art fair season, moving, having a baby--so I haven't completed the painting yet, but I thought I'd share some pictures of its progress and evolution anyway, along with some random thoughts.
     I'd always been told what a matriarchal society the Iroquois were. The few stories my Pepere passed on of my great-great grandmother paint the picture of a woman with an iron will as strong as her sense of humour. A culture where a woman wanting to divorce her husband need only place his shoes outside their dwelling, or so the story went. Needless to say, in the course of my research I was quite surprised that very few of the legends I came across contained any strong female protagonists. Either I was looking in the wrong places, or Iroquois women are confident enough in their roles they don't feel the need to tell stories about themselves. Or maybe they just have a deeper conception of true strength than my superficial understanding.
     Take the story of Sky Woman, for instance, and how she created the world. This woman may be the central figure of the story, and it is pretty cool that she was powerful enough to create a whole world, but upon first reading I thought (silly me) the circumstances of her rise to legendary fame depicted her as anything but strong. Back then, Earth was just a vast, empty expanse of water, and the Sky People lived in their own land high above it. It was all very lovely, and they were all very happy. The thing was, though, Sky People couldn't have children. Or at least that seems to have been the general assumption, since it had never happened before. Then lo and behold, this Sky Woman suddenly becomes pregnant. Her husband, completely oblivious to the fact that he might have had something to do with her condition, flew into a jealous rage and ripped out a giant tree, roots and all, such that it left a gaping hole with a view of the vast water-filled expanse below. Curious, Sky Woman leaned over the gaping hole (silly woman), affording her raging husband the opportunity to push her through to certain death below (in case you're wondering, he immediately repented, but hey, what can you do?). She was only saved because other Sky People transformed into birds, caught her, and placed her on the back of a giant mud-covered turtle (why she couldn't be smart enough to transform herself into a bird was beyond my reasoning--such were my thoughts at the time). It was from there, perched aback a turtle, that she created the whole world, using the mud to create landforms, plants, and every living creature.
     Then I had to give the story a second thought. And a third one. And then a few more. This woman was at the top of the world--literally. She lived in paradise, she had a husband she loved, and to top it off, she found herself exalted in a way no other person of her kind ever had been before, with the blessing of children. Then suddenly, just when she has everything, she is thrown down as far as one can possibly go, into a vast nothingness. Never again can she return to her own world, never again will she see her husband, her family, her friends, and now, sitting alone and pregnant on top of a turtle, she must surely wonder how she will care for her yet unborn children when there is absolutely nothing at her disposal but a handful of mud. And what does she do? Does she sit and wallow in self-pity, lamenting her loss? Does she despair of her future and let herself waste away? No. Having fallen so far she couldn't possibly fall any further and realizing she has nonetheless survived, she somehow manages to see the potential for greatness in her suffering. And out of just a handful of dirt she imagines and creates a whole world of insurmountable beauty, transforming her misfortune into an opportunity to bless not only herself and her children, but every living thing made by her hand. If that isn't true strength, I don't know what is.

Spring again

2009-03-25T13:11:00.000-07:00

     The days grow warmer and longer now and I find myself in the same state of anticipation the very earth here seems to hold, awaiting those first unfurling tendrils of new life. Winter always seems so unbearably harsh. But before I know it, the first thaw and return of bird song mingled with a mild breeze have ushered it quietly away to the realm of distant memory. When I painted this image last August, I never would have guessed that's how I myself would look come this very spring. I had only painted it as part of a seasons series commemorating the life and loss of a very dear friend who had recently died of cancer. Now, as I sit here and wait, feeling the little movements inside me, I cannot help but think on her once more.
     My life has largely felt like a series of goodbyes, some of them chosen, most of them not. Death is particularly hard--all the things left unsaid, unresolved, grief over the loss of all the tangible comforts of a friendship that will be no more. Sometimes I wonder if I believe in heaven only for the hope of putting an end to the word "goodbye". Yet as hard as each loss is, I am always amazed at how each parting unexpectedly yields to a new greeting. I leave cherished friends, stumble around alone and insecure in a new place, and before I know it, I am surrounded once more by amazing people I never expected to encounter.
When I met Kelly, I thought she was the closest thing to a saint I'd ever seen. I hoped we would always have a special place in each other's lives, even if I often took our friendship for granted. We talked about buying houses in the same neighborhood so our children could play and homeschool together if she ever married. But as my own marriage progressed, it seemed increasingly likely that I would never be able to have children, and such conversations no longer consoled me. The first time we spoke after her own wedding, she sounded anxious and agitated, very unlike herself. I couldn't understand--from the symtpoms she described, it sounded like she was pregnant. Isn't that what she wanted? I tried to sound joyful, but I couldn't help feeling jealous as I hung up the phone, almost resentful. If only I had known...
     We soon learned it was a tumor growing inside of her, not a child. Once she was diagnosed with cancer, dying wasn't an "if", it was a "when", and a very rapidly approaching one. As if that wasn't burden enough, just a few months before she died, she did conceive...and miscarried. And yet she bore it all so bravely. The last time I saw her alive, she was absolutely an angel in everything but physical form. Love radiated in overflowing abundance from her face. She was at peace with God, the world, and what was happening to her. But her physical form... The tumors had altered it in a way that seemed a terribly cruel joke. If I had been told she was eight months pregnant, I would have thought she was absolutely beautiful. It seemed wrong that a shape usually associated with the giving of life was actually destroying hers.
She passed away a few weeks later. I knew mentally all along that what she had was rare and untreatable and, barring a miracle, she would certainly die. But some part of me never thought she would actually go. I almost didn't attend her funeral. Even after showing up, it was a goodbye I didn't know how to make. I spent the next few weeks in a haze. There was no asking "why?", nothing to get angry with, and still, I wanted to scream. I knew her soul wasn't gone, but I couldn't bear the thought of never hearing her beautiful voice again, never having all those conversations I could never share with anyone else. I wondered how to move on, how to get over the fear of forgetting her. And then the unexpected happened. Something for which I'd completely given up hope. I found out I was pregnant. That ray of light was enough. I know Kelly and I will never live in the same neighborhood. I know our children will never play together, not in this world. But somehow it's comforting to think that everytime I experience the joy of my child's laughter, she too will share in the happiness of motherhood with her own son in paradise. And each time I am overcome with worry or fear for what suffering I will be unable to shelter my child from, I hope she remembers to pray for us. And one day, I hope we all find ourselves together again.
     Life is full of its own seasons and cycles, which each of us are bound to endure. Sometimes there are more winters than springs. And I know I will continue to miss her dearly. But as the pain of parting yields to the expectation of new life, I find that, like winter, the grief of her death too has become a fading memory, leaving only happy hopes and remembrances.

Random Musings

2009-03-14T12:23:00.000-07:00

Once more I woke up this morning with the graceful strands of Lorenna McKennitt's "Courtyard Lullaby" floating through my mind... where it's been playing almost perpetually since late November. It's a song I've loved and listened to for more than a decade now. The imagery is so evocative and mysterious, I've often thought of basing an illustration off of it, and finally started planning one this past fall. It's funny, though, for all their visual beauty, I'd never really thought much about the actual words until then. But since I became pregnant, there are a few stanzas I can't seem to stop thinking about, particularly the last two:

"And in a corner stood
A pomegranate tree
With wild flowers there
No mortal eye could see

Yet still some mystery befalls
Sure as the cock crows at morn
The world in stillness keeps
The secret of babes to be born

I heard an old voice say

'Don't go far from the land
The seasons have their way

No mortal can understand.'"

I've had a lot of time lately to think about the sanctity of life in general. I think one of the things I've most admired about nomadic cultures, particularly Native American, is their total dependence on God and the land, and the stewardship and respect for all life that comes from that. Even when life is taken for the sake of food and survival, it is done with dignity, gratitude, and without waste. I feel so removed from the natural world today... all my food is grown for me and readily available in stores, I never have to toil for it or worry about it not being there, I rarely even give much thought to where it came from. It seems so easy in modern society to feel like technology has given us so much "control" over nature that it's equally easy to forget where all our blessings really come from. The same is true with children. We have been taught so much about freedom of choice over our bodies that when we see new life growing inside, we tend to regard it perhaps as a mere extension of ourselves. It becomes more difficult to remember we are participants in and vessels of the creation of life, not the originators of it. And I know there are many women who have been faced with terrible circumstances and decisions far more difficult than I could ever imagine, and I can't blame them. But while death is a necessary part of the natural order, the destruction of one's own offspring is a behavior more consistent with animals in captivity. It makes me wonder how free our "free" society really is.
I think I feel most drawn to the imagery of the pomegranate tree with "wild flowers there no mortal eye could see", and the thought of the world safely keeping the secrets of unborn babes... like some guardian figure that knows where every soul is hidden and loves and cares for them until their time has come to appear in living form. For me it's a good reminder that God formed and loved and knew us before He even created us in the womb, and that the destruction of the clay vessel can't really kill the soul. I think I have some painting to do.