I’ve walked with depression since adolescence
& I was diagnosed with PTSD at age 25.
I’ve spent the last half decade catching up on why.
Uncovering trauma is like waking up from a nap when you had no idea you were even asleep. When you start to peel back the layers, it’s like scrubbing up for surgery & experiencing recovery at the same time. The process is one step at a time, day by day.
So, I painted these works with distinct chronology:
The vases come first, because you realize you’ll always hold your story.
Then a lot of blue underpainting, because the quiet hum of melancholy greets you underneath the anger and stoicism (or any other feeling that comes out sideways) you’ve shown up with for years.
Next comes green, a traditionally recognized color of hope. This is because you finally allowed the sadness to speak its peace so now the two colors can coexist.
Finally, our flowers. Daisies & Hypericum represent new life and fresh starts; Queen Anne’s Lace is a symbol of refuge and sanctuary. You’re becoming safe & new.
In his book, “A crazy Holy Grace,” Frederick Buechner makes the claim that though God doesn’t sow the tragedies of this world, he can still reap a harvest from that which he did not sow when we steward our pain. It’s bad math when you really think about it.
It’s maddening…crazy even.
Yet sacred and right and holy.
Because grace- crazy, holy grace- is the worst math of all, but I guess God is bad at math like me
and thank him for it because here he is reaping harvest from stuff he didn’t sow.