Painting is my salve, not quite my salvation, but close. I need to do it, like I need to breathe, but even more when I feel alone, unsure of who I am or whether I have value, whether I am lovable.
As I move paint across the surface of the canvas, a mysterious alchemy occurs, over which I have no control. The paint is light and fluid like strata clouds, floating effortlessly across the sky. As I paint, so I am made whole, brought into my truth, my essential self. The pain doesn’t disappear or get masked by a panacea; rather it is given expression, allowed to just be.
When you need comfort and peace, where do you go? What do you do?
I urge you to create. It could be making art like me, or growing a garden, cooking or playing an instrument – whatever you choose, the act of creating something out of nothing – which is essentially human, will provide you with a touchstone to hope and joy.