Making paths
an art story
Dear Friends,
Below is a sequence of story and art I’ve called Path. This work has come through my engagement with my book-art-study group. We read, we make art, we talk about the art. That’s pretty much it, and this process has changed me.
Some of the images below have appeared in my last few posts. This story is about how the pieces connect.
Path
Entry point
I painted an entry point into grief as a solitary black butterfly. It carried a red globe of pain. The translucence of the wings, the barely-there shape represented the embodied emptiness of grief. As I painted I understood there were other colours flying to meet me. Parts of myself I could not currently see. So I painted a mirror image in orange, also carrying pain. Orange for me represents fear. In this case, fear of the unknown.
What is here?
Having entered the landscape of grief, I closed my eyes to answer the question: what is here? In monochromatic tones I saw a room full of broken ladders. As I drew the image, I understood that the room represented all the ways of escaping pain that I had currently tried. The room was cold with no windows, no ceiling hatch or skylight. A door led out into the unknown. The invitation was to go into the field, along an un-mapped path of grace; and to trust.
Play around with what is here
I asked the grief study group to play around with ‘what is here’ and make new forms. While I considered this task, a fantail flew into the room where I worked. This happened twice. Reflecting on these visits, I recognised my first reaction to the fantail was fear. I decided to paint these visitors to explore and go into the fear, to play around with it. As I painted a new feeling grew: love.
I also painted a wasp which had frightened me. It’s harder to love a wasp but not impossible.
Path
Making art with the material before you is like being a ship’s artist. You draw as land and beings reveal themselves. I’ve discovered grace can be found in the interplay of gold and black paint; and that trust is a gift and a decision.
Thank you to my paid subscribers, your tangible support makes this focus on art possible, and supports the nuts and bolts of my life. Immense gratitude.
Thank you to all who read A History of Kindness. I couldn’t keep going without readers (or maybe I would keep going, but it would be way harder).
~ Kirstie
Thank you Kirstie. I absolutely love "she is healing. she is fierce."
and this line: "and that trust is a gift and a decision," resonates deeply with me.
learning to trust myself, my way, my inner knowing... the decision part I get, but what you are saying about it being a gift... this is opening a new way of seeing in me, and a new way to walk with trust.
thank you for sharing your he(art) with us <3
Thank you Kirstie. I'd like to echo what Toni says. You say this process is changing you. The way you share it, your insight, your openness, changes us, your readers. Trust is an issue for me too. So I love that you bring us the wasp. Trust? Bloody hard in this case. But as you say, love not impossible. (Without being stupid about it, heh.) I love the way you explore avoidance of pain. And yet, you love the wasp that turned up to contribute to the conversation. And was included. Unquestionably fierce. And kind of underlining that this is not easy stuff. We react to the wasp as inflictor of pain. I wonder if this shifts the angle a little, and asks us to remember that the wasp is reacting to perceived threat. She wants to protect against the threat that we might be. And she's not wrong about that. It's something I'm not good at, and need to remind myself, not to be so focussed on my own insecurities that I forget that most people are also labouring under their own. Remembering that, caring about that, helps me to be less self-absorbed, Thanks Kirstie, Your wasp just pointed that out to me.