I lost my tribe awhile back – that circle of people, however loosely connected, who encouraged me, gave input and listened. Artists and creatives who knew me as an artist. I didn’t realise how much that loss took its toll until the needle hit empty and then got buried somewhere deep in my heart. Empty. I’m not playing the blame game; there are too many factors to count as to how I ended up here. And I’m really good at winning that game – I always blame myself the most. So my art and my creative space quietly slipped into dormancy, almost four months in a cave. I tried to make it out a few times but my heart just wasn’t in it. so what’s the point?
and then life was altered in a way that wasn’t slow or empty…
On a routine Sunday morning, only a few miles from our home, in just a flash of a second a vehicle came out of the grey and crumpled our car into a metal ball. It crumpled my husband, our youngest girl and me. Incredibly, we all lived to tell the tale. I am more than thankful for that astonishing miracle.
So I’m two months into a different kind of cave, trying to heal from the head trauma. It’s slow and frustrating. I am slow and frustrated. With time on my hands that I don’t want to have, in quiet resting I cannot avoid, the empty creative space in my heart is fluttering and thumping and trying to be heard. I don’t quite know what to do. I’ve restarted my art many times, through many seasons, but I’ve not been this way before. I have not been in this way before.
I guess that’s why I am here again, the blank page where I think through my process while working through the paint. Maybe right now it’s more like processing my thinking while the paint works on me, in me.
I’ll let you know how this figuring out thing goes. this healing of head and heart. I hope.