We are in a constant state of change. We seek it, unwittingly or otherwise, marching onward until we make that final shift into the great otherness. These aren’t paintings of death though, more so paintings that capture the molting of our previous selves as we clamber or jockey in hopes of betterment. They are my version of the high school counselor’s faded old butterfly-in-the-chrysalis posters we’ve seen a million times.
It’s been a challenging couple of years. Mine has included an inordinate amount of loss, multiple home and studio moves, and the challenges that come with the diagnosis(finally!) of an infection I’ve had upwards of ten years that was consuming my body and brain, and now very gratefully includes an ongoing, albeit roller coastery, healing journey.
When I began losing the use of my hands though, it was was the most worrisome. What is an artist without their most important tools? Creating and building are at the core of who I am. As my health improved enough to paint again, these gnarled, swollen hands arrived to represent my own healing journey and the arthritis that had invaded and stiffened up the joints. The wispy human shell of a being is us, clambering for change, as we chase the spritely, slightly fiendish, angelic ideal, leaving us to wonder what will we chase next on this crazy journey we call life.