Friday, June 3, 2016

Purple pansy by the tree

"Purple pansy by the tree" by Hilary J. England
Oil on canvas, 8" X 10", 2016

I've been working a lot lately, but I have been feeling a bit down.  I have had some personal situations that are very stressing, and that affects me deeply.  I have someone very close to me who is desperately ill, perhaps in the end stages of life, and it drains me inch by inch watching this process.  I want so much to help, and to make it stop, to make it better, make it go away, and I can't.  I want so much to protect them from this, to keep them with me, and I see the disconnect beginning...when they begin to ever so slightly disconnect from this earth, and you can feel it, in your soul.  It's a hard perception to explain, but to anyone who has ever been around a terminally ill person, someone they were very close to, and went through this process, you will understand what I am saying.  I don't know how many days or months we have, I just know the process has begun, and my heart quivers in my chest at the idea of what is to come.

Many days I feel like I'm in a holding pattern -- so grateful for the love we have now, but not knowing what's ahead.  It's the oddest feeling, like being in limbo, and you still must go about your life, but it's like go through the motions, but your mind is switched off.  It's always somewhere else, no matter how conscious or focused you are on the task at hand.

I have been looking for peaceful little scenes that speak to my heart, and yet, are still challenging to recreate.  I did this one in town, again, while I was out wandering around after hitting the gym.  I was hungry, so I sat down to eat my almonds, and I noticed these little flowers.  I went back to them later on in the day, and the light and shadow was more dramatic, and that made me happy to work there.

I feel more connected to the Old Masters when I work outside these days.  I think of their joy at the beauty they were able to view and capture, and also all the pain of life on this earth, and how they assimilated the good and the bad into their work, to make something beautiful from the ashes.  I admire that persistence in the face of adversity, and it gives me pause to think about my own work.  If the sadness was too large, would I stop working?  What then?  Where would it manifest itself?  I'd probably end up a drunk face down in the gutter.  No, this is the healthier way to move through these painful events.


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