Pieces of Eden
The hard part
A series of normal life events stacked up recently and reintroduced me to my old anxiety. I have been avoiding writing about it and everything comes out awkwardly when I try to explain. I have been writing to-do lists and grocery lists, and that format feels approachable, so here is a taste of the past six weeks:
stomach bug, round 2
financial stress
death of a very dear friend, and I couldn’t attend her funeral
big dental work (a special torture in my book)
cascading strep throat and subsequent significant rashes and skin ailments
a general sense of falling behind
taxes, new business edition
My instinctive response was to sleep less, drop my creative routines, skip the gym, and generally, become a little frantic. Cool, cool, cool.
I share this, uncomfortably, not because I want to talk about it or get sympathy, but because it happens, and inevitably I make work about my life. I haven’t been anxious like this since 2017. And I did a lot of work back then to work it out. So this time, the signals in my body double as reminders to take care of myself. And all that past therapy has me taking this a little less personally. I trust that it is a passing season. Two weeks ago, while feeling particularly fizzy and anxious, I set aside all my whirly activities and thoughts and painted for a full day. It had me feeling a lot more like me. Oh phew.
The other part
Of course, a million wonderful things happened at the same time:
my son turned 4, his jubilation was palpable
my sweet sister visited for her birthday and made her own cake
dear friends and siblings comforted me
spring showed up
Freddie got cuter somehow
I started new projects and met new art communities
my brother and his family came for Easter, we ate brioche french toast and our kids couldn’t get enough of each other
And that is how it goes. Life is rich and ruddy at the same time.
Turning it into paintings
My work always seeks beauty and significance (and sometimes humor) in overlooked, daily places. With this recent mental health hiccup, I was suddenly afraid that it may come across as overly sweet.
I keep sticky notes of recurring project ideas on my wall. Thinking about this sweetness problem, I spent a long time stewing over them. THEN, I realized all at once, that these weren’t necessarily separate ideas, but components of something much larger. It is coming together as a very big thesis. And I want to paint on huge canvases, with my full body, to get it out.
Savoring Lushness
I want to paint about lushness. And after some thought, I think the luscious parts of life are even sweeter when things are not good. That is honest, not just sugary. When the world seemed to be bottoming out in 2020, I remember savoring eating a perfect orange. I wondered then how many timesI would experience eating an orange again.
I just can’t help but turn to lushness. It is what I chose then and what I chose again now. It is as available as all these things that bring me down.
So here’s where I’m starting:
Even when I’m feeling low and not at all myself, the angle of the early morning sun is better than anything I’ve ever seen before. That’s how the day starts. And in addition to the new wonder I find all over the place as the day progresses, I’m starting to gather a set of memories and experiences, like beads on a string, that I return to and savor over and over:
laughing in the natural lands with David Hlebain, and buzzed on cigarettes (sorry mom) as a senior in college
the time a huge stag stared me down on the side of the road, while driving in the pitch black of a Western Nebraskan night. He could have jumped in front of the car but stood like a king and watched me go by instead.
thunderstorms rolling in over the corn fields while out collecting insects for the UNL’s entomology department - the smell and feel of it
being 17, warm wind off the lake on vacation at night, a crush on my mind
my hands stained from picking up mulberries after my brothers shook the trees over the bike path. My mother had ordered us to collect them so she could make pie for dessert.
my tiny baby boy, asleep in the sweaty crook of my arm after nursing, nothing feeling urgent but being still and together
getting bitten by a sneaky cutworm while shucking heaps of corn with all my cousins around the Milana’s dinner table as a child. That caterpillar was so big that my finger bled when he bit me. I remember the feel and smell of corn silk, and my laughing cousins trying to pick that cutworm up without getting bitten.
I have so many more to beads to stack.
Pieces of Eden
So I’m starting this work, and calling it Pieces of Eden.
Because the way I see it, we are still in that original paradise. (And the story is so much more than the fall from grace, though I’ll have to include that too, its just too juicy). These days Eden is messed up and chaotic, and we are so very distracted by our own “nakedness”. But everywhere I look I see little glimpses of the original design.
I’m researching creation stories from a few religious traditions. I’m looking into depictions of heaven on earth from people who say they have seen it.
But I also want to crowd source.
Do you have a memory of a sumptuous experience? Would you share it with me? Click the button below and send along any memory or experience, recent or past, that is lush and wonderful. I will use it as fuel for these big paintings ahead. If you read all this, holy cow, I thank you. And I’ll keep you posted as the new work comes along.
