Familiar Storms

 

I was raised in a very turbulent household, a boat lurching on rough seas with a mother who vacillated between despair and euphoria and a father who stayed away as much as possible or who responded to her violence with more violence. 

My painting practice has been a place of deep comfort and healing for me, helping me to name where I came from, to visualize God's love for me, and to paint out new hope.

At the same time, I have chosen a career that mirrors some of the turbulence of my childhood. It's not uncommon to have months or years when I work quietly in my basement studio, send out packets to galleries with no response, and host sparsely attended art events where I stand in my party clothes in an almost empty room. But then the wind picks up, my sails fill, and I'm off! Buyers fly in from across the country, collectors at crowded shows have to wait in lines to make their payments, and the new cancer center says they'll take six paintings today!

I often cry on my way home from successful art events. I'm sad to see my best work go, my intensely private journal entries on public display, and I'm afraid I'll never paint that good again.

I know these storms. To me it feels like God uses the turbulence of my childhood to weather the swells and calms, to keep me dependent on Him. When I return to my basement studio depleted, He guides my brush again.