I have 2 special somethings to share with you today:
1) More from my loss & hurt project…
2) A new painting for the Wild Tenderness Collection…
1) Is it Too Much?
As promised, I have another painting for you from the project I am calling my Silent Story. These paintings are pinned to the corner of my studio, so that every day I see them. Working for a few hours feels like a therapy session. I have created 17 paintings so far, with approximately 45 to be completed in total.
I’ll admit, I’m feeling a bit wavery this week… perhaps because of what you’ll read below.
There are times where this project feels like too much, too big of a definition of a life situation, an exaggeration. But in my heart, I know that I was in this painful heart-space not too long back, I know that this representation is NOT too big. I felt it and it felt very big. Others dear to me have shared stories, and their experiences are also BIG.
To the heart who admits to feeling big love and big loss, I believe this finished project will feel like the right amount.
The fact that it pretends (at times to scare me) to be too big, is a sign of healing, in my humble opinion
Stay with me on this, send me your thoughts, provide your impressions. I’m here to share this with you, I’m committed to making this happen.
So far, the responses have been kind, thank you, and one response was unkind – shockingly and aggressively unkind. But oh well. I’m not doing this for attention. I’m 41 now, and I know that I’m allowed to create for/from my heart, and not assume others will connect with what I create.
2) Compassionate Nature for the Wild Tenderness Collection
Today I have a new addition for the collection… Compassionate Nature. Here is her story:
In October, an American Robin died in my hands. I was at work in my studio when I heard a terrific crash on my upper entry window. I found him on the sidewalk, knelt down and scooped him up. His fellows were going crazy in the tree above us.
Using my thumb to stroke his head, I told him he was going to be okay, over and over. But mostly said to him “I’m sorry”, over and over. I promised to keep my entry way light turned on. I said, “you just need a moment, you are going to be okay, just breathe, just take a moment…” and he sat, and his heart was steady, and he was just chilling. Looking at me. His beak started opening and closing a bit, just barely, and for a second I thought he might recover suddenly and bite me. I still held him and kept talking. “you just let me know when you are ready to fly, and I’ll let you go…”. Keeping him warm and comfortable and giving him gentle sounds felt very important.
Then, his heart revved up a bit, he made some louder breathing sounds, and he seemed to surge a bit. I said “you ARE going to be okay!!!” But alas, no.
What I’d heard were life’s last attempts to hold on, his final breaths. I held him while his heart stopped, his eyelids softened, his head looked smaller, his body relaxed. I kept stroking his body, saying “I’m so sorry… I really thought you were going to be okay…”. I held him for about five more minutes, still talking to him and stroking his feathers. Feeling befuddled as to what to do. Wanting to think he could rev again.
No one was around. Just me, with my hands cupped gently around a big dead bird, his head on a broken neck, resting on my fingers. The other birds had vanished. I’ve thought of him many times since then. And when I started the Wild Tenderness Collection, I knew a piece would be to represent him. And here he is, not really a Robin but a creative interpretation of a Robin-ish friend. He is guarding eggs, and he is guarding a little girl. She is helping him with the eggs. Little girls love to help with the younger ones.
I look forward to hearing from you – if you feel pulled to write me back.
Thank you for reading. Have a wonderful week’s end.
Love & Sincerely, Katie
Related Images:[See image gallery at www.paintingmotherhood.com]
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