Flowers in the Dirt, 48x30in
As a kid, you have little choice about how your life goes. Mine was a ride that I never wanted to get on.
I spent time wishing things would have been different. It was messy. And I had some scars as parting gifts.
For a while I did my best to avoid the things that might bruise me. What a safe and unsatisfying path.
I watched my mom choose to cocoon herself and after nine decades, I think she finished with some regret.
So I’ve started inviting the mess in—getting a bit dirty. Trying to have some good heart pounding stories to tell. Relishing the bruises –both past and present—as fodder for a good life. As marks of courage. Battle wounds—Medals of Honor.
So “Flower in the Dirt” was born as I painted in all my artistic vulnerability these last few weeks—a painting about the marriage between life’s battle scars and beauty. I paint flowers not in their perfection, but in awe of all that comes together in their growth—the grittiness and strength. A great symbol for my quest to get in the mud.
I feel grateful for all the bumps I’ve had along the way—otherwise I might be complacent, less compassionate and kind of boring.
So here’s to cherishing each and every scar and the healing that makes you stronger. Each moment of uncertainty and exhilaration. Lessons learned. Paths unearthed.
I mean really, who wants to finish the game without some dirt on their uniform?
I spent time wishing things would have been different. It was messy. And I had some scars as parting gifts.
For a while I did my best to avoid the things that might bruise me. What a safe and unsatisfying path.
I watched my mom choose to cocoon herself and after nine decades, I think she finished with some regret.
So I’ve started inviting the mess in—getting a bit dirty. Trying to have some good heart pounding stories to tell. Relishing the bruises –both past and present—as fodder for a good life. As marks of courage. Battle wounds—Medals of Honor.
So “Flower in the Dirt” was born as I painted in all my artistic vulnerability these last few weeks—a painting about the marriage between life’s battle scars and beauty. I paint flowers not in their perfection, but in awe of all that comes together in their growth—the grittiness and strength. A great symbol for my quest to get in the mud.
I feel grateful for all the bumps I’ve had along the way—otherwise I might be complacent, less compassionate and kind of boring.
So here’s to cherishing each and every scar and the healing that makes you stronger. Each moment of uncertainty and exhilaration. Lessons learned. Paths unearthed.
I mean really, who wants to finish the game without some dirt on their uniform?
