Seasons
Seasons.
It seems so simple, so elementary, so completely and rationally obvious doesn’t it? That life is divided up into seasons. That is, until you find yourself in the midst of a winter season, perhaps both literally and figuratively, that you don’t want any part of being in. One that you had no choice in. Seasons can feel quite long winded when you are in the throws of them. When you are knee deep trudging through the icy snow and wind, hit after hit, wondering if springtime will ever come.
After loosing my mom, even though it was the peak of summer, I found myself entering a winter season. Cold, somber, depressing, desolate, devoid. And as actual winter drew closer and closer and the daylight lessened and lessened each day my dread for my least favorite season grew and grew and I found myself continuously asking, how am I going to survive this one? I knew I would…but it seemed quite literally insurmountable at the time in every way imaginable.
One of my best girlfriends shares my love language of snail mail and sent me this just because card to lift my spirits sometime last fall. For some reason it really struck a chord with me. Perhaps the colors displayed in a painterly way- palettes I typically paint with suddenly jumped out to me like an old friend and resonated deeply having not painted in quite some time at that point. Colors I had somehow forgotten about. Perhaps the simplicity of seeing the seasons laid out in such a straightforward, matter-of-factly manner. Almost a “see, this is what happens. This is the order.” Perhaps the fact that winter was shown in beautiful shades of some of my favorite blues instead of the grays I typecast it as….Perhaps the great hope of the prettiest pastel pinks to come. I have kept it on my refrigerator for months as a reminder of life seasons. That spring does come.
I spent a lot of this last season of life sitting by the big window at my kitchen table. Soaking in the glimmers of sunshine. Pondering, remembering, wondering, healing, wrestling…reframing seasons…and as I decided I was ready to start painting again, at that same table, I wanted to lean into this concept of seasons in my new approach.
I have always painted fairly seasonally. Florals in the spring (groundbreaking, I know), lowcountry landscapes in the summer as I spend more time by the coast…but this time I wanted to really lean into that concept. Four seasons. Four releases this year. Four collections inspired by the season I am in, right where I am. No agenda, no real concept in mind to hold myself to. Whatever I felt like painting, however many I felt like painting. And I found a lot of freedom in that. And a lot of revived creativity in that. A healing I didn’t know I needed. Winter will be a small batch…because, well, I’ve been wintering. I’m excited to lean into it more in coming seasons.
In my reframing of my winter season I have challenged myself, even more so than usual, to look for the glimmers and God-winks. To find the color on the really gray days. To not miss a sunrise or sunset. To be immersed still in nature in spite of the cold. To find purpose there. I don’t think I can fully move on to spring until I do. And this has been my journey, and my winter paintings reflect that I hope. Lots of soft blush-y sunsets, wisps of clouds dancing across icy cold blue skies, peaks of the camellias and hellebore flowers that brave it all, and some figure studies inspired by my sitting and pondering winter make up this new collection I am working on. All inspired by these moments on my camera roll the last few months:
Reframing winter. Finding the color there.
Reframing winter. Finding the color there.
Reframing winter. Finding the color there.
He made the moon to mark the seasons, and the sun knows when to go down. Psalm 104: 9
See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Song of Songs 2:11
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens…He has made everything beautiful in its time. Ecclesiastes 3:1-11
It was you who set all the boundaries of the earth; you made both summer and winter. Psalm 74:17
On Winter's Margin by Mary Oliver
On winter’s margin, see the small birds now
With half-forged memories come flocking home
To gardens famous for their charity.
The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins
Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.
With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs;
By snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing
Like children for their sire to walk abroad!
But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk
Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines;
And what I dream of are the patient deer
Who stand on legs like reeds and drink that wind; -
They are what saves the world: who choose to grow
Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor.