There is so much beauty in all the seasons we experience living on our planet. Yet, all too frequently, I find myself complaining about the heat, or the cold, or the rain because of how I flare every time the weather changes. The frustration that the unpredictability of my condition brings results in a narrowing of my consciousness. That, in turn, renders me unable to enjoy the beauty of nature, many a time, because I associated that with pain and/or fatigue.
But even when I am fatigued, the roses still bloom in the summer, and define beauty with their colors! Despite the increased stiffness in the winter, sunshine on the snow still spell magical delight. Spring and fall, with their allergies and migraines, nonetheless bring gorgeous colors befitting a fairy tale to our earthly lands.
So I often feel selfish for judging the seasonal variations for its impact on me, instead of recognizing it as a beautiful, joyous element in its own right. Instead, I yearn to be free of all “associations” when I observe nature, so I can enjoy true beauty for beauty’s sake!
It is my hope that, one day, my art can help me transcend the trappings of my aching body, and expand my consciousness, such that I can really feel one with the Earth and all that is bigger than ourselves.
The collage of my paintings (Spirit of the Seasons) is an attempt to inch closer to that state of being. I hoped to use colors and textures to really feel each season, to absorb its allure, instead of it being solely a visual depiction of items we associate with a certain time of the year.
It is my way of paying homage to nature – the ultimate artist that paints “Mother Earth”!
I haven’t talked much about painting or the painting process in this blog, but it has been one of the most important ways I have been able to handle my fibromyalgia diagnosis. There is so much more to painting than what meets the eye. It is not just mixing paints and adding color. As I discovered one day – much to my own surprise – painting is a state of being!
Painting allows me to depict my world and my experiences the way I see it. It gives me the freedom to explore my frame of mind. It is a safe space where I can unleash my pain, sorrow, frustration, anger, confusion, joy and creativity. In the security of the studio, surrounded by the paints and brushes, I have the power to create a physical embodiment of my emotions. Then in choosing to share that piece of my inner world, I allow others to feel a portion of my feelings. It gives me freedom and power to accept, to portray, to share, and with only as much depth and complexity as I would like.
What does the painting of the dense woods on a snowy day make you think/feel?
With an illness like fibromyalgia, which has often left me feeling alone and misunderstood, painting has opened up a safe avenue for a dialogue with the world. An emotional painting forces engagement with the viewer. A desperately private person, I feel uneasy opening up my own mind, heart and soul. So my paintings have been a window into my world! I prefer this mode of conversation, in many ways, because I do not have to explain my situation to anyone. An emotional painting does not necessarily force the audience into the artist’s mind. It makes them look into their own, through the prism of their own experiences, and find within them the emotions that the painting embodies or evokes.
I have found security in being able to paint, both as a way of exploration as well as expression. And in a surprising way, that has really helped me deal with the many aspects of my chronic condition.
After a recent particularly bad flare, I had to make a difficult decision to walk away from a field in which I realized I was not welcome at anymore. If I stayed, I would constantly be forced to push myself beyond what I was physically capable of, and would still not be able to meet expectations. So you would think the separation would be mutual and amicable; yet it is not.
In many ways, I feel like I am still very tied to my work identity (although it’s been a work in progress detangling myself from it). Being a “scientist” is one of the major ways I identify myself. Every other descriptor I could think of – artist, woman, chronic illness fighter, etc. – are all farther down the list. When I think of descriptors of myself, “relationship phrases” don’t show up very high either. Many people identify themselves strongly as a parent (father/mother) or child (son/daughter) or spouse (husband/wife), or in other such relationship terms. I have trouble with that. I have always been a painfully independent person, almost to the point of being a loner. And I suspect it is the associated loss of both personal and financial independence, that comes with being ill and out of work, that is at the core of why it has been so hard for me to face the fact that I just need to take a break to focus on my health for a while.
The loss of personal freedom has been something I have been constantly struggling with since developing fibromyalgia. While I can be great at offering and providing help, I absolutely suck at seeking and accepting it! It took me a while to even recognize that I had my partner in my court, and that its OK to lean on him and allow him to help me. It made a world of difference once I let myself be helped with my day to day tasks! And for once, I felt comfortable enough being helped that I never realized how hard it would be physically to live without that help!
Living in a small town, my chances of getting a job here were pretty minuscule, especially in science. For many years, I kind of saw this as a boon because I hated being trapped in one place for too long, and this place seemed to come with its own time limit. But now that it was time for me to move on and take a job in a different part of the country, I had to seriously consider how I would manage a demanding full-time job with other issues like uncertain transportation (potentially a lot of walking), cleaning, cooking, laundry, bathing/hair washing, and a myriad other day to day things that I often need help with. All of the little things that didn’t even merit a thought in my brain at one time are now all serious issues that have the potential to wipe me out and flatten me on my back for days.
I realized that for the first time, I actually need my husband to be with me, physically, and help me out! Not to mention, I would also need him financially, if I were jobless, and not just to provide general subsistence (a shared need), but also for my healthcare needs (a very personal one). And I have never needed anyone in that way before. As a person who prizes her independence, that realization – that I might really need someone now – was one of the toughest I have ever had to come face to face with.
My husband knows how hard that is for me. In fact, he has always known it. That is why he has never made big deal of helping me – he just did it quietly and unassumingly – and made a point of doing so without treating me like an invalid. I feel like very few people are lucky to have that kind of love in their lives. And that is why – perhaps what has been even tougher for me to face – is that even that kind of selfless love does not make up for the sense of loss that I feel due to my illness.
This realization has been really hard for me because it is almost like admitting his love is not enough, despite everything he does for me all the time. And it makes me feel guilty, because he has been the only constant force through many of the things that I have been battling for many years. Yet it is not as if I am not grateful to him and for him. But it is the gratitude that one might feel for nurses when interned at a hospital. It’s great to have that tender loving care, but they would much rather never be in the hospital in the first place!
Though, in some ways I wish I never had to face these harsh realizations, in other ways I am grateful for them. It has given me a chance to really think about why my work identity matters so much to me. Why am I so loathed to accept help? Why do I feel this insane need for independence? It has given me an opportunity to delve deeper into myself and work on long-standing issues that I may never have otherwise. So as a person who craves new and varied experiences, as unpleasant as this one is, I still see it as an adventure! I am still expecting good things to come out of this time of uncertain and difficult realizations. I may be a ship in a bottle for now, but that doesn’t stop me from still looking out towards the sea.