Silence is to be able to contemplate the small, the tiny, the insignificant, and find the image of its beauty within yourself.
As much as that sounds like a quote from somebody famously enlightened, that just came from me. And I absolutely refuse to carry on the internet tradition of assigning fake quotes to famous names.
Besides, I truly mean it.
I clicked that photo yesterday, just as the sun was coming up on a rare snowy day in the Deep American South. I was enchanted by that flock of clover sticking up from the snow, like nothing could keep it down. It was intent on being a bright burst of color in the white landscape.
There was nobody else out that early, with the temperature in the frigid lower teens (-10°C, for those unfamiliar with the Fahrenheit scale). It was quiet and beautiful. Peacefully serene. I could hear myself think, and that is always a good feeling.
Yesterday wasn’t a particularly great day for me. The cold and frequent fluctuations in the weather had me achy at best, and spasming at worst. But that moment of tranquility, as the sun came up and reflected its colors on the snow, was one to cherish.
That moment was my own bright burst of color for the day. I could feel its beauty and peace. It was my private escape into silence.
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.