While no single painting is based on a single reference photo, all of them are imagined realities based on the series of pink horizon lines that I’ve been collecting through the winter months. The sky does something different in the cold months, with the angle of the sun just right, and it creates a magical travelling point to a place of warmth and light.
This morning’s snowfall is a really great metaphor for things not going according to expectations: it’s spring, nice weather has arrived, flowers are growing, and then it snows. All the beautiful things we’re growing are blanketed in chill. Everything we’ve been working so hard on is put on pause. And yet. We really should see this coming. It seems to happen every year. It should be part of our planning.
When I keep my thoughts small, focused on what is immediately in front of me and happening right now, I feel good. And happy. And hopeful. And grateful. Maybe it was the triple cartwheels. Maybe it’s the pink collection I’m working on. Maybe it’s the sunshine. Maybe all of those things come in to play.
For months—years—after Tyler died, I have struggled to tell other people about it. Because I could see the slap of the impact of my words on their face. My parents and I talk about it being like an assault, telling anyone for the first time all of the pieces of the puzzle.