From the brush that gives back: Wading for the stars

(Sold! Copies available)

From the nuturing brush.

My soul

(For Sale)

In response to the prompt, "What in your life needs nuturing?"

For the expectant brush: Moon baby

(Gifted; copies available)

From the hesitant brush

The decision
(for sale)

A bluebird looks on as the usual redheaded girl is being offered a hand of guidance and support into the sea of her struggles; she will not enter there alone. The redhead perches on the ledge, her toes testing the crest of a wave for stability. The waves of deeper water are crested in green for growth, while the shallower water speaks of hope. Her brown-haired companion I'd like to think of as my friend A, a temporary roommate in my old apartment whom I grew very close with. Our struggles are remarkably similar, and it was no accident that we met. Her ghostly form, more of a guiding spirit than an actual entity, wishes to show me her strength-- that getting in deep into your demons is the only way through them. That bluebird of happiness, typically a guide, observes as I decide whether or not to trust the hand of another person in my life, as Lisa often does.

From the cross brush

Choice
(Sold! Copies avaiable)

This painting is reminiscent of the first piece of artowrk I did with S, the art therapist at my treatment center called "Swaming the song." We had an individual session in which she asked me to depict an event that had nudged me toward inpatient treatment. I drew a bluebird, the first of many to come, crouched on the low branches of a dead tree just above a maelstrom of waves. The rushing water is dark and complicated, as always, but has glowing pink hope in it, illuminating the darkness here and there. A menacing grey sky overlooks the lone bird, crying out for help. It does not occur to the bird to flock to others for comfort, as I did not on the night this scene depicts. That night, I pretended to talk on my cell phone as I cried alone on a curb in the darkness. I was hysterical with depression, trapped in my eating disorder, and as alone as I let myself be.

Part of what formulated this new piece was an anger that rose in me when H and L told me that water in my previous two pieces isn't as menacing as I meant for it to be, meaning that maybe my struggles aren't so dark and terrifying. So in this, I attempted to prove to them that they are dark, they do strike fear in me. In this piece, that lone bird leaves the scene as the waters rush up around thet ree. There does not appear to be a distinct direction that the current travels in, which was intentional, as I do not quite know which way I should go, but it is habit for me to draw movement to the right, so perhaps that's the right direction (pun intended). The pink atop the waves was just to please the eye and break up the monotony of the scene, but once again, it has a purpose in my message: the waves are crested in hope. The water of my troubles may be terrifying, but there is a hope in overcoming it.

From the gasping brush

From the deep
(for sale)

The girl leaps from the sea of her struggles, coming up for air before she must dive in again. The sea is not menacing, but rather very complex in its colors and textures, symbolic of the complicated nature of her traumas, relationships, distortions...her mind, in short. The birds whirl and hover, fixated on her and trying to understand what she is doing (a typical question from my treatment team). They are trying to lead her to recovery, and here she is seeking a reprieve from the work.

Originally I was going to have just two birds, but thought that would be too obvious a representation of H and L, my nutritionist and therapist, respectively. I'll admit, I meant for the third bird to be purely aesthetic, an eye-pleasing, round number, but it has been pointed out to me that it may very well be C, my boyfriend of several years. L is the bird closest to the girl, flying right with her and craning her neck to keep sight of me. She lets me do what I will, only trying to guide me without interfering too much. H is more forceful, turning around to hover and keep a watchful eye on me. Sometimes I feel as if she is a few steps ahead of me, and so that's where I've put her bird. C dives directly towards me into the scene, fearful to let me deviate from a linear path.

From the teetering brush

Traipsing the line
(for sale)

I feel like I am walking a thin line between being more recovered and falling dramatically back. By "being more recovered," I don't mean being completely recovered, because that's a long way in the distance, but more like getting to a place where I can be stable enough to get past such a decisive fence. My guide, the bird, shows me the way, in real life, taking the form of my treatment team and promising events, leading me to a place that can support life, that isn't so barren.

What strikes me about this painting is the fact that this thin bridge, trying to put roots down into water (physically impossible), connects such dramatic cliffs; there is no middle ground. The sea that should threaten beneath is not so menacing looking...whatever that means...

After a nutrition session with H, I realized a few things. If the cliffs are non-recovery and recovery, then the sea must be my struggles/traumas/"problems." Perhaps, then, the girl should be swimming through the sea to get to recovery, in order to do it "right"? The sea only exists between these two places, they don't rise out of it, which fits with my usual mindset: in ED and in recovery, I don't believe that my old problems exist. H said that I still don't seem to understand what recovery really is, as portrayed by my sad depiction of recovery land. "It definitely doesn't look like that," she said," admitting that my illustration was enough to make her choose to turn around because two flowers "aren't worth it!" She also pointed out that the girl is closer to the non-recovered side, moving very cautiously towards recovery. I seem uncertain as to whether or not recovery is worth it.