I’ve always had a keen awareness of the brevity of life. I recall sitting under the milky way as a young child, in awe at what the night sky had revealed to me; I felt captivated by the sublime and infinite space before me, and simultaneously understood the transience of my experience. Suddenly death was holding hands with life and this polarity heightened my experience of beauty and impermanence in the scope of the infinite.
Having a profound awareness of the fleetingness of life is a blessing and a curse. Parenting at times can be akin to an out-of-body experience; hyper-aware of the sweetness of a moment, no one has ever needed to tell me, “Enjoy them while their little, they’ll be grown before you know it!” This way of being, of so often being hyper-aware of the tender nature of a moment can be draining, too, as I feel moved to be fully present from one moment to the next. Thankfully painting allows me to more wholly digest these moments, and I can then move on.
It is an exquisite longing to both preserve life and to rectify loss that urges me to work my brush upon the canvas, or to fish for an answer as to what lies beyond the veil. Therefore present in my work is a certain wistfulness in which there exists a paradox between life and death; there is a type of resurrection or reclamation of sorts, like the milky white lotus that springs forth from dark, murky water in a seemingly death-defying manner.