Winter is the time to go inside. The nights are long and dark, the days short and often gray. It is a time for our part of the earth to rest, covered in a blanket of snow, rain, and darkness. It is time for us to rest, too. For me, that often means less public art and more studio art. While most of my public art is collaborative and community oriented, my studio work has always been about my own journey. I return to studio painting again and again to celebrate the incredible beauty this life holds and to process through difficult times.

After a year and a half of the pandemic, this fall and early winter brought me to my knees. On top of the multitude of crises facing the planet and society, my family was faced with its own personal crisis. It was a very scary, uncertain, and ultimately overwhelming time. I met this time with prayer and meditation, tears and phone calls, running, accepting support from others, and painting. There were moments and days I walked through with complete grace; able to support my family in ways I didn’t know I could. There were moments where I fell apart.

During this time, I started a new painting series that came to me while on a run. I literally ran back to my studio, images of the earth crying and the seas rising flickering through me, and started sketching. The universe gifted me a creative outlet as a way to cope with my fear and grief. The series is called “Sea Level Rise/The Mother’s Tears”. In it, a woman: the Earth, the Mountains, the Sea, the Mother, lies weeping on the horizon. Her tears enter the sea, causing it to rise and drown her sorrows. This is her grief, her fear, her healing, her love. The earth is on fire, and she drowns the flames in her tears.

“Mama’s tears, tasted like sea water.”
-The Waifs, Vermillion

When working on these paintings, alone in my studio at night, I somehow transcended the fear and overwhelm that were my constant those days. I was lifted out of my worries. At the same time the creative process allowed me to move through emotions brought on by not only the personal crisis I was facing, but the climate crisis and everything that entails.

Around two-thirds of young people are experiencing Climate grief. Grief is a natural part of the human experience, but climate grief is not as accepted by society, and often people receive less acceptance and support in their grief process. It can be hard to talk about and so many of us try and just shove the feelings down. This can lead to many different things, one of which is feeling helpless and stuck, feeling that there is nothing we can do to make a difference, leading to hopelessness.

As a collaborative, public artist, one of my primary focuses is creating opportunities for people, especially young people, to move out of apathy and into a place of action. I’ve found for myself, and seen in countless others, that when I take action towards creating the world I want to live in, I feel much more hopeful, and therefore able to take larger actions. By bringing art and collaboration into these actions, we are able to process through some of our emotions around the climate crisis and find connections with others experiencing similar emotions.

Creating art collaboratively, with other people, is one of the biggest gifts the universe has given me. I love facilitating groups through the creative process, from design conception to art installation. When I guide collaborative art projects, I intentionally set my own ideas aside and work to bring forth the community’s visions.

Stepping into my studio to paint my current series “Sea Level Rise/The Mother’s Tears”, is a very different experience. It is incredibly personal and doing my own work can be scary. It’s just me, with my paints, brushes, and canvases, and music, of course, always music. Sometimes, though, like when I received the ideas for this painting series, I know I’m not alone, and it’s pure magic.

This series is still at its beginning and I am so curious to see where this painting journey leads.

Have you used art as a way to help you through difficult times? What was that like for you?