Letting Go

2023 - Present

Letting Go 

            As a child, I shuttled between my parents' homes in Alaska and Texas, a journey that spanned a diverse range of landscapes. I remember looking out the window in awe. I loved watching the sun reflect along rivers and lakes and seeing it move as the plane progressed through the sky. I loved discovering the way the network of highways wove together over Dallas and the how mountain ridges rippled in Alaska.

            What struck me most was how this aerial perspective somehow made the considerable distance between my parents' homes feel more manageable. Amidst the clouds, during those flights, I found a quiet sanctuary—a transitional space that linked the seemingly disparate lives I lived in each of my parent’s houses and brought me peace. Even today, the tranquility I experience while flying or simply looking at the clouds remains with me. For many years, I painted skies. I painted maps and roads from an aerial perspective in watercolor. I also painted stormy skies from a ground view. It helped me feel like I had some control over the unpredictability of life. It provided a release as well. For me, the sky represents escape, but also a shift in perspective.

            It is, therefore, no surprise that I returned to the sky when seeking solace. For the past year, I have experienced loss and physical pain in my attempt to become a mother. Three months into my first pregnancy, I discovered that it was unsuccessful and embedded in the wrong place in my body. The transition of going from excited about welcoming a child into our lives to having major surgery was shocking. I remember wearing the flimsy hospital gown and being wheeled into surgery. I was told to lay down on a sterile metal table. The surreal experience of fighting my urge to flee and instead putting my body on a cold table where it would be cut open was horrifying. I had to disassociate from my physical self.

            We all disassociate from our mortality in varying degrees, but these moments brought into focus the pain that comes with having a physical body. It was difficult to cope with the trauma. In order to move forward, I was drawn to the sky again. I wanted to leave my body and float high above. The sky is vast and peaceful, but also capricious. The weather can be dangerous. The process of painting the sky feels like capturing one of those unpredictable moments. In life, I am powerless against nature, but in a painting, I can conquer the lurking danger of a storm. I understand its violence. It is also an act of release. I have no control over whether or not I will successfully be a parent. I put this trauma and uncertainty into the sky. I remove it from my body with color and brushes. It is an act of surrender and hope. It is also a meditation and a way to survive.