The Space Before Something Changes
I’ve been spending quite a lot of time thinking about thresholds and transitions. Perhaps because we are entering what many people have called a new experiential momentum this year. Not sure who else can feel it, but I do slowly emerging. I feel as if I’m standing on the precipice looking out at that what lays before my feet. Wanting change, seeing the vision but in a haze of atmospheric swirls of energy. Its as if I’m at the portal but I haven’t stepped through it, still holding on to things I should let go.
When you live in San Diego, its sometimes hard to feel the different seasonal energies. We’ve had 90 to 95 degree days this winter, and I love to feel the way a season moves from one to the other. But I have found more ways to connect to that energy of transitions.
Perhaps it all feels this way as I’ve spent a large majority of the last six months working on my inner struggles and doing significant work to start living the life that I want. I’ve created time to reflect and dream, time to slow down, time to restore. But I’m also very aware of the tugging of easier but not better ways of managing the days and the desire I have to shed and finally release. I’ve been high-functioning my entire life, as long as I can remember. Returning to painting in 2018, was the only place I could live the life I wanted to in full capacity. Letting go to find myself and I want this even more in all facets of my existence.
As this transition unfolds, I breathe. My art practice has become even more intentional than I could have thought possible. Incorporating scents, lighting, colors, I have found a way to tap into that part of me more consistenly and at a greater depth than before. This transitionary threshold has led me to rework several older pieces that I felt no longer aligned with where I am now. I’ve created a few new ones as well.
I think what makes The Quiet Between such a special collection is that it fosters the pause, the hold, the quieter moments. Its the seeping of the tea as the light smoke rises from the cup. Its the moment you sit with a book and anticipate opening it. Its the moment you’re faced with a decision but haven’t yet fully committed to an answer. Its the moment you look at a beautiful landscape ahead of you, but you haven’t yet taken the step to get on the trail. It’s the anticipation of the feeling of wind that will hit your face when you slowly open the door to step outside. It’s the hush of fog over the terrain, the softening of spirit, and the invisible weight of what lingers.