A Yearning To Belong 11/24:
November 2024:
It has been a really really bad month. I have been in a ruminating and depressed state almost the entire month. I have been in a fog of fear and extreme anxiety that I have kept hidden from anyone that I have had daily contact with, which has resulted in feeling extremely alone. I changed ADHD medications at the beginning of the busiest month of the year for me. I thought I was doing the right thing. Turns out, not a combo that ends well.
But, this morning, a strange urgency stirred within me, a readiness for change that felt almost like a whisper from some hidden part of my spirit. I spent an hour in my studio, tossing out the remnants of my past—old sketches, dried paint tubes, the detritus of half-finished ideas. But as I sifted through the clutter, it became clear to me that my studio wasn’t the problem at all. No, the chaos I faced was lodged firmly in my mind, a disorganized jumble that was suffocating my creativity.
As I stood there, I felt the familiar tug of the paintbrush—an invitation to return to the canvas, to start anew. I suppose one could say I’m just “priming the canvas,” not just of wood and linen but of my very spirit. I’ve been dabbling in what I call my side quest work, allowing my thoughts to meander freely through the landscape of my imagination. And lo and behold, a pattern has begun to emerge, one that surprises me with its unexpected brightness.
It’s curious—this motif that keeps surfacing in my work, a shape that resembles a house. I find myself drawn to these clusters, these little forms that huddle together like a tiny community seeking shelter. I even collaged actual houses, piecing them together like a jigsaw puzzle of belonging. The more I looked at my work, the more I noticed not just the houses but also the repetition of circles and lines, a rhythmic dance of patterns that speaks of connection and safety.
In part, I recognize this desire for community is a reflection of the world outside—this current political climate, fraught with fear and uncertainty, has seeped into my consciousness more than I care to admit. It’s strange, really, how I’ve always prided myself on keeping the outside at bay, but lately, the walls have begun to crack. This influx of thoughts about togetherness feels new, unsettling even, but it’s a welcome change from the darkness I’ve often indulged in lately.
It’s interesting to note that in my writing, I allow myself to descend into those shadowy places, to explore the depths of despair, but when it comes to my paintings, the darkness simply doesn’t resonate. Instead, I find a lightness emerging, a gentle hopefulness that flows through me. Painting pulls me out of the depths of sadness, away from the whirlpool of negativity that threatens to drown me. It’s as if the act of creating is my own personal lifeline, a way to escape the tumult of my thoughts.
I’ve begun to see a pattern in my life: when I’m not painting, my mental health wanes. The canvas becomes my sanctuary, a space where I can transcend fear and connect with the joy of creation. So, as I sit here reflecting on these revelations, I realize that perhaps this journey toward community and light is not just a reaction to the chaos outside but an essential part of who I am—a yearning to belong, to feel safe, and to find solace in the act of making. And maybe, just maybe, if I let these thoughts flow freely, I’ll uncover a deeper truth about myself in the process.
