Art Therapy

Creating is what helps to bring calm for me, so here are some of my creations that have helped me navigate this tumultuous road.  Here's hoping they can help others along their journeys as well.  

Looking at the Dream
lil' dreamer 4/11

I have had this image in my head for a long time as it is exactly how I feel--as though I am eagerly looking upon every pregnant woman wishing that were my place in this world.  The pregnant woman could be any of the countless pregnant friends, co-workers, or family members that regularly cross my path.  But, it could just as easily be me.  So here is  a soft pastel rendition of my not so pregnant self looking in on, eagerly anticipating, and dreaming of my someday pregnant self.  


Somewhere out there is my baby.  For I am a mother who will someday rock her baby to sleep, will rhythmically whisper poetry in an ear.  And DH is a daddy, with more love to give than I could ever imagine.  

In a favorite book, Eat, Pray, Love there is a passage passage after passage that always makes me tear up as I think of our someday baby.  

"I read once," Gilbert writes, "something the Zen Buddhists believe.  They say that an oak tree is brought into creation by two forces at the same time.  Obviously, there is the acorn from which it all begins, the seed which holds all the promise and potential, which grows into the tree.  Everybody can see that.  But only a few can recognize that there is another force operating here as well--the future tree itself, which wants so badly to exist that it pulls the acorn into being, drawing the seedling forth with longing out of the void, guiding the evolution from nothingness to maturity  In this respect, say the Zens, it is the oak tree that creates the very acorn from which it was born."

Since I read this, I have had an image of a magical, ethereal tree raising from the ground.  I  have imagined it as a child's drawing--colorful, simple shapes--an intangible mist that dissipates if you try to reach for it.  Indeed, this is how I feel that dream of a child has been for us thus far.  Every time I seem to reach for it, is escapes me.  

Still, I do believe that even at this moment, the earth and its energy know my story, know how things will fall.  I believe that there are powers stirring, that my desire is more than something inside me, but rather an energy that can be felt by the world at large.  Indeed, if you were ever in a room with me, chances are you could feel it yourself.  I believe also, that there is desire, energy on the other side, even without conception.  I can only hope, as these words portray, that that little seed can feel what I feel--that it can feel the immense love we already have for it, that it can envision holidays and walks in the world and quiet nights together with good books--that it can feel the happiness that will be us.  Someday, I know our energies will find each other and we will be united as mama, daddy, and baby.  Until then, I hold on.    
the tree, the acorn, and me
lil' dreamer 11/11

So here is my rendition of that child's tree.  Yes, I am trying to plant the tree, but the other force, the future babe itself, needed to be the hand for this.  I am not used to working with watercolor, but the medium helps to create a bit of the transparency I was looking for.  Actually mixed media, I have kept the tree green, signifying life, but have also added patches of color representing the other seasons--autumn leaves, blossoms, and bare branches as I have been seeing this and dreaming of baby through all seasons.   Still in its infancy, I'll be adding the words of the quote to the white patches, more details and possibly a couple standing under the right side of the tree.   Ever critical, I do think I like the concept of the piece better than the piece itself and feel that I will keep toying with it forever, but it fits my conception of . . . my future conception!       


Anonymous said...

This is absolutely moving. You've captured what so many of us feel so beautifully.

bean dreams said...

Thank you so much! For some reason, I can't get this image out of my head. When I sit down to paint, I just want to recreate it over and over again. In some ways, it seems like it would be depressing, but somehow it seems to bring us hope. Thanks again for the kind words!