It’s been quite some time since I let you all in on my thought processes. I know that this was originally why I started this website, so I’ve decided to get back to that. As I sit here listening to Ludovico Einaudi, my heart fills with the desire to pick up my paint brushes again. His mesmerizing music has often led to my most satisfying painting sessions, and I long to disappear into the music… to allow myself to truly let go, in a magical dance of movement between my entire body and my paintbrush, as the oil paint glides across a large canvas.

Tears fill my eyes as I listen to this music and look upon my last finished unfinished oil painting. Only those who have been to my apartment have ever seen it. I’ve never purposely shown it to anyone, yet it is probably one of the most important paintings I’ve ever done. It was the last time I held a brush in my hands… the last time I moved my brush and felt the pleasure of reaching down inside myself to reveal a piece of my soul on canvas. Painting was better than any therapy session I could have ever received. It was a moment of completely letting go of everything, including the pain I have endured. Painting allowed me to reach a level of pure unimaginable joy… It was a way of revealing what I didn’t even know was inside of me.

Now, there it sits… my last painting, on the floor… in the corner of my apartment, partially hidden behind a door. It’s so close to being finished… and it’s my largest piece of artwork to date. At first glance it looks as though it might be finished…

but as I move closer to this work without a name, my eyes fall on the part of the painting that reveals the exact moment of where and when my undiagnosed illness took a terrible turn. It had advanced too far untreated, making me too ill to continue painting. I was unable to even walk without help, let alone paint, so this unfinished work sat staring back at me as I battled this disease that had taken over my body. It sat while I fought for a diagnosis. I stared at this painting between doctor appointments… and hospital stays.

When I had gained some strength, I tried to finish this painting but by that time, months had passed and the oil paint had long dried. As I applied the fresh paint, it made bumps as I painted over the grooves left on the canvas from my previous painting. The new paint could no longer blend and smooth into my previous work, and although disappointed I continued to paint until I could paint no more. My body once again began to betray me, and the physical movements were just too much for me. I had to stop. The sides of the canvas were unfinished, leaving raw canvas and patches of paint and smudges left over from the process. The sharp flowing groves of the paint weren’t quite right. It was gut wrenching to put the paintbrushes away, and when I did, I wonder if a part of me knew that this would be the last time I would hold a brush for a very long time, if ever again.

Years have gone by, and my doctors have gotten a decent grasp on what’s happening with me. Although there is no cure, they have slowed the progression of what had been ravaging my body, and I have gathered strength. If you look at me now, you would not even know that I am sick, that I take a minimum of 13 pills a day and that I must rest for days if I plan to live what most consider a normal day outside the house. No sympathy is needed because I have learned how to live with my illnesses as best I can and I am appreciative of each moment I get on this earth with my beautiful family and friends.

My easel, on which sat my last painting, has sadly been arranged for years. As a result, my finished unfinished painting was moved, turned sideways and place on the floor in the corner of the room. I’ve since adapted my artwork and feel blessed to have my dear sweet man offer me an iPad so I could create artwork differently…

but I feel like something has changed today. I often listen to Ludovico Einaudi, but for the first time in years, as I look at my finished unfinished painting, I’m thinking of taking out the paintbrushes again. I’m asking myself questions: Perhaps a smaller canvas? What if I rest for days before I paint? To be honest, I’m not sure where this is heading, but I am happy. It’s something for me to think about.

I’ve also come to another conclusion about that finished unfinished painting… Perhaps it’s time to think of it as finished. Those bumps in the canvas that were created during my health crisis actually belong there. They represent my struggle… as do the messy unfinished lines and sides of the canvas. They are justified in existing, as are our flaws. Not everything can be smoothed out… acceptance is often the first step to moving forward.

This painting is as beautifully imperfect as I am … and it represents my unfinished battle. Those imperfections are much like the bumps in the road that have taken me off the main road time and time again… but only until I’ve created a new path. I’m certainly not giving up… not on my health, not in my life, nor in my creations.

Now, I just need to give this painting a name… and to find a place to hang it proudly. Thanks for sticking with me and for being here on my journey. ❤️