Using Painting to Process

Starting on August 1st, I began a painting dedicated to my mother, Lisa. Each year that she has not been on this plain, I have tried to make a piece that coincides with the day she passed away. August 6th. There is a lot of weight and sadness around this time for me. Making an image about her and our love for each other helps me work through the extremely painful sensations of grief and missing her. By painting us in an image together, it allows me to feel close to her. I can sit and lay next to my mom in my painted world, which is as close as I can get to the real thing.

I knew I wanted to make an image about her, while also depicting the people I am closest to. I started thinking of different ways to show that, but I was stumped for a little bit. Then, I just sat outside of my studio in the fire escape and really pictured it. I often have to do that before I make a painting. I sit and stare, or listen to music while driving (I used to do more of this). Now, I really enjoy just 'zoning-out' and seeing each element of the picture come together one at a time in my mind. I am putting the puzzle together. Once I see it, I can begin laying it out.

I wanted to show how I used to sleep in my mom's bed a lot as a child and teen. We used to call it 'Willy Wonka' referencing Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory's older relatives sleeping style; head to feet. We thought it was so funny and always did it when I felt I needed to sleep by her. I wish I could do that now as a 25 year old. Using a similar motif as my previous painting, I wanted to contain the center figures in a sort of organic shape, creating the illusion of them being in their own realm or world than the rest of the subjects.

I begin adding color. I like the feeling of this warm yellow and pinky-brown. It almost was giving me the illusion of wood. I was going to try adding in wood planks to create a hardwood floor, but after trying, I decided to keep it patternless.

My figure, against a backdrop of my sister and I standing together in Cape May

Brooke at the foot of the bed on my mom's side, reading a book.

My main objective with this painting is to express my gratitude to my dearest friends, my sister, and my boyfriend, Liam, for being such supportive and loving people over the past few years while I have been in the throws of grief. I can say with confidence that I wouldn't be here in the way I am right now without

these individuals. Having a shoulder to cry on and an open-heart to listen to you is the way to healing.

Making sure paint covers all areas.

At this point, there were still areas of color that needed addressing, specifically the figures of Chloe, Sofie and Hannah in the upper left corner. But otherwise, I felt that the image was coming together as a whole pretty well. Adding the gold trim around the organic shape felt like a nice touch. I was thinking it could be like the light of the sun/the heaven's enveloping the bed.

Using the 'mark-up' editing tool on my iPhone, I was able to play around with the blanket pattern and color

Turquoise was one of my mom's favorite colors, and it was all over our house. She loved pairing it with a pungent red. Tables, chairs, velvet ribbons, flower patterns on pillows, etc. were beautiful accents of color against a base of cremes and whites. When I see this shade of turquoise, it will always remind me of her. I wanted to create a pattern of this shade to adorn the blanket, while having it mingle with the color of the light turquoise bed frame. Using this editing tool is really useful for envisioning a move like this before physically applying it.

Here the image is complete. I added the feather on the final day of working on it, before heading to the beach with my sister. My mother appears to me in feathers. I asked her if she would do that before she passed away. Within the week that I was making this painting, I continuously was looking down and seeing a feather at my feet! They usually make me smile, because I know its her saying hi to me in the most unexpected moments, or when I need it most.

I know everyone's experience with loss is different. Maybe it changes multiple times a year, or everyday feels different. Especially when it is fresh, I know that everyday feels like a blurry battle. You aren't present, but you let autopilot kick in. The life you once knew is completely over. And you may spend years in a limbo of yearning for the life you once knew, while slowly piecing a new one together. For me, discussing my mother's passing would and still often does feel extremely uncomfortable.

Part of me wants to tell everyone I know, and another part of me is a voice telling me to shut my mouth. That it will make people uncomfortable, while also making me uncomfortable. By talking about it, it makes the extremely debilitating fact of my mother's passing a reality. Even writing that sentence was difficult; words I still can't really accept as truth.

Over the past few years though, I have found that making paintings about my mom gives me a way to 'talk' about it. It gives the part of me wanting to scream this pain from the rooftops a voice, while also appeasing the part of myself that becomes agonizingly uncomfortable to say the difficult words aloud with imagery.

If you are reading this and you have lost a parent, or someone very close to you, I want you to know I don't know the exact pain you are in, but I know my own version of it. I really believe everyone's level of pain and grief is unique, just in the way the love you shared with the person is completely its own. Often times, it is too much for me to bare, to think about. I still find myself trying to push away the reality when my mind goes too far.

The love my mom and I have for each other, and the love she has for my sister, Rachel, can never change. She told me nothing can separate the love we have for each other. She is watching over us, guiding and protecting. Still being our mommy, but in another plane. Thank you, Momma, for encouraging me to paint. I love you so so so so much.

Thank you for reading <3

-Eva