January 31, 2022

It's interesting. The longer I go without clear vision, the more I see.

A couple of weeks ago I was looking at a small vase of roses sitting on the table next to my chair. They were the last remnants from several beautiful 'get well' bouquets I received after my eye surgery. These three blooms were calling me to look…and to see. Since my eye surgery, I have struggled with detail and in that moment, questions started coming to me.

Was my brain filling in what I thought they should look like?
Maybe.
Did that even matter?
I don’t know.
Was my enjoyment of those deep red beauties any less because of my limitations?
Good question.

I decided I needed to see what the picture in my head might look like if I took it with my phone camera. So, I set the vase down on the floor and stood over the roses and started snapping. The light was melancholy and moody, just the way I was feeling.

During this impromptu photo shoot, Hazel saw me and wandered over. She decided I needed her help. She always thinks I need her help. As it turns out, I did.

As I tried to get her in the frame, I noticed she was going in and out of focus. This was exactly how I was actually seeing things all around me. What a strange feeling that was when I realized this. Yeah. Everything was blurry around the edges and yet strangely vivid in the middle…but dense and hard to center on.

After I shot these, I sat down and perused the twenty plus images in my gallery. Out of all of them, these were my favorites. No editing. No filters. No nothing. Just me and Hazel and those roses and my Samsung. I was a little nervous to share them on social media because well, I really loved how they turned out, but could I trust what I thought I saw?

I shared anyway.

Ever since I was diagnosed with a detached retina, I have been intensely curious (and concerned) what my art would look like if I had to create with visual impairment for the rest of my life. The process of taking those pictures got right to the heart of it.

I was scared.
How could I trust my eyes?
How would I know if my art was any good?

That question reminded me of another time not so long ago when I had to take another leap of faith.

I was lying in bed after having reconstructive surgery on my hip. It was the spring of 2018 and I was four weeks post-op, exactly where I am now, come to think of it. My mental health was not great, as you can imagine. My anxiety was off the charts. I had two more months before I was even going to be weight bearing on that leg and then many, many long months of physical therapy ahead of me.

How was I going to get through it? My C-PTSD brain was kicking into high gear. That experience was triggering every part of me that just wanted to be left alone. I needed a distraction. I needed a challenge. The pain and the same four walls day in and day out were closing in on me. Then I thought…

Do something you’ve never done.

And that’s when I began my love affair with mixed media.

Phil set me up in bed with a tray that was elevated and tilted. I had my sketchbook and a set of graphite pencils, paints, collage papers, brush pens, mark making tools and some glue. It was hard doing this from my bed with very limited mobility. If I dropped something, I had to wait for help to pick it up. I didn’t really know what I wanted to make. It was messy at times and I got super frustrated. Why was I doing this right now?

Somehow, at the same time, I knew this was a game changer of epic proportions. I felt something shifting in me. And I was right.

In those days, I had a small fiber arts studio downstairs in our house. And I had A LOT of stuff. I had been teaching and making fiber art for years and years. When I made the decision to transition to painting and mixed media, I knew I needed a different kind of set up. So, while I was still mending my hip, Phil turned the largest bedroom downstairs into a new studio for me and moved everything.

It was a lot of work mostly because I was starting from scratch. I didn’t know exactly where this was going. It was so much harder than I thought it would be. There were many days I wanted to give up and go back to what was familiar. But I didn’t. I kept making art.

But I digress…

After I took the photos of Hazel and the roses, I thought, okay, brave one, get yourself a hot cup of something, put on your big girl boots, get in that studio and start throwing some paint around. And I did.

I took out my watercolors and my most expensive paper (because why not) and stared up at the ceiling for a while. The lights I normally work under seemed terribly bright and I struggled to get focused. I dipped my brush in the clean, clear water and made a few strokes. Then I dropped in some color. Then some more color.

I could see but I couldn’t. That’s the only way I know how to describe it.

I would pick the paper up to look at the water and paint from different angles. Then I would put it down and add another layer.

What should I do here?
Paint what I see or paint what I feel?

Well, both.

Just keep going.

It was a chance to utilize all that I’ve learned so far and just TRUST the process and more importantly, TRUST myself.

I finished it.

And then the next day I went back down to my studio with another hot cup of something, put on my favorite playlist for making art, and I did it again. This time I didn’t limit myself to just watercolor. I reached for anything and everything I felt like using, including my favorite drawing ‘stick’ that I found at the river.

I was gentle with myself. I gave myself plenty of room to play.

Turns out, not being able to physically see with certainty and clarity really helps you figure out what’s important…in art and in life…in real time. Every day.

To many, it must seem a bit crazy that I can't stop thinking about making art during the hardest times of my life. Why don’t you let it be for a while, someone asked me.

But like I told a friend the other day:
If you know you know.

It kind of gnaws at my brain and it doesn’t stop until I go and do it.

Using challenges in your life to reflect, grow, and learn is certainly not a new concept, and certainly nothing new for me. I am very much guided by this idea that no matter what life throws at you, there's a lesson and a deeper meaning that can be gleaned from it.

Yesterday I began to see a distorted little snippet from the top of my eye. The first signs of some vision returning! It makes me feel disoriented and kind of woozy when I’m walking around, but it’s a start.

I feel like I am living in my own world right now; like I’ve stepped into a place where I’m the only one and no one can see what I see behind this bubble. Some days it also feels like I may never get to leave, but it takes as long as it takes and it goes the way it’s going to go.

So, I’ll keep doing hard things.