Artists Registry

Tuesday

On September 11, my world went dark. Everything was lost. All that remained was the dust and broken dreams of so many lost souls. With the blink of an eye, my young and beautiful sister was gone. Her light, the force that had separated her from so many, was extinguished.

Desperately, I searched for any remainder of my old life to pull me through. While I waded through the aftermath, I realized that I had lost something else - the ability to paint. The only tool in my arsenal that could have fought off the insanity, was gone.

I feared the solitary and space needed for the creative process to work. There would be too much time to remember, to be alone with my thoughts and to feel the hole where my heart used to lie. I was no longer willing to follow a road whose direction was not always easily seen. I could not trust myself to see it through and with no compass in hand, I saw no sign of safety or peace ahead.

I stopped painting and I walked away from the canvas. I left it blank with the emptiness I now carried in my soul. I had become the painting I could no longer paint.

Years went by and life dragged me along. Finally, I grew tired of the sadness and found myself yearning for the feel of a paintbrush in my hand. To my surprise, the fear of being alone and listening to the buzz in my head was no longer as terrifying. The dark voices had slowly become teachers and now they were guiding me through. Effortlessly, I fell back into the groove and the work began to pour out at a dizzying speed. My paintings were different. They were lighter, more focused and confident. There was an ease and maturity that I had never felt before. Perhaps my sister was there working with me, urging me on, coaxing out the demons and transforming them into angels.

With this newfound strength and desire to paint, I decided to explore my loss. I struggled with several ideas before I painted “Tuesday”. It was followed by “Tumbling Down I and II”.They came quickly and ferociously. Unlike most of my happier and colorful pieces, they are the sum of the darkness I had felt for so long.
I believe that this purge of emotion onto paper brought a bit of release. The healing I had so desperately been seeking had maybe found a place to begin it’s work.

Although most of my work is built on color and light, there will always be an element of darkness that maybe only I can see. Each painting I create will always contain a piece of that day. I accept this, for without darkness in my life, never would I have recognized light and without pain, I would never know joy.

I miss my sister every day. She will always be present in my life as well as my art. I now believe that she is the light and the joy that fall from my brush full of color and hope. She is that rare, spectacular painting that happens every so often. The one that fills you with awe and wonder. She is the piece that mysteriously seems to have painted it’s self.

Kerry Irvine