All of us, at some point in our lives, become ghosts. This doesn’t necessarily mean that we die, but we forget to be present. We might live in the past or the future, or another world entirely. We move through our lives like ghosts; there, but not really there.
We might watch but not participate. Maybe we go through the motions, but our minds are somewhere else or even worse, numb.
This painting is a reminder to be present. The ghost girl is there, but not really there. She is not reflected in the water like everything else. She gazes up at the moon, but seems to ignore everything else around her.
I actually painted this canvas green and black in October, but the original idea I had for it fizzled out. I’m glad I let the canvas sit for awhile. I had other ideas for it, but none of them stuck until this one. I’m glad; this one feels special to me. I also painted this because I decided that I believe in ghosts. Don’t worry, I didn’t have a scary experience or anything, it’s just one of those things that clicked for me; it finally made sense.
This piece is available for purchase here.
Have a great weekend!
My paintings always surprise me because they almost never turn out the way I plan them. I may go in with a plan or an idea that I want to express, but somewhere in the process, that idea changes. Once I finish, I realize that whatever the painting ended up saying was what I needed to express all along.
This painting was no exception. We had a few springy days and I felt my soul stirring. I planned on painting something very gold, warm looking with lots of movement in energy. I wanted to paint hope and excitement. As the painting got away from me as they always do, it grew more white. It looked more calm than I’d wanted it to. It was misty and cold rather than warm and vibrant.
That’s how it had to be though.
After I realized that I needed to be sitting under that tree, I realized that this piece is about patience and faith as we allow things to pass.
Sometimes, the best thing to do it wait. Understand that things pass. Remember that spring comes each year. Observe things as they happen, but don’t let them sink into our hearts. Sometimes detachment is the healthiest thing in the world.
Even though it seems like forever since I last finished a painting, I think this one was worth it.
This is the first painting in what I hope to be an entire series of works in my usual style but with more emphasis on the night sky and celestial bodies. If you follow me on Pinterest, you may have noticed that I’ve been adding spacey pictures to my “Art Inspiration” board for quite awhile now, and I think I’m ready to work with that idea now.
I can think of two things that inspired this series:
First, a doodle I did a few months ago. I was working through Laura Hollick’s Create Yourself e-course and I had been doodling as well as taking note. I let my pen dance around on the page according to what I felt, and then I made another small doodle to “sum up” that energy I’d just captured with my “pencil dancing”. I wanted a tiny snapshot of my soul, the joyful energy that is McKella. It was a spiral with lots of little arms coming off of it, like a galaxy.
Secondly, a poem I wrote in my senior year of high school. I can’t seem to find it anywhere. It was about the complexity of being a human and the vastness of the human soul. I felt so big inside, like I could spent my entire life exploring and never understand it all. The very structure of my body and soul, the cycles that I lived by, and the thoughts and emotions I experienced seemed so miraculous. I honestly don’t remember any of that poem except for one line: There are galaxies inside.
I may go back and rewrite that poem, because the theme has never left me.
The series will explore this idea further. I don’t know how many pieces I’ll do. It may be three, maybe a dozen. I’m going to let it unfold as it needs to.
This piece does have some significance on its own though. I usually don’t fully understand the meaning of my paintings until I’m finished, and last night as I washed out my brush for the final time, I realized that this piece is about goals, possibilities, values, experiences, plans, and how they can change or become eclipsed by something else. I’ve always been very driven, which is a good thing, but on the flip side I also have a hard time letting go. I’ll hold onto something-be it a goal, relationship, job, or old story long after it’s lost its magic. I have a hard time moving on, letting go, and giving up control.
The figure in this painting watches the events in the night sky, but doesn’t try to change them. She observes, but makes no effort to interfere. She trusts, she is connected to something that is rooted to the ground, and that is all she needs. She knows who she is, and that is all that is necessary.
Purchase this piece here.