Butterflies: Painting the Symbol of Becoming

Jul 17

“The wings of transformation are born of patience and struggle.”—Janet Dickens

I thought of this as I edited the cover of my next book. I’m going to have to hire someone to help, I reluctantly shrugged. But really, what a gift it is to have others help with this new project. Meanwhile, I experiment with drawing with pastels, painting African animals, and sketching a book I’m wanting to illustrate this winter. The process is slow, sometimes slogged, full of holes, and in all honesty, ripe with doubt. So is my life right now. I’m looking at how I spend my time and energy and with whom and where. I think since having cancer and the death of my mother over the last few years, a lot of questions have been bubbling… about where, how, and when to expend energy and what can be my focus at this stage in life, especially in this topsy-turvy world?

I never have trouble with the first stage of making a painting, that moment of inspiration. It’s the final lap of the race, the last mile before the finish line, the myriad of distractions that call my attention off course half- way through and to the end. I’ve learned to work on multiple projects to a point, circle round, and then focus for the finish.

What is it that lives in this struggle? I think it’s my ego. The part of me that wants so badly, that envisions, that demands, and critiques, hovering to sabotage at some point. I think of some creature, mumbling, “Precious” like in “Lord of the Rings.” So that is part of my struggle. Following the whole path even in the darker shadows full of whispering:“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, “ “Does anyone really care,” …”Everyone else knows better,” moments. It rears its’ head in the “ugly” stage of paintings before I break free and put a bold mark or erase something that didn’t fit. It rears its head when I’m about to let go of keeping some sentence or line that is too “precious” and doesn’t serve the painting.

At least I’m old enough to know…Struggle is a part of the process, a push.

…and here’s where the butterfly comes in. Breaking through that cocoon, tearing through, is a bold, blind, brave little feat. Whether it’s a painting or something in life, the storm actually comes before the calm. The energy, dissatisfaction, angst, pain- pierce our cocoons, and we move on. Or sometimes we don’t. We get distracted, fall into addictions, busy ourselves, blame others, get depressed- but even as that goes on, the energy, a life force bustles and burns and pushes again.

What do all these existential ruminations mean in my life and art? I want to be honest.

I’m feeling a shift as I’m working and walking through my day. I know to others it may look like I’m choosing solitude over sales, or being scattered, but I’m trusting myself and the process more. Using pastels and drawing as well as painting is shifting something. I could look at classmates from a watercolor class I left, and say, “oh, my, their work is so realistic, I’m falling behind because I’m not focused only on watercolor, “ but I’m feeling and expressing in my art journals now. I’m taking time to really see when I’m walking in the park. I’m choosing solitude and society more intentionally. It’s a deepening time alone ,painting A patient practice is emerging.

I think the only way to soften the sharpness of our struggles, is to meet each stage with patience.

At least that’s what I find again and again at the easel or the paint desk or the laptop. I listen for that patient voice that says, “You’ve got this…It won’t be perfect or the way you thought, but you’ve got this and it’s fine.” It’s also the voice that says, “I love this, look at the color, the googly shapes, the creature coming to life. “

where the caterpillar has said “I can’t,” because she couldn’t.

The butterfly says “Yes,” And, then, the butterfly can fly.