I've been trying to write this for about a week now. I have all the thoughts, all the ideas, but the words keep getting stuck. maybe this is why this piece exists.
the holidays were a lot. it's the time when nature and our bodies call us to go inward. to get quiet. to slow down. while society rushes and pressures us to work our fastest and hardest for the year. it doesn't work. add into it the specific stresses of 2021, and the season finale of chiron and venus in retrograde back to back. if you're reading this, you survived and you deserve all the snaps.
this piece was a manifestation of that. of my overwhelm. of my inability to put words to what I was experiencing. of the vast range of things moving through my mind & body in a very short space of time. of trying to be present as a parent in the midst of that.
I'm often asked about what inspires me. the answer is many things. the answer is also sometimes nothing. sometimes, I'm simply feeling too much, and need to put them somewhere that doesn't cause harm. they leave my body in colour and sound and word and texture and adornments that make me feel like my best self.
I've struggled with my mental health for most of my life. mostly in silence. and the popularity of speaking about it publicly now is both beautiful and concerning, because it shows just how many of us are not as okay as we once pretended. but there is healing. and there are ways to create beauty from the chaos. music and art have saved my life more times than I can count. they were my outlets. my therapy when I felt I couldn't turn to other people. and while I have much more support and am in a far better place now, there are still those moments where creating seems like the only answer. it's become a part of my process. to pour the anxiety out, then look at it/listen back to it and hear/feel what it's trying to tell me about myself. my art is a mirror of a moment. you'll rarely get the same thing twice.
this is anxiety in motion. this is what december 25, 2021 looked like. my kids and I sat in a circle and drew together for hours. there was silence. and laughter. and sharing of progress. and food. and hugs. and compliments on each others' work. and we were all okay, because my anxiety was not taken out on them. past versions of me would not have handled it as gracefully, so let this piece also be a testament to how far I've come. I'm still here, and there's only more art to come.
prints available at https://www.earthandmoon.net/product-page/anxiety-in-motion-prints