Original mixed media and oil painting
48 × 36 inches
Gallery wrapped canvas, wired and ready to hang
I recently listened to a book that I didn’t even realize how badly I needed. I was just looking for a little hope amidst all the despair I was feeling. While listening to Somehow: Thoughts on Love by Anne Lamott during the ordinary rhythms of daily life, this piece began to take shape.
I listened while washing dishes, painting, managing the kids, and moving through the day feeling tired, stretched thin, and still trying to love well. There was something ironic about listening to reflections on love while actively living it out in small, sometimes exhausting ways. Love for my family. Love for myself. Love for the world, and for people suffering whom I don’t even know. Love, even when it feels heavy.
At the same time, I’ve been deeply troubled by what’s been happening in our country. The way violence gets justified. The way people get dehumanized. I found myself praying not for answers, but for softened hearts. For an awakening to compassion and empathy.
With a toddler tugging at my pant legs, a prepubescent teen being her beautiful, age-appropriate self, and a house that felt completely undone, I painted and prayed. And painted some more.
This piece became a prayer.
A vision of what the world might look like if we truly embodied Christ.
If we lived as neighbors.
If we remembered that no one is foreign, no one is above another, and no one stands outside belonging.
Love is still our hope.
And somehow, I believe it’s enough.
Original mixed media and oil painting
48 × 36 inches
Gallery wrapped canvas, wired and ready to hang
I recently listened to a book that I didn’t even realize how badly I needed. I was just looking for a little hope amidst all the despair I was feeling. While listening to Somehow: Thoughts on Love by Anne Lamott during the ordinary rhythms of daily life, this piece began to take shape.
I listened while washing dishes, painting, managing the kids, and moving through the day feeling tired, stretched thin, and still trying to love well. There was something ironic about listening to reflections on love while actively living it out in small, sometimes exhausting ways. Love for my family. Love for myself. Love for the world, and for people suffering whom I don’t even know. Love, even when it feels heavy.
At the same time, I’ve been deeply troubled by what’s been happening in our country. The way violence gets justified. The way people get dehumanized. I found myself praying not for answers, but for softened hearts. For an awakening to compassion and empathy.
With a toddler tugging at my pant legs, a prepubescent teen being her beautiful, age-appropriate self, and a house that felt completely undone, I painted and prayed. And painted some more.
This piece became a prayer.
A vision of what the world might look like if we truly embodied Christ.
If we lived as neighbors.
If we remembered that no one is foreign, no one is above another, and no one stands outside belonging.
Love is still our hope.
And somehow, I believe it’s enough.