A Season of Loud Quiet
The paintings you see here were conceived as part of a series I began in 2023, and continue to work on as time allows.
Exploring grief through the practice of quiet making.
They Say (2024) | Part of a series exploring grief. | Acrylic on 30"x40” canvas.
As a violinist, I have spent most of my life in a field that requires extreme discipline and precision. There is great beauty and order wrought from crafting notes and phrases that methodically fall perfectly into place.
I have found over the years that, as a compliment to this methodical and focused type of work, I need time to let my mind wander and reflect – to create a space for the private questions, the troubles, joys, and thought experiments that come up in life that don’t readily have a place in other rhythms of life. The act of making (in all sorts of whimsical forms, including, but not limited to, painting) has become an essential spiritual discipline for me. It has taught me a deeper understanding of ritual and patience, to listen harder, to trust myself, and trust my faith more deeply.
This has been especially true in recent years, as I’ve sensed in myself the rounding of a corner – through a long season of grief and questioning – and into another long season of healing and quiet rebuilding.
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Paralysis (2024) | Part of a series exploring grief. | Acrylic on 30"x40” canvas.
Even the personally creative side of my violin playing has been fairly quiet. This is unusual for someone normally overflowing with shenanigans and inspiration. Of course I continue to play professionally, but the “groans that words cannot express” which historically for me have come out in music have needed a quieter place to emerge.
Slowly, painting has revealed itself to me as one of those “quieter places.” Honestly, I do not know why, at this point in my life, this is what I need to do. I ask this all the time.
And over time, in small, joy-filled ways – with each stroke of the brush or dutifully practiced scale – I receive reminders that I don’t need to know why. I just need to trust the process. I do not need to see each step. I need to allow myself time to be right here and grieve. I need to allow myself to be in the valleys, because these valleys are reshaping me. I need to trust, to take heart… and (!!) I need to keep making weird stuff.
In the Secret, Quiet Place (2024) | Part of a series exploring grief. | Acrylic on 30"x40” canvas.