We all need safe spaces.

I once found refuge in the act of painting. Deep connectedness was there in a way I could never find anywhere else, in myself and in the things I tried to make sense of. I’ll never forget the moment I lost that feeling, unable to find solace in color or texture and not-knowing. This was a significant moment for me, wrapped up in entirely in the utter loss of a dear friend. 

I could do nothing but stare at the e-m-p-t-i-n-e-s-s of white. That feeling I had experienced time and time again (any time you start a new project there is always a moment of hesitance) changed shape. Suddenly, the thrill of transformation felt like an impossible abyss. Lonely and uncertain.

Suddenly, the safety was gone and I haven’t been able to paint since... Not in the same way. 

This morning I woke up at 4 AM with a profound need to paint...it wasn’t a call of creativity or inspiration, but a longing for safekeeping. I could do nothing but smash a tube of paint into the surface, feeling the cold on my palm and sinking into the senselessness of it all.

We all need safe spaces.