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With both hands, I cup the body of Mama Bird with her cracked, broken wings, and apply gentle pressure. Kneading and smoothing. Adding and taking away. These wings, each lovingly shaped and adorned with small flowers, sat for a few weeks too long, wrapped in wet rags and sitting in a black garbage bag. When I finally get around to attaching them to Mama Bird’s body, the wings have started to dry and crack into pieces as I lift them from their solitary perches. Wings left unused become frail and brittle.
Sensing the panic welling up inside me, my art teacher declares, “You need to pop those suckers on soon and work from there! There’s no way to do it gently.” It is the end of class, so I pack-up the pieces and parts of my bird, once again, in wet rags and lug them home with me so that I can do some emergency repair work. When I unwrap the clay that next morning, I feel a sense of reverence. I aim to make this bird whole again. I can’t help but think, as I hold these broken wings in my hands, that this must be how God feels when He cradles our broken spirits.
The molding process? It can hurt and it might last longer than we would like. In the case of Mama Bird, with some work, I am able to put her back together, all in one piece, but her transformation is still not over. We have glazing issues, where for some odd reason, the “feather white” glaze that I have so carefully chosen, chips-off in tiny pieces when we remove her from the kiln. Even with repeated glazing and firing at higher temperatures, Mama Bird’s glaze continues to flake-off in places. For some reason, though, I am okay with it. Her “shabby chic” exterior speaks to me. The bare clay peeking through is evidence of Mama Bird’s journey. Scars of a warrior.
Early on, I had decided to keep the hole open in Mama Bird’s chest where I hollowed her for firing.
I imagine a huge spray of colorful flowers flowing from that hollow, spilling forth with beauty. The tiny little flowers that I fashioned from vintage fabric and wire sit patiently in a block of green foam while Mama Bird undergoes her many transformations. Now it is time to fill that hollow space. After playing with flower arrangements and securing the wires with a final dose of resin, I step back from Mama Bird and take a look. There is still something missing. This mama bird is a warrior. She needs a crown.
To all my fellow warrior mamas out there, I want you to know that it is never too late to repair your wings. We make mistakes. We suffer losses and heartaches. We may even feel so broken that we cannot fly again. But God, the Master Artist? He specializes in crafting beauty from our brokenness.
I started this painting back in November as a part of an online course called Paint Mojo taught by artist Tracy Verdugo. It sat on the art room easel in its crazy, unfinished state until last month. April. You might say that I lost my mojo for a little while there, but in reality, I just couldn’t finish everything on my plate at the same time. During those months in between November and April, I found myself preparing for an Open House right before Christmas and then jumped headfirst into finishing my “Ben’s Dream” piece just in time for an Autism Awareness exhibit in April. All the while, this big canvas brimming with bright colors and symbols winked at me in the corner of my art room. A reminder that I am always a work in progress.
I am convinced that God called me to start creating art several years ago, the year my girl started kindergarten, as a means of helping me practice the real art of surrendering my life to Him on a daily basis. To loosen my grip on the steering wheel and trust the process. My whole art journey has been a series of surrender. Surrendering my old insecurities and ways of thinking. Surrendering to the grief I never allowed myself to feel at the beginning of our boy’s autism journey. And surrendering to the idea that I can be an artist even though my college degrees are in education.
Art has become my metaphor for living life. With each painting, I start with a vague idea or vision and very often do not know how I am going to get there. I just have to start. I paint a big swoosh across the canvas. Or pick-up a piece of collage paper that calls to me and glue it down. Nothing monumental. I just have to do something. Before I know it, that big swoosh is followed by few more swooshes in different colors. I fall into a rhythm. Swoosh. Tear. Glue. Swirl. Ahh. This is how God wants me to start living. Take a step. And another step. You don’t need to know all the answers right now.
Before I know it, a certain energy takes over and LOTS of movement is happening. Almost always, though, I arrive at a certain point in my work, stand back, and think, “But where am I going? What IS my next step?” My heart pounds a little harder and I question my ability to make something out of all the chaos staring back at me. This. This is when I pray. God move through my hands. Guide them in the direction they need to go. Awkwardly, I might sketch-out an image in my mind. Many times, I fumble, frustrated over lines on the paper that do not match my vision. I will myself not to give-up. Something beautiful is waiting to come to fruition. Art is about capturing a feeling, not perfection. And so is life.
Sometimes, I just need to take a break. I sit on the deck with a good book. I scroll through Facebook. (Because creating can feel isolating at times!) I roam around a boutique that inspires me. Or just work on a project that is more structured. I need to refuel in order to persevere through the more trying stages of creating. And when I return to the canvas, I am able to bring a fresh perspective along with me.
When I do return, the vision that needs to be brought to life starts to reveal itself as the images connect on the canvas. A crazy line or paint dot becomes a bird’s beak. The splotch of blue ink that I thought was a mistake peeks through the background adding just the right effect. Nothing is wasted. I fly free in the knowledge that I can trust the process, both in my art and in life.
Peace I leave with you.
-John 14:27
“What great thing would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?”
Today, dear friends, may you experience the simple joy of life!
The Blue Mug 