Art has always saved me. No matter what crazy things happened in my life, I could always turn to art to bring back sanity, peace and joy to my darkest days. But on July 4th , my husband who I have been in love with since I was 14 died from Pancreatic cancer.
My art couldn’t shield me from this horror. I don’t have the will or interest to create. My brain tells my hands to do their magic but they rebel. They just lay there with heavy weights forcing them into inactivity. I grow inpatient. I don’t have time to mourn. I want to create, but my body stays immobile. Tears , tears and more tears just keep coming, preventing my eyes from seeing my visions of beautiful art.
Everyday I force myself, with super human willpower to draw or sculpt something. It’s a tiny fraction of my normal work. If I keep going, they tell me it gets better. Maybe even a new art experience will come out of all this pain. This deep black hole of pain.