Art and the Heart

I've been making a lot of art lately. Good Art. It's focused. It's purposeful. It communicates meaning. It's beautiful in its own sad little way. I discovered that there is a correlation in my life between heartache and how prolific I am in making art.

When I was working on my final BFA show my two year relationship ended. Not only was our romantic relationship over, but our friendship as well. We didn't even see each other until he came to the opening of my BFA show a few months later. I didn't realize how much I used my art to work through the coping stages after that breakup until I saw him standing in front of my artist statement, reading it carefully.

Look at that little girl... She thought she'd been through a lot. Ooh, girl, buckle up! Art is such hard work ("I'm an art major." "Oh, that's fun." "Go die") Even recognizing her youth and naïveté, I look at her and can honor her for being strong and never giving up. I miss that girl sometimes (yes, that girl is me).

My show was strong and full of good Art. I was told it was at a level beyond that of a Bachelor student. It delved into the realm of talking about anxiety, before people were really talking about anxiety!

When I graduated, I got a job teaching art. It filled my creative need enough at the time that I gradually made less and less art. I was also falling in love with the man whom I would eventually marry. Four years and two kids later I found myself married to an ex-mormon who stopped being the man who won my heart. At this point he had broken my heart with his words multiple times. Each time chipping away at the vision I had created for what I wanted my life to be like.

The first words that hurt me were when he told me he didn't have s testimony any more. With these he took the surety of having an eternal companion. Having a home where together we could teach our children the gospel. Having access to priesthood power. 

Later he told me he didn't want anymore children and threatened to get snipped if I pushed it. These words murdered what I thought were the last of my hopes and dreams. Staying with him felt nearly pointless. My anger toward him grew and my patience with him dwindled. 

The last words I let him hurt me with were when he told me he never loved me. I can see that his perspective was warped and that he was using tactics to push me away. Rationally, I could recognize what was reality and what was perverted with the darkness he brought into our home. I know he had loved me, but when he said those words, it shattered me. I mean, it ground the pieces of my heart into dust. I felt like my whole body was going to crumble.

I told him, "I didn't know there was any of my heart left to break." The pain from these words hurt just as badly as from any of the other words he had hit me with. There was no reprieve. There was no solace. All I could do was have him hold me. So he did. He held me and kept me from ripping apart from the inside out. I had lost myself. I was drowning in turmoil and gasping for air that had no respite. I needed to feel like me again. So I went back to making Art.

It was good Art. Different than I had ever done before. Or even liked before. I was painting desert landscapes. Looking back I can see why my paintings focused on the emptiness I felt they needed. I remember working on them and thinking, yeah, this desolate area is perfect and yeah the sky needs to be realistically dull, tapering from blue to yellow, and it should not be a beautiful sunset with perfect billowing clouds. I needed to focus on the plain, ordinary, ugly, and empty. At the time I thought it was because I was painting what was real, but looking back I can see that it was because I felt ugly, empty, and dull.

I titled one painting from that period of my life "Weathered" and it perfectly depicted how difficult it was for me to let others in. But it also beautifully illustrates the reality that what you focus on becomes all you can see. This painting is only a tiny part of the cactus, but I painted it on a very large scale. I magnified the ugly and rough parts. It's those details that create the more interesting story. It's the imperfections that create a more dynamic painting overall. This painting was, in its own right, a self portrait. These paintings and the Scottsdale Art Walk got me through my divorce.

Weathered

 I have since found a great deal of happiness, friendship, and enjoyment from being single. I have opened my heart again, though not intentionally. And I have yet again been hurt, dang it. This time, the pattern was no different. I fell back on Art. There was a week of my life that I had a hard time getting out of bed, culminating in an emotional breakdown where I could no longer hold in the tears. The hurt bubbled up my throat and burst out of me like it was late for an urgent meeting. I thought to myself, I need to feel like me again, so in that moment of agony, I took a few selfies and proceeded to therapeutically draw the dramatic moment.

I felt better. But this was just the beginning of a new art series that focuses on emotion, vulnerability, and mental health issues. Things are very different for me socially. I was holding back before and not throwing myself into the work the Lord had asked me to do. He sent me strong, clear, undeniable direction, instructing me to write my story down and share it. While I've been writing it, I hesitated sharing it. I've been sharing it through my art as well. It's hard to write about this stuff. To show people the ugly parts of my story. But the truth is, that's the relatable part. That's the part that's going to help people. That's what makes my story interesting. And I am more productive when I'm alone, and I probably make better Art when I'm a little sad.

At institute this week, Brother Tom Christofferson shared a story from his mission about when Elder Gordon B. Hinckley visited. He made the point that the missionaries should focus more on God's work to be done than on the sights to be seen. Implying the question, "Are you here as a tourist? Or are you here as a missionary?"

It hit me like this: Are you here on earth as a tourist? Or are you here as a missionary? The Lord has a plan for me. It is different from the one I had for myself. It includes a divorce. It includes living in Arizona. It includes being a single mom. It includes a lot of vulnerability. It does not include (right now) an eternal marriage or an easy, straightforward path. The Lord's plan is for me to bring others to Christ. To help and lift and love and spread hope and happiness. That is the work I want to do.

God has a plan for you, too. It goes beyond your plan for yourself. Ask Him what it is.