All these things are true

 

sandon point pic.jpg

This is where I live.

(Approximately)

This is the view I can come and see, any day I wish. I know that makes me lucky.

And this below, is my painting of my sea, my sky. The space I go to to breathe. I painted this six weeks after my beautiful friend Anna died.

sandon point.jpg

 

This is the Facebook post I wrote about this painting, just after it was finished.

I have been spending the past few weeks taking time to be quiet, walking, listening to music, being with my family, and painting.

I have been painting every day, from the moment my friend Anna told me she was sick. It has been constant, the call to sit and put down colour, swim inside it, breathe it in. Every day I brew a cup of tea, put on my headphones, lay out the watercolours and paper, and travel.

And every day I have felt the edges of my sorrow soften.

I have thought of Anna; I have loved her, missed her, wanted her here, and felt grateful she was in my life for so long. I have been completely absorbed and felt calm and transported and even happy. I have sat with the paper, the brush, the music and usually a cat, and felt myself slowly healing.

I know this would make Anna happy. I know this is everything she was and is about. Art makes life. It makes life acute and true and tender and bearable and divine.

This is the view from Sandon Point where I stood on Christmas Day with my dog and thought of the people I love and who love me, and the sweet air around and how I was here, in my skin, keeping on. I breathed in the colours. I brought them home and began to paint.

 

I am lucky. I am glad to have the sea. I have found joy again. And I wish Anna was here. Every single day I wish it.

The ocean is beautiful. Life is lovely almost all the time. And I wish Anna was here.

Isn’t it strange, and imperfect, and right that all of these things can be true at the exact same time?

 


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