Returning home

Sometimes when we take a trip along the road we can get lost and end up somewhere alien to us, somewhere that holds onto us and keeps us from returning home for a while. For me, losing my father this past February was devastating and led me down foreign roads within myself, and I got lost. I halted life, it all just stopped; it was like everything was some nightmare I was sure I’d awake from any minute. 

I stopped writing, I stopped painting and selling paintings, I stopped writing poetry, it was as if every iota of creativity had been drained from me. I existed… that’s all I did honestly… existed.

I was stagnant and felt like my creativity was the least of my worries. My father passed alone, in a hospital, while visitors were not able to come due to covid-19. For several months he was alone in hospitals, we could only talk on the phone and that time was far too short. 

I allowed myself the time to grieve, to be gentle with myself, and to allow myself to work through my emotions. Last month (October) I began sketching again and exploring all bits of my creativity once again. My creative juices are firing like a canon; in all avenues of my creativity, music, art, poetry, writing, it’s all returning to me. I am about to begin painting again and stepping my art up to new levels I haven’t stepped out into.

I have returned home metaphorically, to a place familiar and yet new every time I visit. I don’t feel lost anymore, no longer am I thrown off course by the grief and mourning I dealt with.  New pieces are coming, new styles are coming, much more… is coming!

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