Ancient Southwest Sandstone Ribbons- Painting Number Ten (The Prototype)

October flew by in a flash and here I sit at my laptop trying to come up with a story to accompany my painting for October.  I set out to paint one painting a month for 2019 and to write a story regarding the inspiration behind it. The only thing is I didn’t complete a painting in October. I only have a sketch to offer because it never got to the painting stage. 

If you’ll bear with me, I will try to explain. 

For a few months I have felt out of sorts, off kilter, just not quite in alignment with the cosmos. My inner compass was having trouble calibrating to locate its true north.  Don’t get me wrong, my life is filled with so many blessings for which I am deeply grateful, yet something was not quite right and I couldn’t figure out what it was.  I chalked it up to a buildup of those challenges life brings to our doorsteps.  Those events we aren’t quite sure what to do with, or how we will handle them, or how we might help our loved ones and friends stay strong through their own battles.  These events weren’t anything larger than what I’ve experienced before, but there was heaviness in my heart I just couldn’t shake.  I tried to get going with my painting but there seemed to be so many distractions.  In retrospect, the distractions and challenges weren’t anything insurmountable, but they seemed like towering pinnacles I didn’t have the will to attempt to scale.   Somehow my plate seemed so full I could barely carry it. So, I did what happens when you feel you don’t have what it takes and I cried for a day or two.  Just let the tears come.  Of course, when those tears break though, the floodgates open and ancient tears from ancient sorrows seem to rush in with the velocity and volume of a tsunami.  After the crying, I felt relieved but exhausted and worn out, as if I’d been on spin cycle in the washing machine and then plopped in the dryer for the heavy duty drying cycle.  My muse was nowhere to be found, but Ursula (the anti-muse) was chirping loud and clear with negative comments.  I was letting her win and I really had no idea even where to begin with a new painting.  I turned to my phone and opened up Facebook. Up popped those daily memories of what happened “on this day” in the past.  The first memory was an album of photos from a road trip Big Rich and I had taken to northern Arizona several years ago. We had traveled to Page near the Arizona/Utah border and gone on a glorious exploration of Antelope Canyon.

Truly, this area is one of the most incredible places on earth and if you have visited you will agree.  It is an area where wind and water has created remarkable slot canyons that reach far below into the earth in vertical towers.  From the ground all you can see is a crack in the earth, but when you descend into the earth, a bounty of colorful ribbons, yellow, orange, red, purple and pink of layered sandstone rock form a swirling heavenly spectacle.

It so happens that I had been very ill prior to this road trip.  I quit my teaching job due to illness as I was recovering from a bad bout of pneumonia. I had lost a lot of weight and was weak, both physically and mentally.  We nearly cancelled our trip, but I knew the majesty of the high mesa of Arizona would accelerate my healing.  I spent plenty of time sleeping in the car, but this visit to Antelope Canyon was not one I was going to miss.

In order to visit either the Upper or Lower Canyon you must be accompanied by a guide as this area is sacred ground for the Navajo Nation known as “The place where water runs though rocks.”  Prior to setting foot on the trail which led to the Lower Canyon, we all respected the tradition to say a blessing before we entered. We climbed down a steep ladder to the bottom of the canyon, the sun streaking down in a laser show of light.  After scampering down the lengthy ladder we arrived at the bottom with towering colorful walls surrounding us.

Our guide accompanied us through the winding passage, pointing out different figures and designs formed by centuries of water erosion.  At one point, we stopped as the light cascaded down forming a powerful beam of light like that of a gigantic torch.  Our guide invited Big Rich and me to step up on a rock and put our hands out in front of us. When we held the palms of our hands out, we trapped the light and it felt as if we had summoned the beam to land directly and solely in our hands.  Then, the most amazing thing happened, like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, the beam of light buzzed and hovered in our hands.

We literally soaked up all of its energy.  We were laughing; giddy with excitement at the trick, the illusion, we had just pulled off.  My laughter soon turned to utter tears of relief and joy as I felt the soothing healing energy of the light fill every cell in my body with renewed vibrant health.  This was a pivotal point in my recovery.  From that moment on, I felt a weight was lifted, not only the burden of poor health but the burden of worry that accompanied it.  I knew everything was going to be okay. Maybe it was coincidence, I don’t know, for the mind is a powerful machine and I had deep respect and reverence for the opportunity to be on Navajo sacred grounds. Maybe my body, my mind and my spirit just needed some extra special ancient energy to kick start my physical and mental health back into action.

This is all leading back to the painting (that is not a painting).  After reliving these fabulous memories, I felt the urge to sketch out the flowing ribbons of layered rock, just to tap into the energetic flow I had once experienced.  I felt perhaps by performing this act I would summon some of that mysterious ancient energy in lifting my spirits and setting my compass straight.  I chose the medium my inner child prefers which are pencil crayons, known in the U.S. as colored pencils. (As an aside, the Canadian spelling is colour but for my mostly American readers, I’ll stick to the American spelling. Sorry, Canada!  I know you’ll accept my apology!)

I began to sketch and color in the lines with my pencil crayons.  As a student in school, my favorite back to school item was a brand new set of fully sharpened pencil crayons. Pencil crayons are like comfort food to me and bring back warm memories as a young girl doodling, sketching, and coloring with contentment. The year my mom agreed to purchase the 50 count size, I felt I’d made the big time! To this day, I have always had a set of pencil crayons in my personal stash.  Many times, they came to the rescue of my children’s homework projects.

So, I sketched and colored and sketched and colored. I began to notice a figure come to life.  I saw the face of a woman with long locks of flowing hair.  Her almond shaped eye began to glow in a yellowish hue. Was she a symbol of mother earth, the womb from which we all are connected?  Was she a symbol of the matriarchal significance to the Navajo culture? She certainly caught my attention and she certainly was speaking to me. Was she actually me? I noticed before her was a gap in the rock formation, a spiral empty tube which allowed the light source to enter and activate the brilliant display of colors.  Directly across from her, beyond the tube of light, were layers of erosion, not as advanced or as elegant and free flowing as those that fell from her head like ribbons of dancing hair.  Across from her staring her in the face were stiff walls, where the hard, relentless work of erosion still needed more time, where the consistent movement of water, where the flow of more tears from Mother Earth were necessary before the ribbons would become more elaborate and elegant.

And then I had the light bulb moment. This sketch didn’t need to be painted, this sketch was enough on its own for I found an inordinate amount of beauty in it just the way it was and I respected its capacity to one day grow into a more elaborate and elegant painting, just as the woman in the sketch had to face the reminder of where she had come, and reality of the beauty she had become.  It was a moment for me in understanding it was time to pause and acknowledge where I have come and the potential for where I am heading. It was time to genuinely allow room for grace to grow in my heart not only for others, but for me, too!  It was time to understand that it is okay not always having things set straight.  It was time to quell the negative “Ursula” noise and turn inward, to trust that sometimes the harsh natural flow of life’s water and erosion is creating something beautiful.  It may not be fully defined, it may not be for me to know today or in my lifetime, but to trust that the journey itself is also a part of the beauty. Who knew, my ah-ha moment  was waiting for me in a simple Facebook notification, a piece of paper and a box of pencil crayons?