- April - sold our Omaha house. Did anyone else not realize how much work and stress this is until they were in the thick of it? Ugh.
- May - I found out I was pregnant with #4. Unplanned, potentially dangerous, still a blessing.
- June - Move to Iowa for husband's job. So much work. So much vomiting (see May). But at least I get a pretty painting studio! (See my new desk?)
- July - I officially move the LRA business too, hire new employee, drown in paperwork. And have I mentioned vomiting?
- July - Blindsighted by a miscarriage at Week 16. Pain, both physical and mental.
- August - I begin to paint again and start recover, physically and mentally.
Why am I sharing this? I guess to let you know that there is a real person behind all the artwork you see. A person's who life sometimes floats along happily, and then gets derailed and then gets further derailed until she can't even remember where the rails are anymore.
But I like to think this makes me better at what I do. I'm lucky enough to help commemorate so many special moments with my paintings: celebration of successful surgeries, triumph over infertility, despair from a lost loved one, you name it. I want you to know that I'm feeling your joy and hope and pain with you and infusing it into my art to the best of my ability. While I paint, I find myself unconsciously tapping into my own past, generating a depth that wouldn't otherwise be present in my work. And the beautiful part of it is that the painting it brings me more happiness and healing than anything else could.
So now that I've found the rails again (I've managed about a month of peace without any life changes or getting blindsided) I am able to appreciate this odd relationship, that the more stressful things that happens to me, the more I am inspired to paint. And the more I paint, the better I am able to recover my stress and hardship. Beauty arises from adversity. Sometimes I just wish I had a fast-forward button.