the first collaboration painting
Holly, a dear friend of mine, died last summer. She was a writer and a creative soul in many ways, including artmaking of all kinds. She was an imaginative free spirit who appreciated the unconventional. So her art was usually quirky. Self-taught, she didn’t often think her art was particularly good (though it was), but she loved to stimulate and support others. She was a powerful Muse for me. Her creativity was playful and she liked to see others play too. Together we delighted in whimsical painting, sculpture and collage. She unfailingly encouraged all my artistic efforts, at the same time subtly jostling me out of my comfort zones and into new creative territory. I have discovered that even after death Holly continues to inspire and challenge me well beyond what I had imagined.
When she was in hospice she told me to take from her apartment all the art supplies that I could use. I retrieved several canvases, some new and some that she had begun to work, and a few other miscellaneous items. One day this fall when I was missing her, I looked through the canvases that she had started, pulled one out and began to paint. Immediately comforted because the canvas held her energy, I sensed her with me as I moved the brush. Even as I painted intuitively unlike anything Holly would have painted, I talked to her throughout, felt our love for each other, and sensed we were collaborating. Which was not only comforting but also exhilarating. So far I have completed four paintings that way, though none since this fall.
Holly as/where she is now
Holly has been especially present in my heart and mind the past few weeks, as those of us who love her are thinking about a memorial for her. So yesterday I decided to do some art to “be” with her again, sense how she is, and clarify my feelings. For various reasons I didn’t want to use paint, and colored pencils didn’t seem bold enough. I was reaching for crayons when the thought of oil pastels popped into my head. I rarely use them, because they are messy, but I felt drawn, and when I went to get them, I realized I had Holly’s now as well as my own, so that sealed it. Thinking of her, I was tugged right away to some colors from her box and I began painting intuitively. At one point I sensed I was supposed to smear all the colors, something I had never done and didn’t want to do. Yet I went ahead and it was beautiful! I chuckled, sending a warm thank you to Holly. Then I went on to add another layer of color and line, until the drawing felt complete. When I stopped to look at it, I teared up because it made me so happy. I believe that the wiggly lines on the bottom and those showering from the top are spiritual energies, and with the soft colors and overall effect my sense was that Holly was fine, that she was in a beautiful place: new, stimulating yet peaceful.
I went on to do another intuitive drawing, this time about myself. As I continued to discover new ways of working with the pastels, I sensed Holly laughing alongside, encouraging and inspiring me.
Holly was doing what she had always instinctively done for me: she got me making art, helped me shed my concern for neatness and order, and pricked me into trying something new and uninhibited.
Thank you, Holly, for dancing through the veil, continuing to inspire me, prod me, and cheer me on. May a Muse as loving as you have been to me find you in your next life.
Have you been inspired or challenged by loved ones who have died? I’d love to hear that story.
Beautiful, Anne—your friendship with Holly and the words and artistry that rise so lovingly from it—all absolutely beautiful! I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for your sharing this remarkable experience. Blessings, Muffi
Thank you Muffi!
Anne
What a beautiful and clear homage to Holli…..and for your vulnerability in writing your creative process, I thank you.
You are able to articulate why grief is sometimes a force that renews us even as we feel the absence of someone deeply loved. I don’t feel sadness over my mother’s death- just a kind of radiant sense of peace- and my memories of her are so strong that she lives alongside me on a daily basis, like a second skin. Of course, it helps that she lived to 94, her life was completed by herself and she was ready to leave- that is really a gift she gave me- her completeness. Thank you….Mary
How lovely that your mother lives alongside you like a second skin! Yes, I guess you are right, grief can renew us despite the sadness…thanks Mary.
Beautiful post, Anne. Thank you!
Thanks Kate!
Anne, this is so lovely! I’m so happy you have this connection! Thank you for sharing this, I love to hear about how our loved ones reach through the veil and support us. While Jenna doesn’t help me paint, she certainly has reached across the veil and touched me many times.
Thanks Holli. Your stories about Jenna’s presence over the years have been very touching to me. Everything is so much bigger than we think…
Thank you, Gwen, for sharing how you and your dear one are continuing to walk together…beautiful! Blessings to you both…
Oh my how you speak to my heart. Since my beloved ‘Walking Partner’ has crossed he has been with me, showing up at very appropriate and obvious times. Besides many ways he participated in life one was as an artist. It was such a delight to meet you Anne and all our fellow travellers on retreat recently. My Beloved showed up in my process painting over and over, moving through,with me, the layers of grief, frustration, anger and deep love and gratitude. It was only appropriate that I had fallen the week before and my right ‘dominate’ hand was challenged. He had been unable to use his due to cancer and therefore did so much with his left hand and a little help at times. As Ram Dass has said many times ” We are all just walking each other home. ” I would say from this side as well as other dimensions. Blessed be all our walks. Love Gwen
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