Works of the Heart

Discovering the images that want to be known and the first shop update in what seems like forever.

I’ve been quiet. Quiet and intentional. I went from writing every week in January to slowly transitioning into a more comfortable pace. Slowing down helped me stay true to my creative rhythms, honoring a strong desire to go inward and rest within my own being.

My heart surgery feels like a distant affair by now. Surreal, isn’t it? Something that occupied my whole world gradually became a part of my everyday life. Occasional heart palpitations aren’t as scary anymore. My body has adjusted to blood thinners, and I no longer feel as lightheaded. I am still learning to navigate fluctuating energy levels. Slowly returning to daily yoga practice and breathwork and finally having a familiar routine feels like claiming back a part of me that was lost for months. I am in complete awe of how powerful our bodies are and how strong I actually am.

There was one thing I’ve never stopped doing. No matter what was going on, I’ve never stopped painting. Despite my body functioning at a different energy level than I am used to, paintings kept on coming to me, insisting, knocking on my doors, singing by my windows, and keeping me from sleeping. They demanded my undivided attention. I was surrounded by ideas. There was an abundance of them, and only one of me with one one pair of hands and child-like vigor in my freshly patched-up heart.

It felt so beautiful but intense at times. I was moving at the speed of a snail, but I answered the call every time. On some days, my answer took the shape of a rough sketch; others - me being completely submerged in my work, covered in pastel dust from head to toe, not wanting to pause even for a minute to break the blissful cycle. Showing up may have looked different from day to day, but the powerful stream of ideas remained unshaken. Like a madman who fell in love, I was there whenever I needed to be.

This body of work followed an interesting life cycle - images arriving from divine and unknown into my heart space, then on paper, then right into the archival folder far away from the world’s eyes. Some works appeared briefly on my social media, but most remained safely hidden in my studio. I felt that they needed time to rest, but maybe I just selfishly wanted them to belong to me for as long as possible. To soak them in, and to admire their velvety surfaces in the warm afternoon sun (pastels are absolutely magical in the golden light!). Also, I didn’t have much energy to photograph, prepare, and list them in my shop. I streamed all the available resources into creation. When my paintings come to me, I rarely think of anything else.

Usually, paintings come first, and the meaning follows, sometimes taking weeks or months to reveal itself. I jump into a creative flow like into a cool river on a hot summer day. One of the most surreal parts of the process is to step back, looking at the body of work that has poured out of me, trying to untangle what it wants to share. It is harder to do so when I swim in the depth of the creation itself because when I paint, I don’t think, analyze, or compare. Instead, I flow, I ask, I transmit, and allow…

Last week, I felt that the time had come to release them. So, on a beautiful sunny day, I set up an impromptu photo atelier by the window and spent the day photographing them all. It took me what seems like ages to edit, upload, and create listings, but here they all are - all in perfect timing.

I invite you to meet the new body of work that had been and still is singing in my heart. I secretly hope that you will feel what I felt while working on them. My desire is for them to find loving homes where they will be cherished and allowed to share their powerful essence.

The heart of this collection is the Vessel. It first came to me as a vision when painting a commissioned piece for a friend. I saw her essence being shaped as a beautiful vase, holding artifacts so intimate that we often hide them even from ourselves. The image was so powerful that since that day, a portal opened up into a series of works you’ll see today. They came as visions during my meditations or daydreaming, flowing through my fingertips straight onto the sandy surface of pastel paper.

Receiving a vessel as the central theme of those paintings got me very curious. On one hand, it made sense that I needed some kind of container for my inner work. Things I went through and discoveries I made required a place. A container of sorts where they could be processed, reflected on, gently held, and accepted with all the light and shadows that came along. By uncovering the images that wanted to be known, I allowed my subconscious a safe place to communicate with me.

“The moment you get an image, you’ve got a container.”

— James Hillman

As I was preparing my shop update, reflecting on the symbols that kept coming through in those paintings, I received a gift.

Alma Tetto opened up a beautiful container, ‘Creative Cohort,’ where she invited us to become alchemists and to dive into the mystery of the unknown, exploring what wants to come through us as we meet our creative force. She refers to a vessel as temenos, an alchemical vessel where we bring our prima materia to distill and ripen, becoming an alchemical gold. The Universe was right there as always, giving me the answers I needed at the perfect time to receive them.

“One naturally thinks of this vessel as a sort of retort or flask; but one soon learns that this is an inadequate conception since the vessel is more a mystical idea, a true symbol like all the main ideas of alchemy”

— C.G. Jung, Psychology and Alchemy