A piece from last year’s sketchbook, I’m still not quite sure what I had in mind when I drew this. Looking at it now I have the impression that it speaks of being vulnerably transparent, opening the most inner being, the soul, for all to see. My heart resonates with this, it seems such a risky move, so unsafe. Yet, it’s something that is freeing, something so daring, full of honesty. In this season God has been tenderly tugging my heart about my relationships, about pulling down some old walls, of lowering my shields and stripping off my armor of caution. To trust, to receive, and to be daring and transparent.
Working on some Doctor Who fan art :) Rose as Bad Wolf, the wonderful and brilliant 10th Doctor (who will always be my favorite) and the marvelously sassy River Song (who’s storyline and twist is the best so far in the TV series). I’m hoping to do a few more Doctor Who pieces, mainly the Ponds, Rory and Amy (who are the cutest couple ever) and the fun loving 11th Doctor with all his bow tie silliness!
Some of the things I love most in nature is early morning mist sleepy drifting along the mountains and the beautiful golden harvest moon hovering just beyond reach along the horizon.
The Golden Moon will be for sell as prints on my upcoming Esty shop, there will be limited editions of the Mountain Mist painting for sell on the shop as well :)
Another ink series in progress for my upcoming Esty shop. More flowers and a tribute to all the fighters out there that had/is battling cancer.
This weekend I had the opportunity to sale some of my art work downtown to help raise support for a wonderful friend. It was tuns of fun, flower crowns, live music and lots of laughs. I got to meet some great people in the community and hangout with some lovely friends!
Title: The Washing/ Living Water
Chelsea Spring 2013
Oh the soul, it’s stained and broken. I find that through this life shame and sin enwraps us, engulfing us so we can’t breath when we try to struggle free or a cloak we hold onto to hid away in. Last Easter there was a song I heard, one that I’ve heard so many times before but this time was breathed anew into my soul. “He washed us as white as snow.”
That line struck me, this image flooded my mind, red and white, such contrast to one other. A soul cloaked in her world of shame and sin looking up seeing an overflowing bowl of pure water raining down. Look closely, though she knows that is the only way she can be washed clean from the burden she engulfs herself, in she is worried. If she chooses to embrace it she would be different. She would be trusting someone greater to wash it all away. The flowing gift is Living Water, ONE whose never ending, she has tried on her own to wash the red away, down below her a empty jar sits, cracked and barren. Her jar could never contain living water no matter how hard she strives.
Will she except the washing from another? Will she make the choice to move and except the gift?
By Chelsea Spring 2013
A painting I did last year…something of a mix of two memories. One when I was just a little girl of an old illustration from a book that was a spin off from the “pilgrim’s progress”. The drawing was of an old man digging through knee deep mud, he was looking for a crown. While the whole time there was a crown right above his bent head just in reach if only he would look up and see it. That image stuck with me even to this day, at first this painting was inspired by just that childhood memory. But while I was working on this piece another memory came back and shook me to the core with amazement. The second memory was from when I was in India two years ago. The streets of Calcutta India are lined in trash and rotten things. One night a huge down pour covered the city literally flooding the streets. The next morning the streets were dry as a bone and surprisingly cleaner than usual. I thought “hey look at that the rain washed all the filth away!” But only a few steps more, looking up from the empty gutters and side walks, I saw the real reason why all the trash was gone. An old man, frail and probably 80 years old, was hunched over with a little shovel, feet buried in trash. He was slowly piling the mountain of the wast that engulfed him in a small cart. He was a street cleaner, one of the lowest of the low in the Caste System. And not once did he look up, his head was bent, his eyes never wandering away and he worked on as if he didn’t exist, a sense of hopelessness weighed on his thin boney shoulders. It shook me to the core. Looking back now that one image from my childhood, from an old book had played out right before my eyes….that one image that I study for hours as a kid and always wondered “why doesn’t he just look up?” Had stood right before me hunched over a pile of trash. The nearly identical memories shocked me. I felt God come close and say that we all have those shinning crowns above our heads, the one He gives us all if we only look up and let the pure light fill our eyes.