art

April 21, 2025

Back in the fall of 2018 – you know, BC, “before covid” – I discovered an art form that uses fluid paint to produce beautiful abstract designs. For about 18 months I was privileged to be able to master several different paint pouring techniques and had even begun selling my work. What I was surprised to find was the level of emotional healing I was experiencing, and without any conscious knowledge of it during the process. I felt calmer after a painting session, many of my worries, anxieties, and fears were dissipating, and these feelings of peace were beginning to carry over into my everyday life.

Fast forward to March 15, 2020, the day in which the US declared a state of emergency and the country went into lockdown due to the Covid 19 Pandemic. Only one day before, I had stood in my friend’s great room (my makeshift studio at the time), struggling to stretch seven cups of paint onto my largest canvas yet – 24″X24″! The finished piece now hangs in my small apartment, serving as a reminder of what I lost that day more than five years ago. Hard to believe how much has changed since I last handled a jug of Floetrol.

I lost more than a place to sling paint the day of the lockdown. For almost three months prior I had been in conversation with another local artist about renting a small studio in downtown Hopewell (VA). My plan was to teach classes in fluid paint, with a focus on its impact on trauma healing and body awareness. On March 15, 2020 that dream died, and as the next 77 days ticked by, I watched my hometown breathe its last. The nearly revived downtown area was left beyond repair. The pandemic had essentially put a stop to any hope I had of obtaining an affordable studio space.

But, like most tragic tales, the end of my business-owner’s dream turned out to be for the best. How could I have foreseen that over the next five years I would move three times, live with 2 of my grandkids during their most formative years, land in a very small studio apartment, establish myself in the RVA as a Pickleball Instructor & Spiritual Life Coach/Tarot reader, bury my father, move my mother into an assisted living facility, and prepare my home of origin for sale! Faster than it should have, pouring paint became a distant memory.

Recently, on the other side of so much change, my innate desire to create began to stir, and much like my experience with pouring paint, in late summer-early fall of 2024, I stumbled upon yet another captivating abstract art medium. Neurographica^(R) is a drawing technique developed in 2014 by Russian architect and psychologist Pavel Piskarev. Its widespread use is most likely due to the extreme accessibility of the method (paint pouring requires gallons of paint, Floetrol & glue, lots of level space, and is by far the messiest, most time-consuming art form I have ever encountered!). In contrast, neurographic art demands little in the way of supplies, space, and needs zero inborn ‘talent’ for drawing – in other words, if you can manage to create a squiggly line and the bare resemblance of simple shapes, then you, too can create a beautiful expression of your deepest thoughts and emotions around any topic!

And so a new chapter opens. While I know I will likely never work with fluid paint again, the lessons I learned through that process – in fact, all of the processes I have discovered in my life – will continue to live on within me, coloring every step I take with a beautiful rainbow of change and flow.

If you are interested in discovering the powerful impact neurographic art can have in your life, check out my updated services page or email ripplesofinsight@gmail.com. I would love nothing more than to work with you, in person or online. Until then, art on!

Thanks so much for reading.

I turned 50 last week. For many, this event would mark an important milestone. For me it passed by virtually unnoticed. The suitcase I carried to my sister’s funeral still sits in a corner of my bedroom. I have thought about putting it away a hundred times, but putting it away would mean unpacking, and what would be the point? You see, after my sister’s funeral service, my brother-in-law encouraged me to pick out some of her clothes to take with me. I knew it was silly. She and I could not have been built any differently. My sister was a wisp, and me? Well, let’s just say I have always been “solid”. I don’t mind my size (anymore), but the reality is that everything in the suitcase is too small to fit.

Ironically, all of the shoes are too big.

The point of unpacking would be to actually wear the clothes in the suitcase. Instead I am holding onto the items that I hope will fit my daughter. One thing I plan to keep is my sister’s black down vest. I wore it for about a week, but I could not zip it up if I had on more than a lightweight blouse. The Polar Vortex of 2014 made such clothing untenable, so the vest is now on top of the suitcase where my cat, Ian, has taken to sleeping. Looks to me like he found just the right combination of soft and warm.

My kitty at peace ... with my sister's memory. — I get it, buddy. I want to get as close to her as I can, too.

Grief makes a strange companion for me. Sanguines are not usually given to bouts of depression or morose thoughts. I am not sure what to make of the gentle waves of sadness that roll over me when I least expect it. Other times the pain comes as a swift punch in the gut, knocking the wind right out of me. In those moments it feels like she just died all over again.

Supposedly grief comes in stages but I cannot remember what they are. I only know that last week my 50th birthday came and went without a card or call from my Big Sis. In fact, I could not remember the last time she had been able to send a card or call me on my birthday, thanks to the ravaging effects of dementia — only one of the illnesses that took her from us. This year I had to face the hardest truth: I would never receive a birthday card or call from her again.

Probably the best birthday ever was the year that we gave one other the same card!! My sister and I were both in the habit of purchasing birthday cards and gifts way early. Her birthday was in January and mine is in March. That year I had found her card in probably June. It was such an incredibly funny and appropriate card that I could not resist the urge to tell her how perfect her next birthday card would be. She did not hesitate to inform me that she too had found the perfect card for my birthday. One of us joked about how funny it would be if we had bought each other the same card! She kept the secret for 2 whole months but we laughed about it for years to come. You’ve heard the saying, “Great minds think alike”? Well, that was a case of kindred hearts.

What do you do when a piece of your heart gets ripped out? I find it difficult at times to gather my thoughts together enough to write about anything. I often find myself thinking about my own death. I think about where she is now, too, and what she might be doing. I think about that a lot. My sister was a brilliant artist. Everything in her life was a work of art. From a prepared meal to a painting to her garden, she sought beauty in everything she put her hand to. I remember once hearing her talk about the importance of color to an artist. Her wonder at color was fascinating! As she spoke, I knew that a mystery was being revealed to me but despite her words, understanding remained beyond my grasp. I like to imagine that now she is experiencing color like never before.

In “What Dreams May Come” Robin Williams’ character literally swam in the vibrant colors around him.

During one of my last visits with her she could no longer speak in complete sentences. Suddenly, in the middle of a conversation I was having with her husband, she mumbled something. Neither of us could understand what she was trying to say. Frustrated, she left the room. We looked at one another, shrugging. When she returned, there was a small picture frame in her hands. She pointed to it over and over saying, “This.” I did not have a clue what she meant. In response to her growing agitation, I stood and followed her through the house saying. “This, this,” she repeated, over and over.

We finally ended up in the room that would have been her studio. Satisfied at last, she pointed to the pictures on the dresser and breathed, “this” one last time. She relaxed. She had found what she was looking for. What I saw broke my heart. On the dresser were six unfinished Botanicals – dried flower arrangements in frames. None of the pieces looked anything like her work. They were thin shadows of the depth of her talent. But even with a mind being slowly eaten away by dementia, more artistic ability dwelled in her pinky finger than I would ever possess in my whole body. Even then, my sister’s talent was beyond me.

I envy my cat. I would like to be able to curl up and fit on the back of a down vest sitting on the top of my small red suitcase. I am certain it would be just the right combination of soft and warm.