“Furnace” was the final painting of 2023. When we’re in the dark and there is no way to scream, we can pick up a paintbrush. There was one person who knew me well many years ago, who is now gone. That person knew my sadness from losing loved ones and from my own health issues. More than that, that person knew that painting is in my blood and bones and if I go too long without it, I’m just not right. This is true for all forms of creative expression I’ve dabbled in over the years, but oil painting is one of my strongest medicines.
Just a few weeks ago I was thinking back on the year as many of us do at year’s end. I was thinking about the past few years and how painful they’ve been, excruciating at times. I’ve thought of the book “Dark Night of the Soul” by Thomas Moore which I read many years ago and found comfort in its words. I suppose that’s what I am in now once again, a dark night. Everything goes in cycles it seems. Just a few weeks ago as I pondered my life - the past and the future - those I’ve loved and lost in whatever form, endeavors that have failed, the many dreams that had to die, the way I feel when I stand up each morning off-balance since the strokes and how my body has changed… all off it pierced me with such torment that I was struck with the wherewithal to go pick up a brush. In a calm fury, “Furnace” emerged.
There have been times when I’ve expressed something visually in raw umber that spoke well on its own without needing further clarification of color or definition. This is one of those. My judging self wondered if it was finished. My heart knew it was.
So, why “furnace”? I could say that I vaguely recall a story (not sure if it is true) about Frida Kahlo’s hair flinging upward into flames as her body went into the fire of the crematorium. I might not be remembering this correctly but what a gruesomely gorgeously vivid image that is! A woman’s hair has so much symbolism. Another example might be the sight Dante Gabriel Rossetti saw when Lizzie Siddal’s body was exhumed at Highgate Cemetery in London so that he could retrieve the only copy of a set of poems he had buried with her and noted that her bright red hair had continued to grow in death, filling her coffin. And a furnace certainly has its symbolism, and fire, a major transformer. I suppose that is what I am going through now. A major transformation. To be honest, the title as many of my titles do, came like a flash in my mind as I was painting. It’s almost as if my paintings tell me their names.
Speaking of transformation, it’s very painful to let go of what was… my former body and its abilities, my former brain and its sharp cognition. I am tempted to compare myself prematurely with the mythological creature, the Phoenix, but I’m not feeling very magical these days. Quite more like Maleficent after her wings had been brutally severed. She did get them back eventually, but then again, that is Disney for you. I could seriously use a little fairy magic right now.
The painting I started after this one that I am still working on is titled “Sprout”, and she is not yet ready to come to the surface. But the painting will be finished soon. A sprout is still a sprout, even before it emerges into the light. Hopefully that is true for me as well.