BRUTIFULLY Inspired Art by Jason’s Mom

 

When my son Jason died on July 1, 2019, I was devastated, isolated, and my heart was

shattered. I felt deeply alone. I felt as if I had been abandoned by God, by people, and by Life

itself.  I had a strange surreal feeling of being disconnected, as though I was floating

untethered in space and didn’t belong here anymore. My heart shrunk down into a ball of

anguish. I did not understand how I could keep living. I knew I would suffer for the rest of my

life. Happiness or joy were sacrilegious. Suffering was the only path I could see.

 

I knew the darkness of my existence would remain forever, but somehow, even through my

dull, heavy suffering, I felt something humbly continuing to breathe inside me. It seemed

impossible. Something was telling me that my life was not over. Something that was deep and

primal, as if it was there before I was born.  In the midst of my unbearable loss, it, whatever it

was, was breathing for me, and by breathing for me, it was telling me that there was another

step that was waiting. A step that I would not  be able to make tomorrow, or next month, or

even the next year, but a step that would patiently wait until… I was ready to make it...on my

own, however long it would take. Just one step, towards a humble light, one step, that held

the faintest glimmer of something I did not yet understand. Somehow, I sensed that step was

possible... that...I had to go on.

 

I had to fight with the idea of continuing to live. But in the midst of that dark space, that quiet

and humble light waited, asking me to understand that...to honor my dear boy, I needed to

live. I began to understand that, to honor his life, I had to find a way to live with meaning and

purpose again. 

 

Of all the things I could have done, I began doing something that might seem odd, but it was

my way of learning to take that first step. I began painting rocks.  For some reason it felt good; to express my emotions on to something tangible.  Perhaps a way to share and honor Jason and in some way to keep his beautiful spirit alive.

 

This inspired me.  I dared to open my heart again, I felt called to create; to watch what was

awakening within my profound anguish. Then a thought came to me. The lotus flower. It

represents purity, rebirth and enlightenment.  I thought about how it grows from muddy water

and rises unsullied to bloom beautifully above the surface.

 

As I began to express myself through painting on the little rocks, I felt like something was

asking me to open more, to not be afraid, to allow myself to take another little step. I moved to acrylics on canvas.  In the beginning of this arduous journey, my colors were darker, more

muted, with heavy shadows…but... I felt a shift as time moved forward.  I wasn’t even sure

how it was possible to feel inspired, or even for time to move at all, when my beautiful boy

had died.

 

I have learned that life is not either brutal or beautiful. It is never either/or.  For me, it is always both/and.  It has been a most brutal and beautiful journey of grief. I’ve come to understand that grief and joy can co-exist in this shattered heart of mine. An intersection where the brutal and the beautiful meet. I often say that time does not heal all wounds, Love does.  It’s also what we do with the time. Grief is the price of loss, but suffering is not the measure of my love.

 

I intentionally decided to live again.  I made many changes in my life to find meaning,

purpose, and joy, amid unimaginable sorrow.  The canvas has been merely one vessel used

to channel both heartbreak and spiritual transcendence.  The act of painting is a conduit,

drawing together the raw ache of loss and the divine. 

 

I have been encouraged by loving, supportive friends and family to share and to sell my art. I

never felt my paintings were “good” enough.  I now realize it’s not about being good, it’s about being authentic.  Sharing my awakening heart through my art is a tragic privilege.

 

This liminal space has awakened my heart in a way I didn’t know was possible.  This

awakening process has heightened empathy, deepened connections, and shifted priorities

toward meaning, authenticity, and truth.  God’s grace has held me through this holy mess of

grief.

 

As we hold space for one another through our love and care, my hope is that these expressions

from my heart will be comforting to you.

 

I invite you to peruse my paintings.  I will always be adding to them, as time,

energy, and inspiration allows.

 

With compassion and gratitude, 

Dianne