I’m not fond of black. Yet the monarch’s deep orange comes alive inside its borders. As I grout the dark black over the rubies and bright diamonds of the new butterfly, I again feel my work aligning with life; the light and the dark, broken, shattered, yet the shards put together stronger than the original, and just as beautiful, bumpy in spots but adding character and depth.
And the black, tarry thick grout, or filth of abuse, covering the brilliance, does not make the jewels dirty or bad or wrong, or have no right to be here. It only covers it. What’s underneath still radiates. The tar wipes off. I may have to dig, and scrape, and wipe and shine…pick, and poke, and not give up… but underneath lies beauty, shimmering beauty.
While applying the black grout, the sun splashes on my shoulder, kitty sprawls on the floor in the pool of light, and music softy plays in the background. My body relaxes into the project. I can no longer see the diamonds, rubies and glittery jewels, but I know they are there beneath the grime. Dirt wipes off of glass and shiny objects. It cannot adhere.
In the studio I feel whole, at ease, peaceful. I can feel my entire body and like being in it, and being, and being me.