It can be very humbling, an empty space. Sometimes even frightening.
When I first saw the empty cathedral, it took my breath away. It was the location for my first solo show in France. How could I ever fill it? Seemingly miles of endless space. The answer has always been the same. Whenever faced with a void, be it of heart or mind, I return to my story. Because from the hardest of days, to the best of days, this story I’m living, creating, day by day, has always led me to love. So I put it down on canvas and page, and I filled that cathedral.
It’s different every day — the spaces we’re offered (sometimes not even offered at all, but reached for, struggled for, chosen, claimed…). And it’s funny, possibly even ironic, but always true — I have to keep pouring out, in order to be filled. Sometimes it’s merely a tiny scrap of paper. (It’s rarely a cathedral.) I fingertip the tiny apple and it’s enough to complete my day, to keep me whole.
From time to time, I get mixed up. Seeing others as vessels that could never be filled. How could they need so much? Their never ending demands. Their “it’s just not good enough”s. I could never give them enough. It’s just too much. But in a moment of clarity I remember, that it’s not up to me. I give and forgive, not to fill their cathedral, but mine. And with a humbly stumbling heart, brimming whole and hopefuI, I, we, can do anything.
