As I am typing this post, I am hearing my child screaming as my brave husband attempts to put her to bed. She has sort of been screaming all day long. We’ve had so many visitors over the past few weeks, had so many late nights and fun things happen I think she has finally hit her threshold. I think I have hit mine too. Luckily we don’t have to do anything tomorrow except hang out in the garden, read books, and maybe attempt to cook fruit leather (has anybody done this before? I just puréed about 100 pounds of apples that were given to me). Also, I will paint at nap time, but I consider this cathartic. So maybe that’s why I painted the candles today. I saw an image of a candle that I had drawn in one of my sketchbooks and it just spoke to me. It reminded me of the quietness when you enter an old cathedral, the stillness, the vastness. You become overwhelmed by the fact that the world is so big and that this cathedral has been around for centuries and you are so small and your time is so short and then you will be gone—and then your eyes catch a glimmer of flickering light. You see the rows of glimmering candles, tangible prayers left by people before you, and in that moment you appreciate the beauty of those candles. The glowing whispers that fill the room with light, and in that moment you feel content to be like a candle, here one moment and gone the next, because you recognize the beauty of their ephemeral existences. In this moment, I feel it too, the room is now quiet again, this post is almost finished, and tomorrow is another day filled with potential.
This painting is also for sale on my Etsy Shop