I started a painting last December, for a beautiful project called Winter Harmony. An inspiring series for lifting up your spirits during the darker, colder months of winter (at least for those of us in the northern hemisphere).
I didn't finish the painting at the time. Which really wasn't the point anyway. It was about process, and painting for me is a deeply revealing process that surprises me at every turn.
As I continued the dance with this painting, through winter, taking a long break in spring, and now back at it this summer, a clear message has woven itself into every inch of this painting. "Tell our story," they said.
What does that mean? I'm not quite sure. But it seems there were some other-worldly beings that want their story out in the world.
Sure. Why not.
Seems a little crazy making, but, since we are all ancient and timeless ourselves, it also makes perfect sense.
Yet the strangest part of it all? A new twist just revealed itself over this past weekend.
I was laying on the floor. Staring at the painting. Wondering, what next? Where will it go? What does it need? Or want? What do they need? Or want?
The "our" in this painting is not "they" "their" or "them."
It is "our" "we" or "us."
I am part of them.
They are not other. They are me. I am them.
Does this mean tell the story of all the parts of me? The many facets of Indigo/Tracy?
But really? What it felt like?
It meant, to be honest, to tell the story of my people.
From another time and place.
Can't wait to hear how this one's gonna go.
I'll keep you in the loop. How can I not?
Pretty wild ride I tell you...
(By the way? No drugs or alcohol were consumed in the making of this little adventure.
In case you were cynically wondering. Grin.)