The Objects That Remember for Us
Chronicle #061726
This painting has followed me for fifteen years.
She has lived on the walls of every home I've occupied since I painted her in 2011. Through moves, heartbreaks, celebrations, motherhood, uncertainty, reinvention, and all the ordinary days in between, she has remained.
I've often wondered why.
I have painted hundreds of pieces over the years. Why this one?
Why do some objects stay while others quietly move on?
Humans have always surrounded themselves with meaningful objects. We keep photographs of people we love. We wear wedding rings. We save letters, heirlooms, pressed flowers, ticket stubs, lucky stones, and childhood treasures.
Why?
What are we actually keeping?
A photograph is paper and ink.
A ring is metal.
A painting is pigment on a surface.
Yet we instinctively know they are carrying something more.
I think certain objects become containers.
They hold stories.
They hold promises.
They hold parts of ourselves we are afraid of losing.
When I painted Mama Blue, life felt very uncertain. The woman gazes upward toward a star and crescent moon, symbols of possibility beyond the present moment.
Looking back, I realize I wasn't painting certainty.
I was painting hope.
The quiet kind that whispers there is more to the story than what you can see from where you stand.
And maybe that's why she stayed.
Maybe I needed a physical reminder of something my heart already knew but occasionally forgot.
Difficult seasons pass.
Transformation takes time.
Fear is not always an accurate narrator.
Perhaps this is one of the hidden purposes of art.
Not simply to decorate our walls.
Not even to preserve a moment.
But to remember for us when we cannot.
Maybe that is why certain objects remain with us for years.
They are not reminders of the past.
They are companions to the future.
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Featured Work:
Mama Blue (2011)
Mixed Media on Canvas
16" × 20"
