Vulnerability Equation

and the power of liminal spaces

The first week of January felt like a little life in itself. A slow, luscious, and infinite, for some reason. After what seemed like the most challenging year of my life, I caught myself gently floating in a serenity, spending days carelessly basking in the warm light of creativity. I started feeling alive again, like a flower that decided to bloom in the middle of winter. Just because not flowering for months on end felt like torture. I spent hours glued to an easel, possessed by pastels - a medium that terrified me for years but somehow spellbound every cell of my being at the end of December.

This easel saw so many mediums in its lifetime

Then something happened, and time started racing with the speed of light. But I wasn’t ready to keep up with the race; I wanted to stay in the now of that sweet flow where my hands were covered in pastel dust and surreal images kept on landing on every surface I touched.

Time is a peculiar entity - it can stretch like honey or jet like a sound, but it only goes as fast as we allow it to. Time is a creature that runs faster as soon as it senses fear. So, when I started noticing the dates and locating myself in the fabric of the upcoming year, I started dreading February arriving too fast. I found myself waking up multiple times during the night flushed with anxiety. At first, I didn’t pay much attention, but after a few days, this recurring visitor started to suffocate me. It felt as if I was involuntarily showered with a pile of sharp rocks; some days, it was turning into a sticky mix of self-eating, extreme jealousy, and sadness. And to be honest, I didn’t quite know what to do with it. And I still don’t…

A spread from my visual diary from February 1st, 2024

I debated whether I should even talk about it publicly because the subject isn’t as uplifting and magical as sharing the origins of the ethereal images that come during my meditations or talking about the inspirations behind my work. It takes a lot of bravery to witness yourself fully - to step into the darkest corners, acknowledge their existence, and gently love them as an inseparable part of you. Because we are both - dark and light, and it takes even more bravery to be vulnerable in front of others.

Last year was the first time I experienced extreme burnout, a year when I fell apart and learned to put myself back together many times over. I am still healing, moving as gently as possible. One of the things 2023 taught me was nurturing my awareness and learning to sit with what’s uncomfortable with as little judgment as possible. Those things aren’t easy to master, so I am still a student. That’s why I was drinking this January like nectar.

I think the humble size of this blog comes with a certain level of intimacy that sprouts in the space where I know most of my readers by name. So, here I am, spilling it out how it is, knowing that I am surrounded by the people who love me. Thank you for being here.

My workplace in the darkness of the winter morning, right before sunrise

For the past week or so, almost every evening, I paint as soon as I close my eyes, preparing to sleep. Yes, you’ve heard it right. I start painting in my mind; the colors and images dance before me on the imaginary easel… and I draw, paint, and flow for a while before slowly drifting away. The process is the same every night. The subjects and color palettes might vary. Usually, something like this happens when I don’t paint enough or go a long period without creating at all. But not this time. I spent days, weeks, really, attached to my easel with short breaks for food, doctor’s visits, and obligatory mental health walks. I felt puzzled. It didn’t even occur to me to connect the dots - the anxiety, the fastness of time, the immense hunger for creation.

My main sustenance lately

Yesterday, I found myself in a state of complete mess. At first, I blamed hormones and my raging Hashimoto’s, then PMS, then stars, elephants, and God knows what else for feeling this way. I felt as if I was transferred back to square one. But then it dawned on me, and it was so sudden and painful - I am afraid of an upcoming change and the uncertainty that it brings with it. And there I was, facing the reason for my anxiety in its full glory. I think I even heard angels singing and saw unicorns dancing somewhere in the background - a moment of clarity often comes with a soundtrack and the most bizarre special effects.

I resume my studies in February to help me transition from being a full-time artist into an artist with a ‘normal’ job. And this scares the molecules out of me! The shift, the idea that I will be spending my time doing something different than art, starting from zero again, possibly having less energy left for painting, pouring my time into a completely different thing, trying to make my stubborn ADHD cooperate, feels exhausting and scary. Pretty much everything that takes me away from art feels this way: death-like, blood-boiling fear. Trying to put those feelings into words made me realize even more how strong this attachment really is.

I am smiling as I am typing this from the realization that I have something in my life that keeps on driving me crazy, that sets my heart on fire, and that a chance of living a day without it feels like torture. I am in love with this expression of my soul, even if some days it makes me cry. But I also want to be free from attachments and create without possessing.

And with every word I type, I feel lighter and lighter. There is an unspeakable power in saying it out loud for others to hear. When we bring our deepest fears into the daylight on a big silver tray like the most delicious cake, they lose their powers and become a sweet liberation.

Liminal spaces are like magical portals. They can either make or break us, but we hold an incredible power to linger in the uncertainty or take a leap of faith and step into the unknown. I’ve been to both places, so today I choose the latter.

A quote that I have on my mind for days

It's never felt better to document my intention along with the paintings that give me life

Love, Eve