Branching Out

Finding my strength in signs of life.

All around me are signs of new life. The branches on my plum tree are filling with soft, pink flowers. There are new buds on my hydrangeas. And walking with my grandson, he pointed out daffodils and crocus blooms around the neighborhood.

Inside, my Lily vases are filled with pussy willows and pink tulips. I love making my Lily vases but I also love seeing them bloom with all the different colors of the seasons from pussywillows and tulips to hydrangeas and roses.

Signs of Life.

Since my major surgery, I’ve had a lot of difficult days. I expected the physical pain but what I didn’t expect was emotional pain. As my body healed, I got stronger and my mind cleared. But the emotions that bubbled to the surface were unexpected and upsetting. What I’ve come to find out, thanks to helpful friends who have gone through difficult surgeries, is that this is another phase of healing.

As one new friend put it, “I just kept saying to myself, I’m alive. I didn’t die.”

So now, when the trauma hits me, I tell myself, “I’m alive.” And I look around me for other signs of life. Blooming daffodils, little leaves on my rose bushes and buds on the hydrangeas.

My clay is growing too.

In the last few weeks, new growth is happening in my studio. Sparked by an idea I saw here on Substack about growth patterns, I got out my clay. The words, branching out kept coming back to me. As I wedged and slapped and rolled the clay, I just let my hands lead me to form a circle.

I pressed my favorite textures in and around it. Rolled out some coils and added them to the circle. Some fit and some didn’t but I know that’s ok, it’s all part of the process. The first one didn’t turn out exactly how I thought it would. But, again, that’s ok.

The second one, I thought I had more of a plan based on a picture I saw. But again, my fingers lead the way and a square shape appeared with what looked to me like flowers and limbs but then morphed into something like a Celtic knot motif.

Another day, I looked around my studio and saw a watercolor painting of flowers I did. When I couldn’t do clay because I was recovering from surgery, I painted. I wondered. What would it look like in clay? Could I even do it? And why would I? Well, again, my hands got busy and something new did emerge from the clay.

I guess my hands knew what my head didn’t, yet.

I’m not dead.

I’m alive.

And like everything else around me, I’m branching out.