In the painting, Spirit Tree, I pay homage to the invisible forces around us. In the foreground, three smaller trees blow in the breeze, green, full of life. They might be the offspring of the huge tree-shape above. Like a parent, the enormous gray tree looms over them. The larger tree’s absence of color implies it is devoid of life, and yet it stands large and strong. That’s why I call it the spirit tree, for its soul essence retains power, even without the greenery that defines plant life.
Where there is life, such as in the three young trees I painted, I perceive forces that we recognize: gravity, photosynthesis, magnetism, light waves, infrared. However, there are also invisible forces we have yet to comprehend, such as those present in meditative states, premonition, synchronicity and coincidence.
To render these mysterious energies, I draw and paint thousands of tiny lines that create a seemingly pulsing field. Although without life, the big tree contains immense vitality, perhaps a kind we do not yet understand.
I was eight years old when my father suddenly died of a heart attack. One month before that terrible day, I played in the yard when I saw a bright ray of light appear in the air and come toward me. Much to my amazement, it attached to my chest. It then moved toward my father’s heart as he worked in the garage about fifty feet away. I could see him and watched the beam firmly latch on to him. The light seemed large to me, about a foot wide and five inches deep, a long rectangle, but soft. I wondered what the light meant. It didn’t hurt and its sparkles entranced me, so I accepted the instinct I intuited: my dad and I were firmly bonded at the heart level, which felt good and enduring.
And so it proved to be. We were a non-religious family, so I had no name to apply to this experience. However, in my heart, I have felt Dad’s love penetrate my being for all the decades since his passing, which seemed to be the promise of the band of light. Perhaps the light’s presence was a type of premonition, filling me with strength, preparing me for the years of grief and upheaval that followed Dad’s death. I’ve never again seen that light phenomenon, although I wished to. Where did this energy come from?
My Tibetan meditation instructor teaches me that unfathomable sources of creativity reside in common mediation states. The more we meditate, the more access we have to helpful numinous experiences such as mine. Like many people I know, I’ve had various lovely synchronicities and coincidences bless my life. Perhaps one day, our society will understand these dynamisms more fully. But until that day arrives, I accept that my teacher is right – more meditation for me.
When I draw and paint, I engage in a type of meditation. As I create, my arm and hand continually move to produce a field of little lines. They form a vibrant texture, symbolic of brimming energies. I honor the mysteries humankind hopes to comprehend more fully someday.
