It's so dark at 2am but "Resident Light" Launches in a few days. . .

This evening, I find myself unable to settle although my exhibit is now installed and patiently awaiting visitors. I am curious about what people will think as this artistic journey has been unique for me. Typically, it is the beauty of outdoor nature that captivates me and wants me to capture it, but this time, I paid attention to the curious murmurings and sweet whispers of my soul and obediently, intuitively followed them.

Last November, my husband experienced a grueling 10-hour heart attack, miraculously emerging unscathed. I didn't, however. I delved into a dark place to face the very real looming threat of significant loss. In the following weeks, I felt compelled to fulfill and capture artistic longings that had lingered for years; I considered the upcoming milestone of my 40-year marriage and parenting journey; I explored and uncovered highs and lows of my heritage through my many generations on Ancestry and a Mennonite genealogy database.

Thus, I immersed myself in painting, poetry, drawing, and collecting items crafted by my great-grandparents. The process was both comforting and unsettling, allowing me to experience a natural ebb and flow of emotions, from pain to healing, reticence to faith, and grief to joy - all while practicing gratitude and patience. I took breaks as needed to enjoy nature with my husband: kayaking on local ponds and lakes, hiking short forest trails, driving through the countryside in our MG.

It was an oppressively hot, yet beautiful summer while I quietly worked and contemplated

• transforming my great grandmother's broken milk bucket into a kinetic sculpture with poetry overlays

• taking my great-grandfather's hand-built wooden cradle out of storage to temporarily showcase my overwhelming 8-generation of family tree

• integrating a precious early drawing of my daughter's into a hand-stitched creation to emphasize its "in-process" state

• juxtaposing my poem about baking, pain, and peace, with our 100-year-old family cookie cutters

• partially filling antique sealers to showcase various keepsakes

• frenetically painting old glass windows with symbols of family history and writing about it

• capturing cherished memories of toddlerhood with paint on canvas

• highlighting vignettes of pencil on wood -- one for each decade I have lived so far

• rustically reprinting a new edition our wedding invitation

The entire process was deeply personal, evolving naturally without much verbal contemplation but a grand visual narrative emerged —like a golden thread of Spiritual hope -- a Resident Light -- interconnecting family, culture, soul and art --- I celebrated with a giant acrylic and ink triptych - a kind of "family tree" called Rooted Journey with healing pieces flanking each side - like guardian angel wings.

Looking back, I think I hid this exhibit from you (showing only snippets) because, until the completion of the project, I did not feel entirely "dressed." I am pleased that I was able to be vulnerable and take courage through this process. I think I am ready now to unveil each artwork along with its backstory and I hope you see the beauty and gratitude that I feel so deeply.

If you are in or visiting Niagara, Canada, I'd love for you to visit the Third Chair Gallery where my Resident Light exhibit will be on display until Christmas.

And for my far away followers, I invite you to read the stories and share your thoughts online, through Instagram or Facebook.

I hope to see you on Instagram or in person soon,

Sincerely,

Lorenda

Hand-pulling 65 Relief prints was not all that unlike making pans and pans of Zwieback.

P.S. If you enjoyed this read, perhaps you'd like some of my previous journal entries.