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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.


Hope and Hopelessness Part One


Lately I've had a lot of time to think, so that's exactly what I've done. I've been thinking on Hope and Hopelessness, which coexist as fluidly within my body as my left and right hands.

(Gallery Sitting: Six long and quiet hours on a holiday weekend, with no distractions other than thought provoking art.)

I am a child of Hope, and the days when Hope fills my soul, it shines out of every crevice and pore, bubbling up, the cup overfloweth. I know my purpose, the very reason I was placed here and now, the reason I exist and my job in the long line of humanity. I only wish to exude love, to burn with that higher vibration, to be the humble tongue speaking that others may interpret and learn.

But the other days, the days of Hopelessness, are dark.

I lay at the bottom of the well, asking why, why have you forsaken me? Why does this winged cloud of doubt sink it's claws into my spine? Why am I lost, my eyes scaled, my feet turned inward, hands bound, grasping at the fragile thread of hope which twists and turns at my fingertips?

That these two opposing forces can reside within, fascinates me. But more than that, Hope and Hopelessness are two very real forces within my art, simultaneously beautiful and terrible, but more than anything, Honest. The days of Hopelessness create fodder for the days of Hope, which give way to understanding why it is we are tried by fire. If my work were made of nothing but Hope, it would be beautiful indeed, but devoid of a very real element of human existence. And more than ever, I wish to be sincere.

About a week ago I had a rather profound realization on these lines as I worked in my studio. I came into the studio on a Tuesday, wound up with the stresses in my life, and fluttered around restlessly. Picking up a painting, adding new imagery, washing it out, frustratedly setting it aside, repeat. I left hours later with no sense of accomplishment and only a gnawing feeling that "I must have forgotten how to paint" (this happens to me ever so often). On Thursday when I returned, I arrived with such determination, eyes wide open, waiting for the sign, the sight that would spark my thoughts and open my mind to the messages and meaning I needed to paint that day.

And I received my message.

Paint about Tuesday.

The day was real, part of my existence, even if it was difficult. And how can I possibly grow without acknowledging ALL of the learning that is presented to me? And so I painted, and the oil flowed. My heart was filled, my eyes overflowed. I began a new painting, a new exploration of Hope and Hopelessness and the understanding that both are beautiful, both are part of this life, and even though I prefer one over the other, both make up the message I am clumsily trying to interpret with these two hands.

And so on that note, I leave today for the studio.

Please send me your Hope today friends, like a shower of pale blooms that rains down with the sweetest scent and a feathered grace.