The fence of mourning

At the moment, I feel to live behind the fence of mourning. My father passed a week ago and since then I’ve been moving in kind of parallel reality.  Even though I can’t cry yet, I would say it’s the beginning of a mourning phase.

There is no guaranteed recipe for mourning, because it’s an immersion into deep layers of heart and soul, which are highly individual. Of course, it will help if you are part of some religious family, that have funeral and mourning rituals rooted for millennia.

But this is not the case. I was born in the sixties in that part of the world, where believing in God automatically meant being against the ruling regime. My dad kept the unbelief until the day he passed. I found my own spiritual path, which I need to follow in my mourning, even though I feel that my father does not agree. So, I am trying to find “neutral” ways of mourning, which makes the situation worse.

Drawing and painting help me release trapped emotions. I grab the purple and green all the time, perhaps they mostly fit to my grieving mood. The mystery of purple accompanies my inner voyage to the realm of souls, the green somehow contains the earthy truth about the cycle of life. There are neither fans nor enemies, only pure truth that one has to deal with.

When I painted the barbed wire fence above, knitting rows of memories back and forward, I realized, that what looks like painful thorns today may appear like a blooming shrub in a few years. And what looks like a heavy burden today may become the seed of a future treasure.

Mourning cannot be skipped or cheated, I’m sure of that. We can choose the way, including the hope and light in the end of the mourning tunnel.

Thanks for reading, I needed to share my heart with you.

Love, Ivana

P.S. The picture is watercolor based, with final touch of black liner and colored pencils.

10 thoughts on “The fence of mourning

  1. Please, accept my condolences, too.
    My parents both have passed away and mom left us in February of 2019, 14 years after dad. I was thinking about them this morning. Summer sort of is getting close to its end, and there was a song dad always used to sing. Around this time we were picking wild mushrooms and harvested whatever was in the garden and orchard. late summer, such a wonderful time in my memories.
    After a while, I mean, quite a while, the memories become very cherished and they don’t make one sad any more. It’s simply that you know you’ve been very privileged to have one or both parents for a long time.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Inese, your lovely words warms my heart up. My mom passed away 9 years ago, in July (also in summer). She was only 68.
      It’s weird to even think about it, but for today, I’m the oldest person from the family. And of course, I don’t feel like it 🙂

      Like

  2. Beautiful art work and a fitting tribute to your dad. I think sometimes mourning comes out in slow drips. Maybe its easier that way than to be overwhelmed all at once. I lost my dad 4 years ago. He was a guy who knew everything there was to know about trees in our little part of the world. When I am out in nature, I still get a pang of the pain of mourning when I see a tree or something I don’t know. I think about how I could ask my dad. He’d know. But then I can’t because he isn’t here. Sometimes a tear or two pop out. I think maybe that is my way of mourning even though I don’t seem to have much control over it. Your art is a wonderful way to mourn. Each painting, another tear or two in honor of your dad.

    Liked by 2 people

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