Extra Paint

On my 56th birthday I received two pieces of artwork from my daughter, both painted in black and white. One has white circles on a black background with a gold thread running through it, and the other one is a black background with a white hand print.  Both touched me deeply when they were given and continue to touch me still. 

If you are ever on a zoom call with me you can see one of them in the background.

I want to share my journey with the “white hand on black background” because it touches deep into my soul. The first layer is one of judgment. Why a white hand, for real? You know I am all about decentering whiteness, what the heck? 

Then it’s as if a smooth slick slide takes me into a place of inquiry about the meaning of this white hand on black background. My body reacts to the white hand.  And as though from a force outside of my body, I am able to stop myself from saying out loud…why is the hand white?  Instead, I go with what was the much bigger response — gratitude! 

First, I am grateful for my continued practice in mindfulness, which allowed me to stop and not have my response be one that feels like a weapon against my daughter’s offering. Next, gratitude takes me right into that hand.  Initially there are tears, even as I write this… tears arising from feeling deep in my body how much I love my daughter.  There are no available words that really can describe that love. I can tell you it’s felt throughout my body, and builds in sensation from the base of my clavicle to the top of my stomach with such fierceness that it brings on nausea... Because what would I possibly do if she was somehow not in my life? That love manifests in holding on so tight, and I have gratitude that mindfulness allows me to see that and loosens my grip. I can feel it, breathe it, drink it, bathe in it and allow it to grow me.

In that hand I can see my growth as a parent. I can hear her say ‘stop’ to me when I forget myself and think she is mine to control. When I forget myself I repeat learned behaviors from my childhood of what parenting should look like. In that hand I see that if I don’t stop and listen, and feel and breathe into learning new ways of parenting, then the hand will become a wall that cuts off access to my beloved daughter.

I see in that hand that what I offer her is just that, an offer. And my lesson is to relinquish the expectation that my offer will be accepted and utilized.  I realized again that she is a gift and that I need to treat our relationship with the utmost care and respect… That I need to parent with my own hands open and give with an open heart, and learn again and again that this is her life to live. My need to safeguard, to protect from a place of fear is my journey to unlearn. 

That hand reaches out to me to connect and remind me that she is here. She will always be a part of me. And even in my grief of what I think I am unable to give her, she is here. This image of my daughter’s hand reminds me that I have zero control over her journey in this life and that all I can truly offer is unconditional love and support with my own open hand.

This painting of her hand tells me that I have no real clue about how unbelievably amazing she is. I have only drunk from the shallow end of her. I have to open more, be more flexible, be more available, be more present so that I can swim in the deeper end of what she has to offer. 

In that hand I see you, my love, and I believe you see me, even when I ask: “what inspired you to do this piece?” ‘Mom, I had extra paint. I painted my hand and pressed it on the canvas!’