In Search of Orange

My aunt passed away on Memorial Day and her funeral was this past Tuesday. I was planning to drive across the state for her service but woke up that morning with a headache and knew that 9 hours of driving, alone, was not a good idea. So I stayed home. But I wanted to mark the day somehow, so I pulled out my brushes, a handful of acryllic paints, and some waiting canvases. Within moments, a new painting was being born on our kitchen table. Overlapping circles streaked with yellow, dipped in a green called possibility. I was enjoying the piece until I painted the edges of the 8 x 10 canvas a rich brown. Suddenly I felt trapped in those circles, going round and round and round... I needed a way out. I needed a ray of hope, a way for those circles to be life-giving momentum and not just whirlwinds. I needed an orange edge.

Jonathan & I have, again, been talking recently about risks. I wonder... are we done with living in Central Europe? Will we ever go back? I brought it up the other night. Is there a way? Something feels drawing about those places, hallowed almost. Yesterday I pulled out some music I listened to a lot while I was living in Ostrava. I held onto the hopefulness in the lyricism of the orchestra's dialogue with my experience, especially as I got closer and closer to returning home. I remember sitting in my flat those last few weeks, listening to the swells of the music, picturing myself through the chords and cresendos... getting to the airport, boarding the plane, a brief layover in London, flying through the dark, emerging in light over North America, being with my family again, kissing the solid earth of Seattle in summer, ...

I sucked in my breath, shaken. What are we thinking? Why on earth would we even entertain the idea of returning? It was so hard for me to be there, even harder to stay. Why am I telling my husband that these thoughts are coming to my mind? Is it something else? What is it I'm drawn to? What risk is it that seems to be beckoning me? Why would I be doing this?

Maybe ... because it was orange.

©2007 Mindy Danylak