Sometimes a feeling arrives long before the words.

That may sound strange coming from an artist, but I don't usually think in vivid visual images. People often assume that because I paint, I must picture everything in my mind first. The truth is quite different. My ideas arrive more as a feeling or a quiet knowing than as a clear picture. The images and words often come later.

Recently, while reflecting on this season of my life, a feeling came to me that I couldn't quite explain. As I sat with it, it gradually found its own language.

It arrived as metaphor.  A metaphor associated with feelings which finally equated to a body of water.

Not a particular river or ocean. Not a specific place. Simply the feeling of meeting the waters of life itself.

The more I sat with that feeling, the more I realised it described my journey through life more accurately than anything else I had ever tried to put into words.  The strangest thing is, (or maybe it isn't), is that I'm not comfortable in water even though I'm a good swimmer, even a strong swimmer.  But gradually even this began to make sense.  It needs to be understood through the sense of feeling rather than literally.  It needs to be understood through the sense that water can drown, can carry, can swamp, can soothe, can calm, can tire, can relax - it is powerful.