So these shells were massively inspirational to finding my way back to art.

In September of 2019, I had attended/presented at the Department of State’s International Adoption Symposium and then immediately upon retuning to NY, had a major work event. My stress level was out the door at that time between additional stressors and changes at the office topped with what was to be the beginning of the middle of the end of that horrible marriage. Anyway, we, Asshole* and myself, as well as what was considered to be “friends” at the times, had a long weekend booked at the beginning of the off season at the Jersey Shore.

If you’ve never done the beginning of the off season at the Jersey Shore, then I can tell you that you are missing out of pure perfection. Everyone goes home. Everything is over. It is perfect and quiet and we literally HAD THE ENTIRE BEACH ALL TO OURSELVES. Anyway, I was pretty miserable and desperately needing a break and my goal was literally to do NOTHING but eat and sleep and drink and beach. So that is what I did.

Now one of the things I like to do at the beach is walk along the shore and collect rocks and shells. Historically, there is usually one or two kinds of particular shell that amuse me each trip. A few times it’s been perfectly round white rocks or a perfect little clam shells. This beach was just chocked full of black shells- all kinds of black shells – shells that normally were other colors on other beaches, but on this beach, were just black! Not only were the typically dark oyster shells black, but the scallop shells were jet black and my absolute childhood favorite, the rare lightweight mica shells, were also, incredibly, black! And I, the one who has worn nothing but black exclusively for over 40 years, was quite fascinated.

And more than slightly obsessed. I spent hours walking along that beach with nothing but my thoughts, hunting and pecking for more and more shells.

And as I walked, I had reoccurring thoughts; I kept on thinking that these shells were as black as my heart. ( I was really feeling pretty down!)
I also thought, as I kept collecting, how I wanted to DO something with these shells. That they LOOKED like things. They looked like amour. And they almost fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

So I took them all home with the intention that I would make art. And so I did.

Here, the black mica shells are literally representing the sharp waves of the ocean. We view this internal slice of the sea, with open air and light above, down into the dark depths of pain and despair. The ideal or self is shown in the bottom left corner; it has been battered and weathered by the storms through time. It is chipped up and pocked with holes. Surrendering the fail ideal are carefully placed bits of the golden mica shells: how we carefully create bubbles of fantasy and false safety, how we tell ourselves stories to deny the ugly truths ahead, yet there is still light. No matter how many layers between the bottom and the much needed fresh air, no matter how thick the and sharp the wall, the light continues to shin and light the way to healing.
Representative of the difficulties in healing and weight of grief and loss, if we can only manage to pull ourselves out of our self made gardens and dare to ride the sharp waves.
At the time of it’s creation, winter of 2019 before the Pandemic hit, I was feeling very much like I WAS healing, in the final stages of healing, from adoption/ birthmother issues. It felt like this piece was a look into the past, but with hindsight, now, I feel like it is a glimpse into the future.

*I refer to my former 2nd husband as ASSHOLE because he is, without a doubt, a HUGE ASSHOLE and truthfully, ASSHOLE is a kind, gentle description. Yes, I could also choose to be more compassionate as say, he is just a sad, miserable, mentally unwell man, but he really doesn't deserve that kindness.  So ASSHOLE!