Nothing is ever truly lost

Last summer, we threw most of our belongings into a moving truck and moved to South Carolina. Most of the “things” made the trip perfectly fine, but some things got damaged in transit. For example, one of my canvases somehow got sliced down the middle. Truth be told, I wasn’t particularly attached to this untitled/ unfinished painting. Instead of throwing it away, I tossed it into a closet and forgot about it for about 10 months.

Which brings us to last week, when I discovered it while I was spring cleaning.

Piece by piece, I cut the canvas off of the stretcher bars and recycled the bare frame.

From that undoing came the small squares, cradled in the middle of striped wood. They’re small gathered forms that feel a bit like nests. Resting places. Fragments of color, texture, shapes, and history. Woven back together, but softer this time.

There’s something instinctual about rebuilding from our own remnants. Like returning to something you didn’t realize you were making all along. You know, maybe nothing is ever TRULY lost. Just rearranged. I think about how often we outgrow things, or leave parts of ourselves behind, only to rediscover them later in a different form.

These feel like that.

Here’s to finding ourselves again.

Psssst. You can find these for sale in downtown Charleston at the Candlefish Maker’s Market.

Xoxo, Kristen