Diana Carey
Nest 12 36x36" thrown and splattered acrylic paint on canvas 2011
It always amazes me how much artists interpret, reflect, and
construct reality, even when it’s seemingly unintentional. My mother passed
away seven years ago, after a long illness. I am a landscape artist, but before
she passed away and for a year after, I found myself painting nests. The nests
were typically large, built by layered threads of thrown and splattered paint.
Most of them had yawning openings, swollen bellies, seemingly large enough to climb into and curl
up, womb like, if one could. All were empty.
At the time, I thought I was
“just” painting. I didn’t consciously connect the significance of the subject
with my situation, with the fear, loneliness and the heartbreak of losing my
mother. I was grieving the loss of her love and support, the loss of my
childhood, my “home” and womb. The loss of the one person I felt tethered me
securely to my place in self, family and society. At the same time, the
significance of the subject became clear, so did the significance of them being
empty, it was time to let go and fly. Through painting, I had been interpreting and
reflecting, security, love and comfort while constructing a new reality of
separation, strength and hope.
