rest

rest 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trust me' is an interpretation of a photo taken by a surfer/photographer friend in New South Wales (Tim Shaw).  
A wave ready to release all its weight as it curves and crashes, rushing to the beach.  The water finds its way to a calm safe place where all is quiet and peaceful.  This image reminded me of the waves and rough places in our lives.

Sometimes it can feel like life is crashing in all around us, hard to see the way to the shore, and drowning in the discomfort of the daily unresolved.  The words 'Trust me'  remind us of the Creator who intricately moves each of earth's natural events to run smoothly and in perfect harmony.  To trust the Creators timing - It is helpful to know, that the difficult times will settle, and we can find a calm quiet place to rest.

 

"In the ocean, we are immersed threatened in depths unknown held in the curve of the Creator's hand sustained in the Creator’s movement"  Mardee Kaylock 

 

 

Artwork Title    Rest
Dimensions   149cm x119cm

Medium   Oil on Canva

Completed   June 2013
Price   FOR SALE for more details click here
State/Country   Tasmania, Australia

 

While Heather was painting the “Rest” painting,

performance poet Joel McKerrow

and performance artist Hannah Cooper

were inspired to create their own responses to the painting.

They performed the piece at one of her first exhibitions.

Autumn gives herself to the rhythm of the seasons with no abandon.
She is stripped and she is bare,
sheds clothing like nobody is watching.

The discard of leaf upon leaf upon leaf upon grief upon grief.
Green is a memory for the painter with blood on her fingers.
She paints veins. Blood is an ugly colour,
it runs well with the crisp of dead skin, dry leaves, dry seams, dry dreams.

 

An Autumn that sheds herself,
this painter she sheds herself
paints arteries on skin.The leaf is an exoskeleton thirsty and dry.
The tree sheds because she must.
Colours that paint the ground,

they are painting the ground,
they are painting the ground,
they are becoming the ground.

 

A mother always draws into herself the pain of her children.

 

This painter is a mother.
This mother gives herself to the seasons.
This season in an artery.
This artery bleeds to the ground and bleeds to the ground and bleeds to the ground and
holds life like drops of water.

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