Dear Diary; Weeping Willow

I loved drawing and painting as a child, as many of us did… My friend Wends and I would plan ‘painting days’ during the holidays

I loved creating for my O level art and A level too…

On leaving school I worked for my running coach in the health and fitness business… I was on the verge of becoming an international athlete and so working for him seemed a way to support this journey…

I painted murals all over the walls of his gym

Athletes in motion from all different sports.

We moved a new property

It was huge!

Vast expanse of white walls my new canvasses –  more figures appeared, leaping jumping running throwing  – Lifesize – I loved creating these figures…

And then came my last piece.

A willow tree

It covered a whole wall in the relaxation area of the centre.

I cried all day one day, as I painted this willow, weeping with me.

My heart had broken, and as I cried and painted I promised myself that never ever ever would I let this happen to me ever again… Never again ‘would someone do this to me…’

It took me many years to heal the hurt within and open from the inside out

To stop looking outside for the healing or for more hurting.

I knew the inner journey was the route

But I still had to journey the journey in the so called outer realms and discover the long way round…

I had to live and learn through my own experiences, my own mistakes, my own life 

The cry the tears that lead to healing the hurt…

Another thing happened that day, when I finished weeping and the willow was etched on the wall – I stopped doing any art.

And I never ever started again.

Until now.

Whenever I work with on the phone ( rather than a video call)  I have always doodled… Recently the doodles have become more and more colourful and expansive.

I showed my client what had emerged during our conversation… ‘Why don’t you do those in a book’? She suggested

And so now I have my art book ! 

Full of colourful abstract pictures – it looks a little bit like my O level art…

But now, there is no reason at all, other than the joy of expression, the vitality of life  


Us in motion

On the canvass of life