Anguish.

That single word came from a judge during the WPPI competition critique for this image. It is such a fitting word because that’s exactly what I felt while creating it.

All at once, almost every area of my life seemed to need adjusting. Friendships. Relationships. My creativity was suffering, and productivity in my business was way down. I began to feel the weight of depression settling in. It was arguably the hardest season of my life, and everything seemed to be slowly dying.

There comes a time in all our lives when we recognize that some things simply aren’t healthy anymore. It’s time to prune! So, we begin cutting away the dead parts, sometimes almost down to the base, leaving the most vulnerable areas exposed. It’s painful, but we know that after a long, cold season, glimpses of new growth eventually appear.

This piece is absolutely about hurt and anguish, and I think that’s what most people see first. But what I hope they also see is hope and healing through that anguish. That even when something hurts deeply, you can still know it was the right decision for you. True growth happens when we are brave enough to allow ourselves to feel pain.

 I didn’t go into the pruning season expecting not to hurt. I knew it would be hard. I also knew it would be worth it. I knew something healthier would eventually bloom.  If you look closely in the image, you’ll see veins around some of the cuts. They represent blood rushing to those hurt areas, beginning the healing process. Even in the moment of injury, the body is already working to repair the damage. I wanted that quiet reminder in the image, that healing often begins exactly where we were wounded.

This image is also a quiet acknowledgment of the blooms that died. They were, after all, still blooms at one time. They were beautiful once. The anguish on her face acknowledges that there once was a bloom, and honors the grief that comes with knowing it’s time to let go.

This image received 2nd place in its category at Imaging USA and 3rd place at the Icon Awards. Those recognitions mean more to me than any other recognitions because of what they represent. Bravery to show myself as an artist and allow the hurt to be seen instead of pretending it never hurt.

This is the first time I have told my own story through one of my images. It is also the first time I created art from a place of pain rather than joy. While creating it, I felt almost like I was in a trance, consumed with gloom. In the moment, I could only see and feel the pain in the piece. But when I returned to it later, I realized that even in my pain I had woven hope and comfort throughout the image. The cocoon in the top right, for example, quietly transforming. I knew I wanted to tell my story because I knew I wasn’t alone in a season of pruning. Even if your season doesn’t look like mine, we all experience it at some point. When we allow ourselves to show vulnerability, it gives others permission to do the same.

So yes, there is anguish.

But there is also hope, healing, and an acknowledgment of the blooms that once were the ones that helped bring me to this point and taught me valuable lessons.