carry me home, mixed media on canvas panel, 6×6 inches
My mom is now on her way back to the East coast. We had a very nice week together and I miss her already.
My husband and I are both transplants here in the Pacific Northwest, as it seems a lot of people are. I’m from the East Coast and he is from the Midwest. We came here to follow our dreams and to make a home here. And we have. But I feel like something is missing…that feeling of being connected to a place. Roots. Home. I’m always struggling with the concept of “home”. Isn’t home just a feeling, something that I carry inside of me? Something embodied in my little family, in the people I love? If that’s the case, then why do I still feel myself searching…
I’m reading a really good book right now written by Ami McKay called The Birth House and last night I read a little paragraph that struck a chord in me:
“When you’ve got no family to speak of, no one knows who you really are. I suppose that’s what they want, running off like that from home, like they’ve got something to hide”
This was said derisively by one of the characters about these women who had left their villages back in the early 1900’s, so the context from today’s world is totally different. But I know that I left home searching for something. For myself, as we do when we’re young and full of hope and dreams and possibility. But I was also running away from myself, my past, for sure. Wanting to reinvent. I have found and encountered so much and yet something is always tugging me back.
I love it here so much, but maybe place isn’t enough. It’s about connections, people, family. Decisions, decisions. Do I possibly have it in me to pick up and move across the country again? Will I find my happiness there? I know that I can’t chase happiness around the map. It’s within. I know this. And yet…
I forsee myself working through these issues about home through my artwork throughout this year.