abstract mixed media painting by emily weil

daily painting | incoming

Grief is supposed to be something you get over. That you move on from. Oh, that it would work that way! Instead, you fold it in, incorporate it into your day and into your being while doing the dishes and emailing clients and taking your car in for a tune-up. It does not go away, probably not ever. But you make peace with it, inviting it in, giving it a seat at the table. There’s no use fighting it — those feelings will just pop up somewhere down the line, maybe in the form of physical distress, if you avoid or deny or minimize them.

But it’s isolating. Even if never said out loud, some still wish you’d feel better sooner rather than later. Be a happier guest at the party. [Ugh, parties; out of the question! Small talk is impossible!] And if the feelings are overwhelming, and visible, most people run. Hard. And fast.

So here’s my dilemma. How to be vulnerable and honest about my process and my feelings even though I know people are over it? That gets tricky. Grief counseling helps. But I keep going, moving along, showing up, rooting around for that inner strength I’m supposed to have. While some dear ones who sincerely care about me quietly drift into the mists.

Anyways, I think I have courage and am willing to jump into this emotional Cuisinart®. I know it’s changing me — sweeping out emotional closets, burning up musty old baggage. I have hopes and dreams of teaching workshops and traveling and painting and loving; I am not done quite yet. My brother’s life expectancy after his diagnosis of aggressive brain cancer (glio sarcoma) in April 2022 was about 4-6 months. It’s been 14. He is declining, and I’m seeing it. A very slow process at least until now and I am happy for all the time I’ve been able to spend with him. I wish there was something as “pre-grief” — that I could prepare for his death. It will be a wallop, for which there is no armor.

7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pastel, water-soluble graphite, acrylic on paper = $90




watercolor and mixed media abstract by emily weil

daily painting | fluidity

I was in the mood for creating big wet puddles of watercolor on paper the other day, so I decided an abstract was the appropriate choice for my kitchen counter art production. This kind of work takes a bit of time as I have to wait for each layer of paint to dry (sunny days help and yes I could use my hair blower but when I perch my soggy, paint-saturated sketchpad in the sunny kitchen window it creates some time to do things like scrub my bathroom tiles or give my guinea pig Buster a sweet pepper snack — multitasking central, over here). But the thing was to let the art flow which coincides with letting my emotions tumble freely through the canyons of grief and loss. News junkie that I am, it’s hard to turn off the latest reports of frightful European war news, but I did, putting on my headphones and listening to Sting’s latest album. His lyrical, romantic tunes are beautiful and they help me keep my heart open. And the music is a soothing balm. I seem to feel safer at home, as I paint and emote, and I’m in a bit of quandary about whether to keep my studio as financially it’s not making a lot of sense right now. But I will get it sorted.

Plus I want to enjoy my house! My marina was recently sold to developers with dubious motives, so we are fighting for our community here. Our small, slightly funky floating home village on the San Francisco Bay estuary is charming and lovely and we want to keep it that way. Stay tuned.

9″ x 12″ watercolor, ink, pastel, acrylic, pencil on paper = $140




abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | circus

Emotion central ovah heah (think Carmela’s voice, mobster Tony Soprano’s wife on “The Sopranos” which I’m enjoying again for the 4th or 5th time). You’ve been patiently reading these ongoing posts about my grief. Stormy, wet, weepy, sad and there you go, Bob’s Your Uncle. Still here. But rains cleanse and renew and refresh and make things grow. I’m into growing. I’m becoming stronger and more sturdy. I’m resilient and I am shedding crackled, dried up old skins like a snake. Dark childhood shadows drifting off into the ether. Six months since my sister Diana’s suicide now, and it’s getting easier to get out of bed in the morning, so healing does in fact happen even when you feel like the drippy technicolor emotions will drape themselves all over you forever. Life is such a carnival ride at times, but I’m strapped in and hanging on and fully here for the adventure, even when I’m screaming bloody hell on the roller coaster. As I get older I aspire to be myself. Only myself. It’s liberating, and it’s happening. This is good.

30″ x 24″ acrylic, oil pastel, pencil on stretched canvas | NFS