Finding the ending, leaving things hanging,
and how an instagram story got me thinking about my mom
Happy New Year!
Is it already too late to say that?
I love the energy and motivation of a new year. I’m an Aries (if you’re into that kind of thing) but I still love organization and lists. I find myself on a constant search for self optimization and the new year behooves this.
2026 has so far proven no different, and I plan to ride that high until I inevitably crash headfirst back into my old ways. Seven days in and so far I have:
finished a book
written in my journal for the first time since November
hit 10k steps a day
finally finished a painting I started last May
Yes, I finished a painting (hold for applause). A frequent gripe I have with myself is my inability to complete a project. Starting is easy. Stopping - deciding a piece is done - is where I get stuck. It never seems good enough. There’s always something else I could do, but I don’t know what it is.
I have learned it’s a real skill to have the confidence and perspective to know when to call your work complete. It’s a practice I actively work on, forcing myself to stand back and physically say “I’m done” out loud.
The Painting in Question
This painting was born from a photo taken on an iPhone. This time it came across my desk via a friend’s instagram story, and it was one of those that stopped me in my tracks.
Pointe shoes, slung over a wire high in the Los Angeles sky.
Simple, stunning, sad.
I got to work immediately, and completed what I’ll call “V1” quickly. I was pleased with the outcome, but it also felt flat, it didn’t strike me the way the original image had.
As the painting life cycle goes, the shoes were pushed to the corner of my studio, left to sit for months as I lazily pondered how I could "get it across the finish line.” What was missing that would make this painting something I was proud of?
Crossing the proverbial finish line
I’ve now learned one of the secrets to deciding a piece of work is complete is deciding for yourself (and not for anyone else!) what you would like it to say. As I finally picked this painting back up in December, I was determined to get it right.
This time as I painted over the shoes, refining details and trying to get the image closer to what I saw in the original photo, I thought about what struck me in the first place.
When I see sneakers strung over power lines, I think of a memorial. Someone lost. The association is both sinister and saddening, and still there is something beautiful in it to me. Such an ordinary item, transformed completely. Grief, on display in the sky.
The swap from sneakers to slippers immediately strikes a chord. Suddenly the image feels more fragile. More specific. It speaks to something inside me.
Innocence lost, dreams abandoned, the Death of a Showgirl.
In the time between V1 and V2, both my sister and my manager had babies, giving me a first hand look at pregnancy and early motherhood for the first time in my life.
From my sister I see the true, unfiltered view, from the highest highs to the lowest lows. From my boss I get a glimpse into the future of what navigating motherhood and my career could look like.
Both parties have handled it like pros and have shown me incredible joy that I adore and maybe even envy, but the most eye-opening part has been the true sacrifice of motherhood.
There is a version of yourself before, and a version after.
Every mother will tell you instantly that having a baby was the best thing they ever could have done, that they would do it over again in a heartbeat. I believe them.
And still - I feel the weight of what’s lost. The things women quietly lay down so something else can begin.
I am someone with big aspirations and also a big heart. I feel in my soul that I am meant to be a mom one day. But I’m afraid. I see the pieces of yourself you lose, the opportunities you must forgo, and the seismic shift your life path endures. Right now, I don’t feel selfless enough to make the sacrifices women have made since the beginning of time. I am banking on the hope that one day I will.
Motherhood is life, not death. I know this. But there is a strong voice inside of me screaming at the injustice of how much has to change for a woman in order to have a baby.
These shoes are not about pity, but respect and honor for those who have worn them. I view them as a sign of remembrance and reverence for everything given up, and a symbol of the beauty of what’s to come as a result.
Calling It Done
With new clarity and purpose, I darkened the sky and deepened the shadows of the shoes. I added a draping ribbon, frayed at the ends. Purples incorporated into the pinks, blacks into the purples. The knot grew tighter, the weight on the rope heavier.
And what do you know…The Voice is (mostly) quiet now. I feel a sense of completion. I look at it and know I am saying what I want to say.
What the viewer takes away from that? Left hanging in the balance.
Additional inspiration by this Mari Andrew post. My queen in art and all things, and a new mother herself.
P.S - it is by complete happy accident and new year magic that this is ready to be posted on my mother’s birthday. Happy birthday to my favorite person on this earth, my creative inspiration, and the greatest and most selfless mom I know. My love and respect for you only grows as I get older!
If you made it this far call your Mom and thank her for everything.
Ahhh I love this! Always love to hear about your process baby