I have a thread of blindness running through the years of my life.

This morning I determined that my preoccupation with seeing (which results in painting, among other activities) but not understanding (a wee bit of what we now call autism, maybe?) results in a kind of sightlessness that has lived within my shadow side as long as I can remember.

As humans we aren’t always in the mood for beauty, and that’s totally a valid state of mind. It doesn’t mean beauty is no more. I think Beauty meets us in our deepest moments… it folds us entirely, including our pain and want, in its gentle arms and rocks us back and forth as a loving mother might.

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,

Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,

I my loving vigil keeping,

All through the night.

I started on this project because I’m a Heyer fan myself. It was my mom’s idea to do some paintings of Heyer, because she wanted to hang one as inspiration above the table where she (my mom) writes and figured other fans might as well. We both wanted a painting that felt vintage and was pleasing as art, yet recognizable as a portrait of Heyer.