I am on the brink of tears as I begin to write this story.
This past Saturday at Sonic Bloom, a transformative music festival located at the base of a scenic mountain range in Colorado, I attended a workshop with Amanda Sage, an extremely talented visual artist.
Rather than focusing on shadows, Amanda spoke about the pertinence of light in visual imagery, as light is the necessary component to illuminate any image. Light is the medium with which a complete image is brought to fruition.
Amanda passed out a black piece of construction paper and a white piece of chalk to the audience—such simple material with complex possibilities. My younger sister Sara sat directly behind me and we began to do a quick sketch. About seven minutes later, I turned to show Sara my creation. We had not seen each other’s drawings until this moment.
Later that evening, Sara had gone to sleep, but I was still wide-eyed and open hearted. A visitor showed up at our campsite and, upon seeing our drawings on the table in front of him, admired our art. He proceeded to hold the images side-by-side. I though to myself, hmm I never thought to view our drawings next to one other but they actually work really well together. The visitor oriented the images in various ways until he stopped dead in his tracks to show me something incredible.
The white lines on my drawing met perfectly with Sara’s. The impeccable way that the lines I drew flowed perfectly and endlessly onto Sara’s sketch was chilling. As I could not possibly be who I am without my sister, my drawing could never be a complete composition without her sketch beside it. What are the chances that we would have drawn four lines in the same exact spot on the paper? I cried.
The matching lines signify my interconnectivity with Sara. Like our bloodline, the white lines represent our infinite bond between body and soul. As sisters, we coexist both in a physical and spiritual sense. In this moment I came to understand that the relationship between oneself and family is utterly unexplainable. Cherish your loved ones, question everything, and always remember that there is no such thing as coincidence.
Love is light.
Her imperfections make her unique.
My imperfections make me self aware.
Its imperfections constitute its authenticity.
My finger, circumscribed by three generations of white gold,
rubies and diamonds.
The wear in my ring has worn my finger,
molded by her beauty,
her mother’s grace,
and her mother’s mother’s soul.
She lives in my ring.
Of the things she has seen me do,
for the past five years,
would she relocate?
Or just stay.