Right. So here she is-Bathsheba W. Smith-mid-sweep, mid-thought, mid-leap into the wilderness, if you like. This painting, Bethsheba Smith, isn't just about a woman with a broom. It's about the breath before the brave.
Bathsheba was no stranger to upheaval. She knew how to survive mobs, winter quarters, heartbreak, and still find time to embroider a chair arm cover or take up watercolors. This scene, though quiet, holds that moment just before she left her home in Nauvoo forever. She tidied the rooms, swept the floor for the mobs, and placed the broom— gently, deliberately— behind the door. Then she turned, gathered up her children, and stepped into the unknown wilderness.
I wanted to paint that. Not just a woman in a bonnet, but a woman choosing faith over comfort. Grit over bitterness. Devotion dressed as routine. Her face is steady. Not weeping. Not wilting. Looking forward with that unmistakable mix of resolve and tenderness that women like her seem to carry in their marrow.
The colors are hushed— think dusky mauve and the last of the lilac light— because I wanted the emotion to whisper rather than shout. This isn't a painting that raises its voice. It simply stands there, like she does, with quiet strength.
And perhaps that's the whole point.
She didn't storm out of Nauvoo with fanfare. She swept. She closed the door.
She believed.
Honestly, I can't think of anything braver.
This painting is for anyone who's ever done something hard because they knew it was right. For anyone who's ever felt that inner nudge to go —before they were ready-and did it anyway. Because sometimes the most sacred acts aren't in sermons or monuments.. they're in the way we sweep the floor and put the broom back where it belongs.
