I painted this piece for one of my friends …the kind of friend who has become stitched into the rhythm of everyday life. When she moved away, everything felt slightly off-key, like a favorite song played in an unfamiliar room. The change carried its usual ache …that strange mix of pride and loss when someone you love steps into a new chapter and leaves a quiet space in yours.
Not long after her move, she told me a story I couldn’t stop thinking about. A small, wounded bluebird …an Indigo Bunting, all sapphire fire and trembling courage …had landed at her new home. She’d brought an old birdcage with her, almost by accident, as if guided by some gentle nudge from the universe. That cage became a sanctuary for this tiny traveler, a reminder that care is never wasted, and that sometimes the world prepares us for tenderness before we even know we’ll need it.
In painting the picture she shared of baby blue, I thought of her …how dislocation can still make room for grace. The geometry in the background is deliberate, a nod to the invisible design behind what seems random. And that vivid blue …it’s the pulse of hope, stubborn and alive.
This piece is about that unexpected mercy: the way the universe can reach out, feathered and fragile, to remind us we are remembered…even in our new and unfamiliar places.
Matthew 6:26 – “Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?”
