Miner for a Heart of Gold

People sometimes wonder why I only paint my darker qualities. I don’t!

I counted to see how many of the fifty-five animal paintings depict negative traits and how many are positive. (It’s true they can be interpreted either way, but my original intention always started with a specific idea.) Although it was never planned, the tally came to a half and half split.

The first few years of the series were mostly dedicated to painting my darker mind states. I wan’t trying be a Debbie Downer.  The more unpleasant habits and emotions held more mystique. I was curious about where they came from, why they still persisted, how they might be relieved. 

Those three questions were answered in the process of opening up to the painful parts of myself represented in the paintings. Some of the new insights I gained were already an intellectual assumption, but didn’t penetrate to deep healing until I’d really painted my guts out. 

Where they came from.

I came to see that my weaknesses and imperfections were created from a lifetime of choices, many based on others’ expectations of me. If I was pretty, skinny, funny, smart, hard-working, and level-headed I would win the attention and adoration of my family and peers. Regardless of how much I accomplished in these areas, the pursuit of them made me tired, frustrated, worried, and obsessive. Over time the stress contributed to all sorts of qualities that ended up in my paintings. 

Why they still persist.

I found one of my biggest fears was not snakes or murderers, but losing the persona I’d worked so hard to create. The more I tried to push toward self-improvement, the more I wanted to hang on to how much I’d already invested in it so far. My aspirations started out with good intentions—a drive to fit in well with my surroundings—but there were things I didn’t know about life when I started the task as a one-day-old. 

How might they be relieved.

Like most people, I have spent lots of time trying to break bad habits and think better thoughts. But the knots that grew inside me from a lifetime of struggling to fit in are not overcome by checking off a list of helpful hints and tricks. There is some mining to do. The solutions do not lie on the surface. 

Relief came in stages. The ore I extracted was shoveled out with my paint brush. I created characters that played the part of my shadow traits, pulling from the bedrock of my psyche the not-so-refined pieces of a story that no longer served me well. 

Whether others saw a crow as a workaholic martyr or a rattlesnake as a money-worrier was not my business. I invented the entities as stand-ins for my dark traits so I could look them in the eye. No one else was expected to read the paintings the way I did.

Seeing them in person was like bringing the ore out of the mine. They were still rough and raw, but at least they weren’t festering in the shadows while my everyday self remained oblivious and still beholden to their effects. 

Even more light was shed when I had the painting images made into a deck of cards. 

Working (or playing) with the deck is so psychologically literal. I can look at the hand I’ve been dealt. I can see them for their face value. I can reshuffle them, turn them over, discard them. I can play games. I can find pairs. Ultimately, I can become intimate with them. I can be a card shark!

With familiarity comes acceptance. I knew progress was being made when I started reading the cards differently. The crow became a happy homemaker. The rattlesnake became a queen of abundance. I interpreted their meaning differently depending on the day. 

Without realizing it I was gaining wisdom and acceptance about the transitory, subjective nature of perspective. If I could see my dreaded bad habits with equanimity, you bet I could be less judgmental of myself and others. 

I’m used to my mining job now, which, for all its hard work, has become a reliable way to fill my coffers with more faith, serenity, and joy. That’s what the ore turns to in the alchemical process of transformation. 

Sometimes I hit a vein that leads to a motherlode. Other times I can’t even induce myself to pick up my hammer (which is totally OK.) But I never forget what my job is, and what rewards it brings. 

The relief I receive from my tenacious tendencies waxes and wanes. When I’m grumpy or dissatisfied I know I need to head into the tunnel, seeing what new treasure-in-the-rough is waiting to be excavated.

Photo by Enrique Lopez Garre