Another Year

of being alive.

Dear Friends,

I ended my last newsletter in June with something flowery about luck being the only thing that keeps us afloat. So I will begin this post by reaffirming that I stand by this flower.

I was extremely saddened to hear that one of Thane’s colleagues, Jesse Durost, passed away this week. I never met Jesse myself, but Thane only ever had positive things to say about him, and it was obvious this guy was so deeply loved by his community that strangers who didn’t even know him felt that love reverberate through the airwaves. I followed his battle with cancer for the past year, and cried at every single update, both the good and the bad.

In Thane’s words, “If you just looked at Jesse you knew he was an artist, you didn’t even have to ask.” Jesse was super healthy and fit, biked everywhere and helped everyone. He was only 47 and leaves behind his wife and young son. Please consider donating to his family’s GoFundMe if you can, and if you’re not in a position to donate, please consider sharing the link with others.

I followed Jesse’s story haunted by the fact that luck is the only difference between us. A person can make all the clean, healthy choices in life, be surrounded by all the love in the world, and still end up in a hospital bed prematurely. It is completely unfair.

So with that in mind, I turned 37 this July.

37 years holding 37 weeks

We drove to Maine for my birthday. There were a million reasons not to – a long drive with a baby who hates being in the car is not ideal, we weren’t sure if we could afford to travel this summer, I was still planning on working remotely so we had to leave appallingly early in the morning, the list goes on.

Ultimately, Thane said something that cemented my decision to go: “You only get one summer with your baby.” It’s true, you really only get one of each season with a baby until they’re not a baby anymore. Next summer she’ll be a toddler, walking and talking.

sharing things I love with Lumi.

It was Lumi’s first time outside of New York. We dipped her feet in Harpswell Sound and she enjoyed the time outdoors immensely.

Life is precious and miraculous and ephemeral, and being aware of this can sometimes feel like a big responsibility. What does it mean to “live well” and how do you balance living in the present moment while still planning for the future?

I've been working full time since Lumi turned 3 months old. I thought about bringing my paints on this trip, but then made an intentional choice to let this place inspire me without feeling the need to be "productive." Sometimes you just need to go somewhere to stretch out your soul.

Of course the moment we arrived I turned to Thane and said, “Damn. I should have brought my paints.”

Orr’s Island, Maine.

This whole place looks like a watercolor painting.

pay close attention to the colors between the horizon line and the shore.

I’ve spent half my life chasing this color in various iterations across thousands of miles. If scientists study my brain one day, they will find this color in spades. Earlier this year when Case for Making was creating the new Ultra Blends line, I was hellbent on mixing what would eventually become CfM Tide Pool.

the beginnings of CfM Tide Pool in my living room.

In retrospect I am glad I left the paints at home. I felt more present and grounded in the moment. I sincerely believe that if you are awake and alive to the things that light you up, they will become part of the fabric of your being. I’m at peace knowing that the things that inspire me will find their way into my art eventually. It hasn’t been easy putting my creative projects and pursuits on the back burner since my daughter has become my number one priority. But she’s only little for a short time, and if I’m lucky, I’ll have the rest of my life to paint.

During the trip to Maine, I got to reconnect with a friend from grad school. We met in Ireland, and both of us are painters. It was our first time seeing each other again since we both had kids, and the hug that I received from her isn’t something I’ll soon forget. Maybe it’s just my interpretation, but it felt as though a lot of unsaid things went into that hug, from both sides.

Sometimes – not always but sometimes – drawing and painting become ways to attempt to capture a thing or a feeling, and freeze it in time. Like how photography is for some people. Things I wish I could hold onto forever, but it’s like trying to keep water cupped in your hands. A sunset, a baby, a flower. Life as we know it. A glimpse of where the light shines before it’s time to go home.

Thanks for reading.

Love,
Melanie

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♥

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