The Thing with Feathers

In one of my all time favorite poems, Emily Dickinson likens hope to a bird: small enough to perch inside us, brave enough to sing in a storm, undemanding.

I think sometimes hope is demanding. I think sometimes it asks for the last bit of faith, of energy, of fight you have left. It asks you to hang on, a little longer, and believer that something good is still beyond the horizon.

Hope has felt brave, delusional, impossible, comforting. It has made me wonder if I had departed reality, made me scan horizons for the hint that tomorrow was coming.

In this collection, swallows swoop boldly or subtly through some paintings to remind us of that feathered thing. In other pieces, the feathers are embodied in flowers, mist, and cloud. Each painting calls on us to hold onto hope, in every battle we fight through.