Art, grief, and the unending reign of dumpster-fire that is 2025
- brianahume
- Nov 6
- 5 min read
Hey, it's been a minute.
I had big plans for this year.
Creatively speaking, I felt ready to challenge myself like never before. I had plans for new bodies of work, product partnerships, exciting art trips, gallery deals... you get the picture.
The reality though has been more like a series of unforeseeable sucker punches to the heart.
My PLAN (starting to think that's just another sneaky 4-letter word that means "thing least likely to happen, ya loser") was to excitedly share my latest painting with you because I'm over-the-moon in love with it, and thought you'd like it too. I'm still going to do that, PLUS share the meaning behind it (which- plot twists of all plot twists, ended up having more than a generous sprinkling of foreshadowing).
*If heavy topics aren't your jam, you might want to scroll down, admire the art, and skip to the end.
Breaking Free
Drawing horses used to be a compulsive pastime of mine. Like most girls my age, I was obsessed with horses for no discernable reason. They seemed like the pinnacle of creature design- elegant, powerful, and complex. Gradually I grew out of this phase, until one day last year I had this overwhelming urge to paint one. Like most of my crazy ideas, I decided to follow it.
Every painting comes together differently- some come about in a mysterious, effortless haze, some are a tooth-and-nail battle of perseverance, but this one felt like it unlocked a part of myself.
Heartache
Every time something wild happens lately, we jokingly say "That wasn't on my bingo card!", but I can say with absolute certainty, that losing our son wasn't on there. It wasn't even in the realm of conceivable possibilities. It was so sudden, and such a shock, that I don't even know how to begin to process something like this. He was by my side for 15 years, and then in an instant, he was gone. There were no warning signs, nothing to prepare us for what was about to happen, and we still aren't even sure what happened or why. We have only questions and very little answers.
*Edit: It turns out our son had a genetic defect that caused one of the valves in his heart to give out, which we didn't find out until much later. He had never had any heart issues before- there was no way to see this coming
Lessons Learned
First off? Grief is boring.
It is a monotonous, joy-annihilating weight that you just can't seem to put down. It is there waiting for me before I even fully wake up. Every time I close my eyes, with each sip of coffee, during car rides, even while talking with people, it is there, pulling me inwards like some reprehensible black void within my chest. And it's exhausting.
Secondly? A lot of good still manages to sneak in with the bad.
The death of our son pretty much marks the end of what our life was like before. Nothing will ever be the same. We are all having to learn how to live life without him. There is no right or proper way to grieve, but I have to say- the tremendous outpouring of love and support, from all corners of my life, has been a soothing balm to my heart. I could fill a book already with the kind gestures, acts of love, and prayers that have been given on our behalf, and for that, I thank Jehovah daily. One of my favorite thoughts lately is from Romans 12:15 which encourages us "to rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep". As someone who abhors crying in public, and who rarely knows what to do with heavy emotions, the precious gift of shared tears over our sweet boy has comforted me more than I could possibly convey. My days are currently a little gray and tear-stained, but I eagerly look forward to the day when we will once again get back to the rejoicing bit.
Unexpected Foreshadowing
Before our life got turned upside down, I already had a feeling for what this painting meant to me. Remember the whole proverbial dumpster-fire I had mentioned earlier? Just in January alone, I had my own slew of mysterious medical drama, including numerous doctor visits, a trip to the hospital, being bedridden for weeks, and losing a significant amount of my hair (not to mention the copious amount of medical bills that ensued). I was beyond fed up with dealing with my own health issues and with the constant fight it took just to be able to accomplish normal everyday life things.
This painting felt like a triumphant stand against all of it- to not let life's anxieties and pressures dictate who you are. Every day is a choice to break free from that darkness and to keep pursuing the light. (If I only knew the trials headed my way, yikes.)
And if you want to see something TRULY wild, read this excerpt from another artist about her interpretation of my painting (and remember, this was written BEFORE I lost my son):
"I see someone (you) stepping out and breaking through hardships that you had in the past. You've found support that you know you can lean on when you need it. And with this support, you got out of what was holding you back and you realize the good that is ahead of you, and now, you may look behind you without fear and move forward. You'd like to forget about it, but you can't, even though you are moving forward. ...A horse symbolizes freedom and courage, and the colors you chose are balanced, and soon (if not already), you will find peace of mind. This is all that I feel when diving into it, but I don't know who it concerns. The painter? The viewer? Or both?" -Brigitte Moreau
Wow, right?
Well friend, that is all from me for now. I hope your day is filled with sunshine and smiles. If you happen to know anyone who would enjoy this, or maybe even a friend dealing with a loss of their own, be sure to share this email with them and maybe we can continue to share our sorrows together.
I feel like I'm supposed to say something sales-y here like "buy my art!", but I just don't have it in me. I genuinely would love to hear from you though, whether it be your personal thoughts about what this painting means to you, or even if you want to share about how loss has impacted your own life. Feel free to contact me- my inbox is always open. <3
If you want to see my process video for Breaking Free, then click the button below to see it come together. Hugs!
-Briana
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