Then sunshine had begun to thaw the winter. The darkness was starting to become light. Robert came into my life when spring was arriving, and he continued to brighten the path I was walking along, making it feel as if summer might soon fill my heart again.
I start to sketch as my thoughts move from my brain and flow down into my hand. On one side of the heart, I draw a bare tree with winter surrounding it. Some of the branches are Lucas, some are Robert and some are the love I’ve yet to find or lose. Snowflakes and icicles touch the branches and each one represents some of the pain, some of the loneliness, some of the emptiness I’ve felt in my heart. I start to notice my tears falling on the paper. Even though this part is almost unbearably sad, I feel some of my strength returning as I pour it all out on paper. I am healing my soul somehow with every stroke of my pencil. And I know this is what I need to paint. This is what I need to say. A flash of lightning lifts my eyes from the paper. The storm moves overhead, enveloping the cottage in darkness.
It continues to rain for three days – summer avoiding this part of Scotland. We retreat to the dining room of the farmhouse, sitting around the long pine table, a log fire crackling behind us.
I finish sketching out the left side of the heart. Dan comes over to look at it, and I wait to hear what he thinks. ‘I like it. You’ve kept everything within the heart, though – what about having some of the branches coming out of it? Like this.’ He grabs a pencil and sketches his suggestion. ‘Otherwise it will all be locked within your heart, but you want to let it out, don’t you?’
Looking at the page, I nod, a lump in my throat making it impossible to speak. I do want to let it all out. Pushing the boundaries of the heart makes everything stand out and it looks like the emotions are so powerful that the heart can’t keep them within it. Which is exactly what happened. Dan pats my shoulder as he moves on to help William with his drawing. I feel more excited about this piece than anything I’ve done before. I need to move on to canvas whilst I’m feeling so inspired.
The following day, the sun finally breaks through and we all meet on top of the hill overlooking the acres of land around the farm with our canvases propped up on stands to begin our paintings. I look down at the farm buildings, which are a hive of activity, far removed from the still and quiet up here. We sit in a row, each on small stool, the sun beating down on our necks, as we try to set our fears free.
I paint my canvas in a light grey colour. The winter side of the heart will be in a darker grey, and the other side I paint in a light blue. I still need to sketch out exactly what I want in the opposite side but this colour works well against the grey.
The heart looks incredibly emotive when I’ve drawn it on the canvas in charcoal and I start drawing in the branches and add the snowflakes and icicles in softer pencil draped over the branches.
I start to paint the bare branches on a gorgeous June day on the hill. We’ve all been out here all day, lost in our pieces, barely acknowledging Dan when he comes to have a look at our work. The sun starts to set behind us and Dan tells us to get ready to pack up for the day so we can all go out for dinner. He walks in front of us and looks behind us at the setting sun. I hear him tell us to look at him and as we do he takes a picture of us.
When Dan sends it to my phone, I am impressed with his eye. We are all in a row with streaks of orange and pinks behind us, the sun just visible before it slips behind the hill. More than that is our expressions – we are lost in the moment, looking up at him with joy and passion all over our faces. I look wild somehow with my messy hair, paintbrush in hand, an old shirt on, hanging off my shoulder slightly, but I look happy.
‘Glad you came?’ Julia asks, bringing me a glass of wine in the pub that evening.
‘I am. Are you?’
‘I feel like I’m finally laying some of my ghosts to rest, you know?’
I nod, understanding completely. Robert comes to my mind as I look back at the picture of us on the hill. Despite my trust in him being so betrayed, I can’t deny the fact that the reason I’m here right now in this place is down to him. He believed in me before we even met. He believed in my art before I did. He knew I could do this when I wasn’t sure. Even though part of the reason I took the plunge in accepting my place here was to get away from everything back home, it was also because I knew I had to paint again, and he made me see that. I feel alive right now because of him.
And that’s scary and so confusing after everything that happened between us. I think about the email he sent me, which I still don’t know how to reply to. I think about him wondering if I want to say goodbye to him for good, and I still don’t know my answer. My head says yes. My heart says no.
Impulsively, I forward the picture of us to his email with just one sentence with it:
I need time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
As the second week of the retreat progresses, I’m ready to start tackling the other side of my heart painting. This painting is my most abstract. Abstract in the sense that I know what feelings have gone into it, what I’m trying to say with it, but no one else will. Everyone will have their own interpretation; it will make everyone looking at it feel differently, because that’s what any kind of creative project does.
The left side of the heart has had a wintery spell cast over it, capturing my coldest and darkest moments. And it’s been hard to face that time, but in a way I fear thinking about the happy times even more because it’s painful to know the times with Lucas can’t be repeated, while the moments with Robert come loaded with guilt now. Accepting that there will be summer for me after this long period of winter isn’t easy because it means accepting that I’ll be having it without Lucas. And accepting that I can be happy again.
I shall always mourn the fact that we didn’t get our forever. But two years ago the idea of building a life that didn’t include Lucas was unthinkable and now, slowly, I’m starting to feel it is possible. A different future to the one I had planned with him. One that is just about me and the things that I want.
And I’ve realised that it’s okay. It’s okay to want to try to move on. It’s okay to try to find out what I want from my life now. I’ll never not be sad that I’ve had to do this. But death parted us and I have to live without him.
That’s why putting my heart and soul into this painting has helped me so much. It’s part of my new future. I didn’t know I could become this artist, but I’m so excited about this project.
I sit with my sketchbook on the grass in front of my canvas and Dan comes over to see my work. ‘Why do you run these retreats?’ I ask him as he looks at my painting. Dan is an open person and I feel myself becoming more open with him in return as the days move on.
He thinks for a moment. ‘I suppose I felt I had been pretty selfish through my career. I focused on my art to the detriment of relationships, friendships and family, and when I started to feel like maybe I was getting past it when it came to shaking up the art world, I wondered if I could help other artists to do it instead.’
‘It’s a wonderful idea.’
‘A simpler answer to your original question would have been, to discover talent. You have it, Rose. You should be really proud of this painting. I think this is already your best work. You have the most potential here,’ Dan tells me.
‘I am proud of it so far. I feel like I’ve lived with so much pain. Seeing it in front of me makes me wonder how I made it through, you know?’
‘You’ve had to deal with more pain than a lot of people your age have to. And that’s what is going to make you into a brilliant artist.’
I mull that over. ‘Why do you think that so many artists, and not just painters, but writers and musicians too, struggle so much before success?’
‘Nothing worth having ever comes easy, kid, and the reason they have success is because they struggled. They turned their pain into something we could all re
late to. We relate to pain, it’s the human way. You need drive to succeed, and nothing drives you more than years of struggling. They never gave up. The ones who gave up just didn’t have it in them, so those who are successful are the real deal most of the time, you know?’
‘I think that’s kind of a beautiful way of looking at it,’ I tell him, moved by his words. I begin to hope that I can create something beautiful out of my sadness. I suppose that’s the whole point of this heart painting. A heart doesn’t just hold sadness, it holds happiness too. Winter doesn’t last forever. Spring arrives every year. The trees don’t stay bare. Your heart doesn’t stay empty even though there are moments when you think it will. I think about how Robert was able to find a way into my heart despite the cloud of grief that I was under. It showed me – well, he showed me – that I can still love, that I will be able to love again. And there were moments when I never thought I would.
I start sketching out what the rest of the heart will look like, working until the sun sets again. As I walk back to my cottage to change for dinner, I pause to look up at the inky blue sky. Stars are starting to appear there. I love how you can see the sky so clearly here.
What was that quote that my mum kept on our fridge when I was growing up? When it’s dark, look for stars. I used to think it was a corny sentiment, but it’s clear that in moments of darkness, pockets of joy are more noticeable. My sky became so dark but then stars began to light it up again.
The emotions that will form the right side of the heart painting are those stars.
Love, passion, joy, hope.
I felt it all in the moments I had with Robert. I didn’t think I’d feel any of it again after Lucas was taken from me, but I did. I also know that having felt them once, I will feel them again. Being here and reconnecting with my love for painting has lifted my heart once again. I suppose this is what I’m trying to say with my heart painting. Your heart is never a fixed point. It evolves with you and the people in your life. I think through this painting I’m learning not to be scared of my heart anymore.
Whether it’s full of love or pain, I don’t ever want to close it down again. People say that you should follow your heart and it’s not easy to do, especially if it’s been broken before, but I think all it really means is you should try to open your heart to everything you want to be open to. Don’t ever be afraid of letting things you love in. Whether it’s people or your passions.
And that’s what I’m determined to never be afraid of doing, despite all that’s happened.
I spend the next few days painting the rest of my heart. On the right side I draw another tree, but this one is full of leaves reaching up to a clear blue sky, the summer sun shining down upon it and birds circling in the distance. One of the branches lifts up to the sun and I have drawn a fire starting on the tips of it, the flames flickering against the edges of the heart. This branch came out of nowhere. I started painting the fire without really understanding why. It kind of doesn’t fit with the rest of the painting, but that’s why it had to be there. Most of this side is about all the happy moments I had with Lucas but it felt right to also paint how I feel now. To represent this summer when my heart is coming alive again.
The others on the retreat compliment me on how the painting is coming together. I am the least experienced of the group but I am focusing on my emotions and not my technique, so I’m actually feeling more confident about my work than I ever have. It feels as if I’ve broken through a barrier and now I can paint what I have always been destined to paint.
Spending each day outside on the hill surrounded by like-minded people and their talent seems to have made us all productive. You can’t fail to be inspired in these surroundings and with these people. I feel nervous that we’re in the third week of the retreat. Four weeks away seemed like forever when I left Talting, but it is moving at a rapid pace. I’m not sure I’m ready to face everything back there yet.
We all go for a walk one morning after breakfast before we start work for the day. It’s cloudy today with a gentle breeze. Everything is so green here. I’m used to being surrounded by the sea but it is more tranquil here. I look over at the farmer opening a gate into the field of sheep that live to the side of the farm. I gaze up to the hill where we have painted so often. It’s such a remote spot. It’s impossible not to find some kind of peace here. We all seem to have done so.
‘I wish we could just stay here,’ Julia says, seeming to read my thoughts as we stroll through the woods side by side.
‘I’m scared to go back into the real world.’
‘Do you ever think about moving somewhere new?’ Julia asks. She lives on the outskirts of London and says she’s learned to appreciate the country air for the first time here.
‘I never have before. I don’t know. It would probably be easier if I went somewhere new. There are a lot of things I don’t want to face at home.’
‘I think we all feel that way. But you still called it “home”. You can’t choose where your home is, you can only feel it’s your home.’
‘This place has made me feel braver about going home,’ Peter says. ‘It’ll be hard still without my wife, but I have my children and they need me.’
William nods. ‘Walking past some of the places I used to drink in was the hardest part of recovering.’
‘It’s true,’ Pam chips in. ‘It’s braver to go home and face everything; it would be easy to just run away. And let’s face it, we’re artists – we never choose the easy path, right?’
We chuckle in agreement with that. I don’t think anyone chooses to be an artist because it’s easy. But nothing worth having in life comes easy. And being here has been incredibly worthwhile.
I don’t know if I would describe myself as brave, though. I didn’t choose to experience these things. Life just threw them at me. All I can do is choose where I go from here, and that is a decision I’m not ready to make yet.
I’m scared to go back to Talting and face everything there, but if I don’t go back, will all the pain just come with me anyway? I could find a new place to call home and try to move on from the past, or I could return to the people I’ve shared it all with. I do miss Talting and the people there, especially Emma. It feels like part of me is missing not being with her. And things were left in such a bad place with Gloria. I would regret not mending the damage there. I couldn’t bear Lucas seeing us estranged.
It doesn’t matter how far away I am from Talting, it is part of me.
I know then I have my answer. I will be going back home when this retreat is over.
My future is there.
Chapter Twenty-Six
There are just a few days left of the retreat now. Dan decides that we need to do something as a group to commemorate our time together. We agreed to his proposal at the pub last night. William doesn’t even have drink as his excuse for going along with Dan’s mad plan. Perhaps it’s the air out here making us delirious.
We all pile into the minivan and the farmer’s son who brought me here drives us into the nearest town. I’ve never done anything remotely crazy before. I actually get an image of Mrs Morris shaking her head at me and I chuckle to myself at how she’ll probably spread the news around town. She would be shocked. I’m a little shocked at myself for contemplating this. But I want to remember these weeks. I want to acknowledge this as the moment I became the artist I’ve always wanted to be, and I can just blame it all on Dan.
I look out of the window nervously as the tattoo parlour comes into view.
‘No going back now,’ Pam says, clapping her hands together. If she can do this, if William can do this, I’m bloody going to do it too. I slide open the door and look down at my wrist and try to imagine what Lucas would say to me if he were here. ‘My parents will probably freak the hell out, you know. I’ll get one too,’ I imagine him saying with that mischievous grin of his, high-fiving m
e like we were still kids doing something our parents wouldn’t approve of. Just thinking about him encouraging me makes me bolder and I throw my shoulders back and follow Dan inside.
I have always seen tattoos as an art form but never really thought about having one done myself. I learned last night that Dan’s tattoos don’t just cover his arms but his back and chest too, and he has one on each foot. Peter has a cartoon from his rebellious youth but this is the first time for the rest of us. I volunteer to go first as I think watching the others might put me off. I’m wary of the whole needle thing, but luckily my design is really small so I’m not in the chair long. The noise is a little off-putting, like being at the dentist, and the needle feels like a hot scratch marking my skin, but Dan tells jokes to keep my mind off it. His jokes are appallingly sexist so I spend the time telling him off and don’t notice any pain.
Once it’s done, I look down at the heart that now adorns the underside of my right wrist – the outline looks like pencil lines, as if I have drawn it there myself. I smile, instantly pleased that I did this. I wanted something to represent the painting I have done here and also to remind myself of the love I’ve had in my life – and that I will always have love in my life.
Love doesn’t end, even if the person can’t physically be part of your life anymore.
As I stand up to give the chair to someone else, I look at my rings, the only other adornment to my hands. I have got so used to them being there, I haven’t thought about a time when they won’t be.
‘When did you take off your wedding ring?’ I ask Dan as we watch William get his tattoo.
‘Which time? I’ve been divorced twice.’ He grins then catches my serious expression. ‘There is no right time, you know.’
I told Dan the whole story of Lucas and Robert one night. It was a relief to tell someone who didn’t know either of them, only me. To be honest, I hoped he’d have a nugget of wisdom for me, but he just shrugged and said, ‘Life’s a bitch.’ Maybe I should have had that tattooed.
The Second Love of My Life Page 17