Artist At Work

"Hey, Maria, remember that one time you blogged on a regular basis?"

I owe everyone an apology for saying stuff like "Blogblogblargh" on Facebook without ever actually finishing the post that I was blogblogblarghing about. I will finish that particular post and I have accumulated even more topics and lists to share with you, but I needed a brief hiatus from blogging and social media in general in order to finish something incredibly special to me-- it has officially risen to the top of my list of Artwork That I Am Proud of and Will Actually Allow People To See.


Unfortunately, this inspiration came at a heavy price. I recently experienced a miscarriage and, at the burial, I had a strange urge to take a picture of the grave site. Of course, I don't actually need a picture of my child's grave-- I'll remember the sight of that tiny, blue box for the rest of my life. I just wanted a picture of my baby, like every parent does. 


As it turns out, the physical ordeal and the grief are only a small part of what makes miscarriage so tragic. In the midst of it, you begin to realize every little thing you've lost along with your baby. For me, I was able to let go of the future I had lost before I was able to find peace at the idea of never having a picture of my child.

That was very hard... harder than telling my family, harder than putting away the prenatal vitamins, harder than missing my friends' graduation, harder than postpartum depression, harder than being congratulated on my pregnancy by straggling co-workers who hadn't heard about the miscarriage yet.


It might sound like a strange thing to mourn, but what physical items are left behind by people who never made it out of the womb? My baby has no personal effects, no room to leave empty, no diplomas left hanging on the wall. When we lose someone, it takes a long time to see those items and feel something other than a deep, aching hole in our hearts, but they eventually become a reminder of what it was like when our loved one was still with us.

We create foundations, funds, awards, and scholarships to honor those people we lost because the thought of them being forgotten is worse than actually losing them. There is nothing left of my baby but a tiny grave on the far side of town. The children we miscarry are invisible. Out of everything I have gone through, nothing is more tragic than the idea of a stranger passing through my home without ever realizing that our family has been transformed, in love, by a life that was lost too soon.

So, I was faced with a challenge. For our healing, Mark and I wanted something in our home as a memorial to our baby. Our prospects were very limited-- we're still saving up for a proper grave marker, so anything elaborate and expensive was out of the question. We also don't want this memorial item to inspire sadness-- if I wanted to cry all over again, I'd write a blog post about it I'd go visit the grave itself. But, what does that look like? Inexpensive. Small. Inspiring happiness. Could legitimately be displayed in a public part of the home and become a talking point or could be moved to a private part of the home, if needed.

Well, friends, here it is! My labor of love:

These are seed beads, sewn into a painter's canvas. Lee is our baby's name and the vines are my artist trademark. There are smaller vines painted between the beads with acrylic paint and the entire piece is sealed with Mod Podge which will protect the thread from breakage and provide a glossy finish. It is matted with painted card stock and glued into a solid wood frame. I could not be happier with this piece-- the meditative process of making it is only half of the peace and joy I have experienced now that it is done.

Can this story get any better? Yes, it can! A few days ago, on my way home to Tuscaloosa, I had a pretty intense God moment. Out of no where, it occurred to me that this does not have to be the only piece of its kind. There might be other people who have been looking for something just like this-- a joyful but decorative memorial.

So, please consider this my official offer. I am now accepting requests for commission. My desire is specifically for families who have lost children or infants. This is the first piece I have done, so I may discover limitations along the way, but I am fully confident in my ability to do baby feet, blocks, balloons, full names, initials, dates, and basically anything else that can be broken down into a pixel-like diagram.

My last intention is to take advantage of the healing process. I do not mean for the proceeds from this crafty adventure to replace my income. Therefore, I only intend to charge for the cost of supplies, shipping, and a very small hourly rate, all of which can be adjusted and discussed.

I am so excited by this! I want to do more! If you are interested in commissioning a project like this and would like to discuss the details, potential costs, or anything else, please do not hesitate to e-mail me (littlebirdbeading@formyfriends.org) or send a Facebook message. YAY, PRETTINESS!

ART HAPPENED!!!