An artist's statement.

The art class that I'm currently enrolled in has a finale, of sorts. Our last project is a series piece--three pieces that we can do on any subject, using any medium, on any size canvas/paper/board, et cetera. It is basically totally open.

Well, I've recently recommitted my artwork to God. It's for His glory, after all. And He told me what I should do--by no means is it easy, but it's quite...incredible.

For one thing, it's four pieces, not three. My teacher approved it anyway, saying that sometimes exceptions can be made.

The first piece is the most simple. It's a picture of an iris, taken from below; the blotchy cloud-and-blue sky is visible.
The second picture's focal point is not the flower but a ring. It's very obviously romantically given (hearts are interwoven in its design). It's resting on a notebook with handwriting on it, the words "I love you" visible just below the ring. In the background are two red rosebuds, out of focus.
The third will be the hardest. The picture is of a white rose, in full bloom, laying on large, jagged rocks; behind the rocks you see the stormy lake, and above it a half-gray, half-blue sky.
The fourth is the brightest. It's a picture of me, in a white spaghetti-strap dress. I'm smiling (laughing, really) and I'm lit by a sunset. I'm wearing a gold cross (the focal point) and holding a bouquet of orange flowers bright enough that you can be sure they are NEVER found in nature. (All the flowers are fake, if you haven't figured it out).

This is the most symbolic piece I've ever done. Part of getting your idea approved by the teacher is explaining the symbolism; it's a required element.

My entire theme is promises. Every piece is a promise; the first three are promises broken, the last is a promise that hasn't been and won't be broken.

The first piece, the iris.
A few years ago, I had a group of friends. We thought ourselves bonded by trauma and that we could never be separated; we thought we were friends for life and that nothing could come between us. Our song was Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls.
To say it without fanfare, forever ended quite quickly. Our promises to each other and to the group were broken. We got older and we learned. We realized that we weren't bonded by trauma or anything else--just by a tenuous friendship that was broken.

The piece is the most simple, because this was the shortest period of all of them. Not much happened in it, honestly, before we began breaking apart. The iris is indicative of the song, Iris. Every one of the five girls, including me, still connects any mention of an iris to the other girls. The sky is blue in parts--because we did have good times together--and cloudy in parts--because we could often not see the good times because of the fact that we were nearly all depressed.

The second piece, the red rose.
This was my first real boyfriend. Like all young couples, like all young love--we promised forever and it didn't last. I thought I was going to marry him, and he wanted to marry me. He was my first kiss. He was the first boy to tell me that he loved me. I trusted him more than I trusted myself.

This piece reeks of pain--in every way, we ended painfully. Red roses are supposed to be representative of love, and here they're used half-satirically. The notebook that forms the base of the picture is the notebook we wrote to each other in--the handwriting saying "I love you" is his and the note to me is real. The ring is the one he gave me and wouldn't take back. The scene is cluttered, because that's how our relationship was; there were always problems and little bits of garbage to sweep aside, and we talked nonstop.

The third piece, the white rose.
My second real boyfriend. He was my best friend long before we dated--we trust each other more than anyone else. He, in some ways, took my naivete; he never let me be naive about how harsh the world was, he never let me foolishly optimistic, because he didn't want me getting hurt later. Even without that thin layer of innocence, I truly believed I would marry him.

This is probably the most emotional piece for me. He told me once that he'd daydreamed and ended up seeing the two of getting married on a beach. The white rose is a representation of two things, really. Of marriage--our beach marriage, another promise broken. But also of hope and of pure love--white, to me, seems to represent both of those things better than any other color. Hope and pure love were promises that he broke. He left me as jagged as the rocks, as emotionally desolate as the lake during a storm.
But hope is still there and still unbroken. The only promise-broken piece with a partial promise still intact, part of the sky is blue and the rose is lit partially by the sunset. It's the small hope, the little bit of beauty that we cling to by still being best friends.
It's enough.

The fourth piece, the orange daisies.
In short, God's promise.

It's never been broken, because He does not break promises. It will never be broken for the same reason. It's bright, because of the joy He brings. I'm actually in this picture, because this promise isn't broken and I'm still in the picture, figuratively. I'm clothed in white because of Jesus' sacrifice, restoring me to innocence. And I'm laughing, again the joy.