New Work — + Carrie Witherell +

I have always struggled to sleep. I have an active imagination with very little filter, which can be a bad thing when you spend a lot of time overcome with anxiety. A lifetime of unease and agitation has twisted my gut into knots and sends my brain racing with intrusive thoughts and destructive, imaginary encounters. It used to take me hours to fall asleep each night while my rational brain tried to smooth out years of ingrained tensions and fears. Over the years I have practiced all sorts of mindful meditation, breathing exercises, counting, and calming visualization that has, to some degree or another, helped in small ways, each bit of growth building upon itself.

I’m best at visualizing. Like waking dreams, scenes will materialize in my head and play out like a movie. The past couple of years I have happened across a few that I saved because they seemed helpful. I go to these places when I have trouble relaxing enough to fall asleep or I just need to focus on something and break the chain of a destructive mode of thinking. This is one such place. This one requires a lot of active participation on my part and is somewhat of a challenge.

I imagine I am in the middle of the ocean with nothing but a metal buoy to hang on to. I can sense how deep and vast the open ocean is, and what kind of creatures are roaming around underneath me. Bigger-than-life whales, sharks, squids, and huge schools of fish. Sometimes instead of sharks and whales underneath there are ancient behemoths from prehistoric times and pterodactyls flapping around overhead. Sometimes the waves around me are calm—with easy swells and sunny skies—and sometimes it is overcast and windy, the water choppy and sharp. At other times it is night and it’s dark out, the water a black smudge around me.

All of this is fairly terrifying to me as I cling to the buoy. When I try to let go a thrilling sort of adrenaline fills my body as I begin to drift down towards the ocean floor. It’s a long, slow way down as I try to make peace with the darkening void surrounding me and the giants I know are swimming just out of view. Sometimes I don’t get to the point where I can let go—it’s challenging enough to just be there holding the buoy—but when I can let myself descend down, I feel a freeing sense of peace beyond the fear.

I named this painting No Safe Haven because it represents a sort of crossroads where one is compelled to make a decision, and it’s not always clear what the best one is.

Note: the image has been updated since I’ve reworked the painting some.