The Art I Could Finally Place

When I asked Nick, when we were still together, if there was anything I could do to meet all he had been doing for me, his response was,
“I love it when you color. Can you color something for me? I will put anything you color on my desk.”

I was so glad I could do something for him, given how much he had been carrying to keep me going when I could barely hold myself up.

I started thinking and planning for weeks after. I saw how depressed he was getting, burned out from caregiving without support. He talked often about how dark everything felt.

I wanted to create something that showed how I experienced him, in joy and in sadness, in pain and in love. He was a warm and vibrant person at his core, whom I adored and respected. I wanted something that would hold up a mirror to who he was, that would be there for him even on days when he couldn’t see it on his own.

By the time I started finalizing what I was going to do, we had separated.

I knew deep in my heart that I wanted to create it because this art wasn’t about our relationship; it was about how I saw him. So I started it.

My first portrait work I had ever done. Every color, every stroke was intentionally chosen to reflect the colors or textures I associated with his presence.

The way I would work on this piece was very intentional too. I would play the song “A Thousand Years” with a slideshow of our pictures on my laptop while I created it. I wanted this to be created from my experience of him.

When we separated, the last time I spoke to him, he said I could send him emails and he would see them when he had capacity.

So, I was planning to send this in an email on his birthday and maybe mail it to an address if he wanted.

As I finally got to drawing his features, it had been a while since I had been with him, and I was struggling to feel connected, to draw from my felt experience of him. So I stopped.

I stopped because the piece was to honor how I saw him, and when that connection faded, it felt wrong to keep going, because it would no longer be honest to the intention.

I just left that on my art table, and it sat there for the next few months. Every time I saw it, I said, “Hi, Nick,” with a smile. I love him, I do now and I know I always will. Because relationship is not the same as person. And this particular person changed my life in ways I cannot fully name.

He deserves to know that no matter how dark things might get, he has this vibrancy and warmth within him that will continue to be there. Always.

Even unfinished, this piece is complete to me. Because it is an honest reflection of how I saw him.

Today, I finally felt ready to set it in a frame.

I don’t have money to get a right-sized frame. So I cut a Ziploc in half, placed the piece in it, and mounted it onto a wooden board that is now sitting on my bookshelf.

Right before I put it up, I wanted to write something.

So there it is, his name written with love and the title of the piece on the back.

As I look at it now, I feel a sense of warmth. I am grateful for him, and even if it never got to him, I think this piece met its purpose.

To reflect Nick as I knew him.

There is always a small hope that lives very deep inside that one day he might be able to see it or have it. I don’t deny it, I honor it. Hope without longing alongside gratitude without fantasy. A beautiful blend. I am glad I am here with it.