Does nature have rage at what we have done, at what we continue to do? Can this collective subconscious of living things feel hurt, either as an awareness of something gone wrong, or on a personal level? Does it feel a part of itself, the part which is ourselves, wrenched against it, like a hand twisted about to choke the air out of the throat which provides its own life's blood?

At what point does it feel sorrow for us, a deep mourning for lost ways, and at what point does that sorrow turn to resentment, turn to rage?

When should I feel pity for my relatives who cannot understand what is happening, and when must I turn and lunge against them to fight them against the damage which they ignorantly produce?

I worry we are too late to change the course of things, now. So what is left, if that is so? If kind pleading has failed, what do we do with our hurt? With our rage? What small scraps of right can we desperately champion, to hoist above the rising tide, small good things that deserve to see the light?

What does it mean to be an adaptive creature, when so much of the world around you is changing? If you are destined to survive, but aren't sure whether or not you wish to survive, what does that mean for your destiny, your purpose in this time? Do you have some obligation to go on, once so much else has gone?

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know if I want to know. To find out an answer would mean accepting that there is already a concrete resolution. In the unanswered interim, at least there is room for hoping that my heart will not break too fast.

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I worked on this new painting on and off for most of last year, an outlet for being torn between grief and rage at the future of our earth. I was born in 1988, and growing up in the nineties and aughts, discussion of climate change was extremely limited. It still felt important to me, even from a young age— but it felt like the sentiment I received in return from other people for wanting to prioritize those things was mostly a sort of patronizing ‘oh, aren’t you sweet, but that’s too inconvenient for anyone to bother with.’

I think that tone has certainly changed, but it’s also been a significant push towards individual accountability in the form of ‘buy this reusable bottle’ as a substitute for actually holding corporations, governments, etc accountable. I long to deconstruct the entire capitalist system, but even then, we’d have to all step back and relearn our relationship to our world, one another, and ourselves. I’d take all the growing pains and instability of starting from nothing if it meant preventing what is coming, but I can’t.

So I try to do the small things. To abstain from buying what we don’t need, to avoid plastic, to never waste resources like food. We know, of course, that the vast majority of carbon emissions are corporate. But at least focusing on the ritual of doing the small things means I don’t feel so trapped. Having a connection to the value of the things I use and cherishing them gives me a relationship to the larger network of life and natural community. But the despair is still out there somewhere, and sometimes it feels overwhelming.

We live in a world wondrous beyond our comprehension, and it feels like I was born at the beginning of the end. I’ve had people who care about me scoff at my expressing this soul-deep sentiment. I am further saddened that they don’t understand— protecting themselves from the grief I experience is more important to them than arriving at empathy. I understand, but I am disappointed in everyone who protects themselves in that way.

So, here we are. Left with the heat of our feelings, knowing that on some level, the expression of them is still unwanted and unwelcome by others. I have decided to paint them, regardless.

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Thank you tremendously to my backers on Patreon for supporting the creation of this piece. Patrons new and old can see my step-by-step process breakdown of this painting here.

The original painting is available below.