I am a forager of roots. I draw them, paint them, study their intricacies, and find myself utterly fascinated by each uniquely structured system. I pull roots from the ground, “oohing” and “aahing” as the unseen becomes fully bathed in light. I trace their form with my eyes, then with my pen. Their strange nobs, delicate tentacles, and twisting, reaching fingers are a such delight to follow and capture. Each root seems special, so much so that I hardly ever toss them to the compost after use, instead, I keep them in water-filled mason jars on my sun soaked windowsill. Eventually, when the conditions are right, these little plants are placed back into the earth around my little home.
It can often be easy to disconnect myself from the meaning, depth, struggle, and purpose that these roots highlight in my own life and soul. Yet, here I am, finding myself in a state of complete uprootedness, knowing with a strange, yet clear certainty that my drawings serve as a mirror to this current state of being. Knowing also, that my recent unpacking and adding to this “Roots” series is a connection worth meditating on. I have painted such a variety of roots; foraging them, bringing them to the drawing board, observing as they rest in midair, held by my hand, fully unclothed from the dirt. Are you getting a picture here?
Painting these uprooted specimens requires a complete removal from the earth. I feel myself in a similar state; uprooted, waiting in the air, raw, dearly needing earth and water and stability. Yet, I also cannot help but see that this mid-air vulnerability is a sacred place; a place where every part of the root system can be seen. This is the very place where I can begin a drawing. It is a set-apart place, a removal, a seeing. The old dirt must be gently shaken off in order to fully see the colouring, connections, and beauty of the root. The bareness allows me to do my job. It inspires me to dive into creating. This moment of vulnerability allows for fruitfulness. The roots can be seen fully at every angle so as to produce a drawing, a painting; something lovely and lasting. This is also an impermanent place. The roots have a short time to rest in the in-between before they either die or are re-planted.
Here I find myself, in the midst of these thoughts that seem to twist and move in their own root-like web. I feel the deepening reality that my roots have been physically removed from what they used to know, yet spiritually, they are being called to a greater grounding into the One whose sheltering, shepherding, and nearness remains in every place, every season.
There is an openness to my paintings; they showcase the full picture of a plant’s life above and beneath the earth. I, the artist, the person, am being called towards that same openness , vulnerability, and release. This moment of in-between holds a special opportunity to fling wide my arms to the drawing of my Creator; the One who is not yet finished with His dreamed up masterpiece. The One who will not rest until every bit of shaping and painting is perfectly complete in me. The choice is this: resist and flee the strange discomfort, or sit, rest, and allow myself to soak in the water that is given, and waiting for, this precise moment.
I have been continually brought back to this need for true “rooting and grounding” in Jesus. This brings the fullness, the strength, and the Son’s light which is essential to my life.
“…that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.” Ephesians 3:14-18
Do you, or have you at some time, found yourself uprooted? Are there certain patterns of renewal that you have learned to hold to in these times? Do any of my paintings speak to your current state of being, illuminate something you have experienced, or shed a bit of light on your own process of growth?
If you have read this far, well, all I can say is thank you. As always, any thoughts you have are welcomed by me.
Peace & blessing,
Oriana Sage
P.S. If you do not know me personally, you might be wondering what all of this talk of being “uprooted” really means. Well, it goes like this: I have made the move from my home state of golden California to the evergreen wonderland of Washington. In the past year and a half, I have lived in multiple places throughout California and Washington, and now find myself back in Washington, ready to sink into the soil in a trust-fall towards some kind of permanence. I currently live in a light blue tiny house on the edge of a forest, somewhere in eastern Washington.
