Tennis Balls, Gold Leaf, and Grandpa.
Yesterday, I finally began the collection that’s been quietly living inside me since the beginning of last year. I started with January of 2024—a month where all I could do was exist. I was on bedrest, wrapped in physical pain and emotional stillness. Nothing moved except time.
So I created a piece that captured that very silence. This is the beginning of the journey I want to take you on—myjourney—where I came so close to the brink... and slowly, tenderly, found my way back to life.
I used soft, foggy blues and greens—the colors of waiting rooms, quiet mornings, and dreams. I gently tore out the first page of The Way Forward by Yung Pueblo—a passage about simply existing—and cut it into fragments. The words float across the page like thoughts half-formed, memories waiting to land.
For anyone reading this... The Way Forward is my favorite book. I've read it many times and gifted it to people I love, including my mom. I won't always link to things, but this one feels different. If you're following my journey and something here resonates with you, I truly recommend reading it. You can find it here.
Around the edges, I painted a vingette in deep black—because January of 2024 I was on bedrest, and mostly asleep. I did a ton of research for this project, going back through my photos, filtering social media, looking at old messages… I wove that darkness with gold leaf—because even then, in the stillness, there was hope. And for the first time, I made a black bleeding rose, kissed with gold, stamped in the top left corner like a relic. It felt sacred. Like survival in bloom.
This piece doesn't show healing. It shows before. And the before matters, too.
Later in the day, my dad came by for lunch, and we had the nicest time. Just pizza, gentle conversation, and that soft kind of company that doesn’t ask for anything. One of the lovely things about living in New Haven is that no one asks me to cook—they just want the famous Pepe's Pizza, which works out perfectly for me! He had his white clam, I had my quattro formaggi (if you’re not familiar, it's a heavenly elevated cheese pizza), and we mostly talked about Nicky and my art. It felt light. Familiar. Comforting.
He's heading to Florida on Tuesday—his wife snowbirds there each year from January through April. He visits for a week every month, and then in April they drive back home together, stopping at fun places, visiting friends, and just enjoying the ride. I've always found something beautiful in that rhythm—in the trust and balance they've created together. It felt really good to see him before he goes.
Earlier that day, Nicky and I visited the dog park. We remembered our puppy tennis ball this time! (Though someone may or may not have thrown the last one over the fence... might've been me, lol.) Nicky made so many new friends. She was pure joy—tail high, eyes bright, zooming around like she owned the place.
We went around noon, which works better for both of us—less chaotic than the 5pm crowd. It was nearly 70 degrees, so we did try to go back later in the day, but when we got downstairs... everything changed. There had been an accident, right in front of our building. We didn’t see or hear it, but by the time we reached the front, there was yellow tape everywhere. Police and a crime scene unit were taking photos. The path to the dog park was blocked. It was sad. Debris scattered the street, and the joy of earlier felt very far away.
It was a strange ending to a very full day.
When we got home, I wiped down my drafting table and curled up on the couch with Nicky. I reached for the peace pipe. Medical marijuana was prescribed to me a couple years ago when I was diagnosed, and though I never used it recreationally growing up, it’s been a helpful tool in my life now. I don’t use it during the day—that’s when I rely on my prescribed pain meds, which help keep me functioning even though they make me nauseous. But at night, cannabis helps with mild to moderate pain, helps me relax, and helps me sleep. It’s replaced three other medications, and it lets me end my day with a little more ease.
So after a play session with my little girl, I curled up in bed with a slice of cold pizza, a handful of fruity Tootsie Pops, and a glass of Fairlife chocolate milk.
This is what it looks like to tell the truth again.
Even when it hurts. Even when it shines.
Our mini gratitude list today:
Nicky, the cutest little tater tot ever for bringing a smile and joy to my face daily.
My dad and my family… for always being there, never letting me fall, and popping in for pizza slices and quality time.
Health/the fact that neither I nor anyone I knew was in the accident yesterday in front of my building (and prayers for the family of the person).
With Love,
Dana & Nicky.
