The Shaman is perfectly balanced between realms: earth above, water below. She is half in one world, half in another, hovering endlessly between the seams. Within the soft rustle of leaves, the crash and hiss of ocean spray, the harsh croaking cry of crows, she is reaching out to us- imploring us to stop, breathe, and center ourselves, to connect to the natural world around us.

I was thinking about butterflies when I painted this, about spaces where air and water meet. Everyone’s heard that Monarchs migrate great distances, even over the sea, and we think ‘wow, that’s amazing’- but do we ever actually try to imagine it? The ocean is so vast, so rough and wide. They’re so fragile, so impossibly delicate, windblown and wild, wingtips brushing the sea foam. They don’t all survive- we find them washed up on the shore, sad and battered, dull and still.

I think that those who live below recognize their struggle. I think that they await the butterflies every year, necks craned back and fins swaying gently on the waves, gazing at the horizon with sorrow and hope. When the monarchs appear, they greet them with joy, celebrating those who survived and lamenting those who did not.