Renewed Vitality

There is a part of the story of Renewed Vitality that could never be seen simply by looking at her.

She almost didn't become this piece at all.

The four color gradient background had already been laid down. I had spent more than three hours working on the design itself, carefully building the piece layer by layer, when I stepped away from my desk for a quick puppy potty break.

While I was gone, my son climbed up to my desk, grabbed the closest paintbrush, dipped it into white paint, and decided to put his own spin on my work.

When I walked back inside and saw the board, my jaw immediately hit the floor.

My stomach dropped.

And in my mind, I didn't see what was actually on the board.

I saw white paint.

Everywhere.

I saw hours of work disappearing.

I saw the design I had carefully been creating being covered over.

And honestly, I cried.

I didn't know how to fix it.

So I put the piece away.

For three weeks, she sat in my closet while I continued to think about her.

Every time I thought about bringing her back out, my mind immediately went to the same place.

How am I going to save this without starting completely over?

I couldn't imagine repairing the damage without sanding the entire board down to the wood and rebuilding the piece from the beginning.

And I really didn't want to do that.

Not after the hours I had already invested.

Not to this piece.

Eventually, after spending time working on another collection, I felt ready to bring the board back out.

This time, I didn't immediately reach for my tools.

I spent a good portion of that morning just looking at it.

Observing.

Being with the mess.

Looking at what was actually there instead of continuing to see what my mind had convinced me was there.

And then I remembered something.

The week before, I had sanded another piece and learned that I could carefully remove paint from specific areas without destroying everything underneath.

Maybe I didn't need to start over.

Maybe I could save what was still there.

About fifteen minutes later, I had managed to salvage approximately 75% of the original work.

I carefully repaired the damaged sections of the background, patching them well enough that the brushwork could eventually hide the uneven transitions between the colors.

But those fifteen minutes were some of the most nerve wracking I've experienced while creating.

Every pass of the sandpaper required attention.

Too much pressure and I could cut into the wood.

Too little and I wouldn't remove enough.

There was no guarantee that it would work.

I couldn't know exactly what would be revealed underneath each section.

I had to trust my hands.

I had to trust what I had learned.

And ultimately, I had to surrender the outcome.

I've never had to repair one of my pieces like this before.

When something went wrong, my instinct had always been to start over.

Sand it down.

Erase it.

Return to the beginning.

But something about this piece felt different.

She didn't need to be erased.

She needed to come through exactly as she was.

With the evidence of what happened.

With the imperfections.

With the places that had to be repaired.

With the story still living underneath the finished layers.

That is when Renewed Vitality became more than a title.

She became the story.

Because renewal isn't always about returning to the way something was before it broke.

Sometimes renewal is what happens when we trust ourselves enough to work with what remains.

We have all experienced our own versions of destruction and mishap.

Plans that fell apart.

Things we couldn't undo.

Moments we wish had never happened.

And sometimes, when those moments happen, our first instinct is to emotionally sand everything down to the grain.

Erase it.

Start over.

But what if we didn't have to?

What if the marks left behind could become part of the beauty?

What if the repair didn't have to be invisible?

What if the thing that happened didn't get to determine what the final piece became?

Had I emotionally sanded this entire board down to the grain, I would have not only lost the hours I had already poured into her.

I would have lost the piece she was becoming.

She would have become something else entirely.

Instead, I chose to work with what remained.

And somewhere inside that process, the accident became part of the creation.

The damage became part of the transformation.

The uncertainty became part of the surrender.

And the finished piece became something I could never have created by simply following the original plan.

In her imperfections lives a hidden story, renewed by trust and surrender to the unknown.

That is Renewed Vitality.

And now, her story continues with you.

N/A
18” Round Wood Panel
Acrylic Paint & Dimensional Paint
Glass mirrors and rhinestones
Satin Varnish
11+- hours