Before you spoke to me... a new painting in stages

Before you spoke to me, process 

This is another one of those canvases that I began last year and then set aside. So the top image shows where the current painting began. Little remains from that stage, except the title, which was still important to me. This painting had a dark, cloudy stage, as you see on the left side. What worked in my sketchbook entry wasn't working in the painting. Neither was that early shell-like, cupped shape. I replaced it with the tall rectangular shape with rounded triangle points. After working through those issues, this painting flowed pretty well. I like the whites, and drawing with black. I have this one old brush, the metal ferrule is falling off and is just taped on, but it's my favorite for drawing some of those lines. It does what I like pencil to do in paper drawings. My recent goal has been to transfer my drawing and sketchbook ideas to canvas. I want the paintings to feel spontaneous, somewhat drawn, and have the paint qualities that I love, while also evoking a sense of having been through a journey of sorts. This painting balanced those aspects for me. I'm happy with it. Below is the finished work. 

Before you spoke to me, oil on canvas, 24 in. x 36 in., 2014

It occurred to me as I was about to hit the publish button, that you may be wondering what this painting is all about. Are you? Some people I think are content to let their eyes rest on those things that they find appealing, without minding if it says anything to them. Sometimes we just like things. Maybe you're not one of those people. Maybe in order for you to connect with a piece of art, you need to know what it means. Well, this painting, as in many of my works in recent years, is about finding hope. Working through trials, struggles, loss, grief, uncertainty, etc., and finding hope throughout the way, and on the other side of the process. We all have hard times at one point or another, some of those times are brief and others are long lasting. We each encounter our own desert. We don't know how long we're going to be in that desert. The uncertainty of how things will work out, or will they work out at all? (Pause.) Well, I believe so. Though that doesn't mean it always feels like it will work out, or that things work out the way we want. So I think for me, these paintings, in their finished state, and in the process of their making, reflect the going through these life events. Sometimes it helps me to have an eternal or big-picture perspective, (which isn't necessarily easy). To be like a bird looking down on everything, to see how the steps along the way equal up to one glorious thing.

Do you relate to any of that?