The poetics of release – writing and painting what we cannot say
Some truths live in silence.
They cannot be spoken without breaking. They resist the shape of sentences. And yet — they press against the edges of our chest, asking to be released.
For me, art and poetry have always been the languages that carry what cannot otherwise be said.
Not because they explain, but because they allow.
Release through words that don’t need to be perfect
Poetry is not about perfection. It is about permission. To write:
fragments,
broken lines,
words that feel too small, too raw.
Poetry doesn’t demand a beginning or an end. It simply asks:
“Will you place what you feel on the page, as it is?”
Even a single word repeated — soft, soft, soft — can become a release.
Painting what we cannot name
In the studio, I often reach a place where words collapse. That’s where paint steps in.
Colors speak their own dialect:
blue can carry sorrow without drowning it.
orange can whisper courage into the silence.
silver can shimmer with both fragility and resilience at once.
When we move a brush across paper, we create a home for what the tongue cannot hold. It is not about “art” as product, but mark-making as release.
Release as ritual
Let me show you a simple practice that blends writing and painting:
Set a timer for 5 minutes.
Write without stopping — not for beauty, but for honesty. Let the words fall unpolished.Circle or underline one word or phrase that feels alive.
Take that word into paint.
Let color carry what the word cannot. Shapes, textures, or even just repeated strokes can extend the poem beyond language.Close with a whisper.
A phrase like “It is safe to let this go.”
This practice is less about completion and more about breathing space into silence.
For therapists & space holders
Blending poetry and art can be a powerful invitation for clients:
offer them a single word as a prompt (e.g., release, softness, root).
allow them to respond with text, image, or both.
emphasize process over product.
This approach helps bridge the gap between language and sensation, allowing new ways of expression.
For artists & seekers
You don’t need to call yourself a writer or a painter to practice this. You only need the willingness to let something leave your chest and take form elsewhere.
Release isn’t about fixing. It’s about creating space. And space, I’ve found, is where hope returns.
Art as a poem you can hold
When I created the Silver Feathers Rising series, I didn’t think of them as paintings alone. I thought of them as poems in color and texture — fragments of release that found their shape through the inspiration of feathers, lines, and silver layers.
Each original work is paired with an affirmation card — a gentle echo in words to the visual poem. Together, they form a ritual companion: an invitation to hold release in your hands.
Release will always resist neatness. It is not tidy. It is not final.
But in poetry, in painting, in simple rituals of expression, release finds a form. It slips from silence into symbol, from weight into whisper. And perhaps that is enough.
