To fight or to fly? It was this question — this concept — that I explored as I painted
my duo Atlanta paintings.
There is no formula as to what we should do when met with the rare but inevitable fear-inducing, adrenalin-spiking moments that are a natural part of the human experience. Nobody is immune to these experiences; there isn’t a wall wide enough or tall enough to shut them out.
The fight or flight response is our body’s way of preparing us for a threat; it’s our innate response to those experiences.
“The Flight”
Over winter break last year, I was affected deeply enough by something to send me flying through Atlanta in the middle of the night. I was running with the knowledge that no direction I took could change anything. This flight was one I’ll never forget. My windows were all the way down, and I welcomed the wind chill. I don’t remember feeling its sting — I guess after enough time, you grow numb to it all.
Atlanta is known to be a chaotic driving experience. Almost every time I mention to someone that I’ll be driving through Atlanta, I am told, “Well, you know you can go through Columbus to miss it.” Or, “It might be just as fast going a different way with traffic,” etc. However, I would sooner leave my house at 1 a.m. (which I’ve done) than take the long way.
Perhaps it's just another one of my fatal flaws; I hate to waste time. I’m not always patient. I don’t mind Midtown and its chaos. I don’t mind when four lanes turn into eight and everyone is zipping around trying to find where they’re supposed to be. To me, there’s something euphoric about it all.
When I drove home in December of last year, Atlanta was just a dark haze; nothing could be more chaotic than what I felt. I remember seeing all the lights and the cars zipping around me, and it all felt very still.
I began this painting without the end in mind, but very quickly, rushing water gushed out of the skyscrapers and mushrooms and flowers sprang from asphalt. Something about this concept kept me painting past midnight, well into the morning. I was obsessed with every detail.
The woman in the boat sailing into the waterfall is succumbing to the chaos of Atlanta without a change of expression. I wanted it to make viewers consider what she might be running from. The white flag labeled “SOS” was an important symbol to me. The idea of asking for help as you’re passively heading down a waterfall interested me.
“The Fight”
What about the fight? I can’t say what I am more likely to do; to fly or to fight. However, the day I left home after winter break, I decided it was imperative for me to fight. I could only run so far so fast.
When I drove back to Berry, I had to have a shift in focus. I was fiercely inspired, and I knew I had to either sink or swim. I’m not the best swimmer, and my legs were tired of kicking, but God has been merciful to me in His daily provision and protection. He has been merciful in showing me just how deep His peace can be. I painted this next Atlanta city-scape feeling more peace than before and pulling inspiration from all around me.
My brother, Ben, was part of the inspiration because his dreams are as big as the sky, and he doesn’t doubt those around him. He always encourages me and believes in my capabilities and gifts, despite my lack of confidence in those areas. At the time I was painting this, he was working at NCR, which is located in one of the tall buildings near the I-75 and I-85 connector. I wanted to connect the narratives of the two paintings while incorporating Ben into the story, And truly, Ben is a fighter, not one to fly when things become challenging.
In the top left corner, carefully camouflaged, you’ll see someone climbing above the concrete jungle. This was my way of connecting Ben into the story. I continued the previous story with the woman in the boat by forcing her to adapt and to fight; this is illustrated in a quite emphatic way as she’s grown a mermaid tail and is holding on to a boulder.
The mermaid and the man on the beanstalk’s fights look different, but their end is the same. Both figures are fighting the pull of gravity. In addition to depicting a fight rather than a flight, Atlanta becomes much more overgrown in this painting. I love ivy and kudzu — unbridled nature has such a beauty to it. The fight is far more chaotic than the flight, but sometimes it’s the only way.
Again, you can only run so far. There is a point in time when facing the music is the best course to take. There is no list of instructions for moments such as these, but in my own experience, I’ve repetitively seen that God gives mercy, grace, and peace that is far bigger than what I could imagine. His ways are exceedingly and abundantly above my own, and so I look back at my fights and my flights with serenity. In the chaos, I can see His protection.
What could be more beautiful than that?
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