I don’t think grief goes away—especially as a Black woman. Our resilience is birthed out of necessity, not superhuman strength. Our strength is used by others as an excuse to strip us of our humanity; we are not allowed sadness and stillness. Sometimes, all I have in me is tears and even those are in service to building space. Unfortunately, white pastors are most often ill-equipped to handle a hurt BIPOC. Their empathy and Christ-like compassion often runs dry for us. When your emotions are often deemed “too much,” crying is recovery, and if no one else allows space for that, we will. We will pastor each other.

36" x 36"

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36" x 36" 

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Emanuel Orozco, also known as Dr. Souler, is a Christian graphic artist based in Guatemala City. A gifted artist and actual doctor, Dr. Souler’s life and ministry reflect his passion to share the gospel. Art is the tool with which he shares his faith, bringing colour, love, and hope to young people and children in schools, communities, and rehabilitation homes. He’s been part of art festivals in different countries and cities. He is a leader of an art ministry called AmenFamilia. He believes art has the power to connect people. The walls he paints speak for themselves; they are the messengers carrying the message of salvation.

36" x 36"

To illustrate self-care, I have depicted a sun design with a cedar band woven into it. For me, the sun represents life, hope, and peace. My favourite passage in the Bible is Matthew 6, where Jesus says, “Do not worry about what you shall eat, drink, or wear. For the Father knows what you need. So do not worry about tomorrow, for today has enough worry of its own.” Jesus understands that our human minds are full of worry and anxiety, but he presses us to trust in our Father who knows our needs. My father, Pastor Randy Barnetson, recently passed away. His crossing over to the spirit world has deeply shaken my world. When I meditate on the hope we have in Christ for the future, I am filled with hope from the Holy Spirit that I will one day see both my heavenly and earthly father again. This hope causes me to recognize that I must take care of my body in order to make it to that day. The more I trust our Creator Jesus in spirit for my future, the more I am motivated to care for myself in body today. I fully believe we must weave this hope, trust, and care for our bodies into every aspect of our lives, especially in light of our mental health challenges and sorrows. This piece is my attempt to illustrate how we must “weave” this hope and care for ourselves into every aspect of our lives.

36" x 36"

Having grown up in a predominantly patriarchal society, I have been repeatedly exposed to gender inequality in interpersonal relationships. Womanhood and acquiescence are almost dogmatically believed to be intertwined, and a woman’s need to be heard, to be loved, and to be accepted intrinsically is largely neglected. As a result, women cultivate expansive inner worlds to house their truest selves while their physical selves shrink a little every day. To me, then, the gift of companionship is acceptance without the desire to control or curtail. True companionship should broker no tricks and transactions; it should reach through protective or discriminatory barriers with the assurance of presence. It should be a place of safety, where both parties are connected in empathy, even across periods of silence and physical distance.

12" x 12" 

Gold leaf painted on seeded washi paper from Nagasaki, Japan

Makoto Fujimura and fifteen friends visited Nagasaki and the Goto Islands Hidden Churches, sites of Christians persecution between the 1500s-1800s. Through the brokenness of the hidden heroes of Christian faith in Japan, Mako was inspired to paint a large format Nihonga painting which incorporated gold leaf and other precious metals—his offering in response to the Japanese martyrs. During the August 2017 performance, Mako ripped up the larger work into smaller pieces. Andrew Nemr danced on the broken pieces as part of his artistic offering. The washi (paper) of the painting was embedded with seeds in its production. Each of the attendees was invited to keep the pieces or plant them so that the seeds would grow again. The piece signifies both the brokenness and beauty, and the death and life-giving ways of culture and arts. They remind us of our innate soul, pointing towards hope and redemption.

(On loan from a private collection. We are deeply grateful for their generosity.)