I was grey. 

That’s the color my mother saw around me. A cold dim grey. My father was grey 

too. We were both afraid and we were heartbroken. My mother’s nurse was pink. She 

said she could see the kindness radiating from her in sparkling pink ripples. I never 

questioned what she saw. I was young but it was clear to me even then that the veil 

between her and some other place was starting to thin. The sicker she got, the more the 

colors around each of us revealed themselves. I didn’t question it either, when she died 

and my father revealed that her spirit had come to him in the shower. He said she 

greeted him with love, and showed him a vision of her soul lifting out of her body, young 

again and cancer free. She was filled with so much life all she could do was laugh. I 

didn’t question any of it. 

Deep within the pit grief, I let these moments fade away and the memories 

became buried under life. We were not a religious family by any means and I had no 

way to explain or discern such events. It was only after two more people dear to me 

slipped away without warning that the memories began creeping back, and the full 

presence of the other began nipping at my heels, daring me to face it. On a pursuit to 

name these events, to find reason in them, I found a whole new world through art. 

Explorations on images of death and spirit. Images that resonated deeply but were 

previously left in darkness, unacknowledged. Shining halos, angels and faces locked in 

ecstasy. Spectrums of light, repetition of form and color, bodies that looked as though 

they could breathe. Through painting, waking life was put into a new context. One not 

depressing and bleek, but rather full of mystery. One full of mystical potential, 

expanding and transmuting the nature of our conscious experience. This is what drives 

my work as a painter.

CV – Sarah Vaccariello