Blue-Bleak Embers: Persephone’s Dream

Blue-Bleak Embers: Persephone’s Dream, Size: H12xW16xD1.5

Blue-Bleak Embers: Persephone’s Dream

One night, somewhere between dreaming and insomnia, I found myself wondering: why didn’t Persephone run?

They say she was dragged into the underworld, but I think she went of her own volition. Not out of joy, but out of recognition. Something in the dark felt known to her.

Freud would probably say we go back to what once hurt us, thinking we can fix it this time. Jung might argue it’s our shadow calling those parts we bury, lock up, and pretend don’t exist. Eventually, they find a way in. Or out.

This painting came from that descent. That hush between who we are and who we are becoming. It’s not about the flower. At least, not entirely. It’s about what we bury. The blue holds what was never said. The pink, the tender things we almost let out. And the ember? That’s the truth at the center, flickering and raw.

Grief doesn’t always cry. Sometimes it just rearranges the furniture and lights a candle.

But this isn’t about suffering. It’s about endurance. About the quiet power of staying. Of making the underworld livable, maybe even beautiful. Of choosing not to flee the discomfort, but to understand it.

Persephone didn’t scream. She adapted.

And that, perhaps, is the louder act.

Because the ember isn’t the wound. It’s the pilot light. It's what keeps us dreaming, even when we don’t know what we’re dreaming of anymore.