A message of hope

I never know where paintings come from until they arrive; it always amazes me when I realize how they've been affected by what I see, read, or hear.

I was puzzling over this one this morning, and finally tracked it down to an article in the New Yorker about freezing gunshot victims to keep them from losing blood. I hadn't even read the article; I'd only seen the headline.  But clearly it took root somewhere inside me and gave birth to this painting.

But why?  What does it have to teach me? I read this morning that goodness is a creative force, and evil a destructive one.  So perhaps I'm thinking goodness has to go into hibernation to survive, to keep from hemorrhaging? I'd hate to think that's true.  But I'm seeing three blocks of warmth -- or are they wounds? -- in an ice cave. So I'm thinking it's a new version of my recent posts about the trees, which lose their leaves in a flare of color, knowing they'll return again in spring; that the painting says that goodness and sanity aren't dead, but going through a natural hibernation, and will emerge again, renewed, when the new season rolls around.

Which explains why the colors are so rich: it's really a message of hope. Who knew I still had it in me? And how will I turn so complex a thought into a brief poem for Facebook?