“I just saw some of your favorite artist’s work,” I read. “There’s a big display in an art gallery in Miami.”
“I love him,” I replied.
“I like him, too. His work makes me feel. And that’s a good thing in art.”
His work makes me feel, too, and it’s made me feel deeply since the moment I laid eyes upon it at Pop Art Gallery in Downtown Disney in July 2011.
After spending the week at a work event in Orlando, FL, my friend Amy and I stopped at Downtown Disney to get some food and visit some shops before beginning the drive back to South Carolina.
When we walked in Pop Art Gallery, Amy and I parted ways, each walking around the store to take in the sights on our own.
As soon as I looked at Fabio Napoleoni’s display wall, I was mesmerized. I stood there and gazed upon his paintings and prints, and I wept.
I felt sort of stupid standing in the middle of a busy store crying, but I couldn’t help it. Fabio’s work spoke to me in a way that no artist’s work had spoken to me before. I got it. It made me feel. And so I soaked it in respectful awe until Amy came around the corner, shook her head at my tears, and laughed at me for wearing my heart on my sleeve (and everything I own).
Fast forward a few months and find my brother at Downtown Disney. Having unsuccessfully been able to find Fabio’s work cheaper online and having been unable to get his images out of my mind, I asked my brother if he’d see if the piece that had resonated with me most deeply was still there. It was. And not only that, but Fabio was going to be at the gallery that next weekend. If I purchased the canvas then he would sign, date, and Remarque it for free.
I purchased the canvas. “Please Fill This Emptiness.” And to this day, when I look at it, I get it:
I get feeling beaten down. Exhausted. No energy left to keep going.
I get longing for love. Reaching. Hoping against hope that love will come.
I get being surrounded by beauty but only being able to stare at nothing.
I get being shielded by friends and family stepping in to hold the weight of the world.
I get it.
And tonight,
as I process the suicide of a former student and member of my youth group,
as I feel the hurts of those who have been emotionally damaged and abused,
as I still grieve Kay’s death and mourn the loss of baby Sam just two short months ago,
as I cry for students whose parents are so absent that they do not realize their child has no underwear,
I am reminded that I am not the only one who gets it—
Who prays each day,
God, please fill this emptiness.
Please.
Fill this emptiness.
Amen.
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