Hiraeth

Originally, I titled this piece Held for a Moment. This never felt quite right. Of all the pieces that I created in 2025, this one was one of the most vivid in my mind and the most confounding.

When I drew Uncontained, I was actually starting this image. In my mind, I saw hands delicately holding an iridescent bubble (like the bubbles in the original animated Cinderella from Disney). Inside that bubble was a galaxy. A rope was tied tightly around the bubble and was pulling it from the hands.

My gut reaction to this image was one of grief. What was I grieving? I hadn't lost anyone recently. Though I am not one who tends to believe in psychic foretellings, I was admittedly worried that this was somehow prophetic. Because of this, I kind of ignored this piece afterwards.

It wasn't until months later that I decided to distance myself from my extended family. I thought perhaps the sense of grief was for this. The ending of that relationship.

Then as more time went by I started describing my emotional journey as world shattering. It occurred to me that this piece could relate to the world as I knew it being pulled away from me. This still didn't seem to fully grasp the essence of the drawing.

Good ‘Ole Instagram helped me piece this one together. Whilst doom scrolling I stumbled upon a post about a Welsh word, Hiraeth. Hiraeth doesn't have a direct English translation, but basically it means a deep grief, homesickness, and/or nostalgia for a home which may never be or an echo of an ancient place to which there is no return. It's a highly complex feeling for something you've never experienced and will never personally experience.

This drawing is all encompassing. I grieve for a world that doesn't exist. The hope and expectations I once had are no more, because the world doesn't operate it the way I imagined. I grieve for a family that will never understand me and support me in the way that I need. I grieve for the severing of ancient roots in my family line.

The most connection I have ever felt to culture has been that of ancient cultures very distant to my American upbringing. Last year, I visited an indigenous museum and cried while reading the story told throughout because the words were so beautiful. The story touched my soul in ways that I can't really describe. My gut reaction was that I had found “my people.” The words made me feel seen and understood, but I cried because that's not my culture. I have no connection to ancient roots and a more poetic understanding of the world. I believe the complexity of this feeling is perfectly summed up by the Welsh word, Hiraeth.

There is a lightness in the imagery of Hiraeth. The bubble weighs nothing; it barely sits on the hands, yet the meaning is infinitely heavy.