written by Kylyn Maxwell for SPEL: Public Relations
Packing is always daunting for me. Whether it is an overnight stay at a friend’s house or a three month endeavor in a foreign country, both scenarios instill the same amount of panic within me. How do I temporarily abandon the things that mean so much to me? I would never wish my most prized possessions to collect a layer of dust, leaving them neglected.
My bag can only weigh fifty pounds. Even my youngest sister weighs more than that.
I had finally come to terms with entering a new country. I prepared myself to become consumed with a deep feeling of discomfort. I was willing to let things go. After all, how do you grow if nothing is changing? I let my petals flourish and my roots grow deep into unfamiliar soil.
My suitcase held business casual loafers and slacks instead of my cherished paint brushes and 16×20 canvases. I had been decorating canvases with the thoughts that entered my mind since I was 16.
I could refrain from zipping my sister up in my suitcase, but I had no choice but to let go of the things that have been grounding me for so many summers.
The plane engulfed my thoughts. The amount of rows on the aircraft put me in a trance, I had never been overseas. The flight was filled with contemplation. I decided I would welcome the unfamiliar with open arms, in hope that it would do the same to me.
A different scene appears through the narrow gape of the plane window. Mediterranean cypresses and warm-colored buildings caught my attention. They were quite different from the oak trees and neutral-colored houses I had been surrounded with my whole life. I had no idea what I was doing, and perhaps that was the best remedy for an intense desire for personal growth and expansion.
I wandered the uneven, cobblestone streets of Florence. Not a single step I took was steady and secure, similar to my placement in the city. I couldn’t find anything reminiscent of the things that typically brought me comfort.
I had four keys. Two small ones, one medium sized one, and one that looked like it was out of a storybook. I put the key in the lock of the large, decadent door, struggling to enter.
Noticing my struggle, a man next door asks if I need help. He grasps the key in his hand, easily unlocking the door. I notice his hand is covered in swatches of paint; blues, yellows, and red-orange. I noticed his shop next door, decorated in canvases with thick strokes of paint and thoughtful color choices. I feel a sense of comfort knowing that my apartment is next to someone who shares the same love for painting as me. It was in that moment, that I knew I could make home in a place that was unconnected from the rest of my life.
As my time in Florence dwindled, the sun gleamed brighter and my connection with the painter grew stronger. I used his acrylic paint and palette knives. I showed him paintings from the previous summers that I had left behind. Our styles of painting were so different, yet we could both appreciate each other’s talent. We made an exchange. I sketched citrus fruits along the canvas he lent me. I had painted oranges, lemons, and grapefruits before, but the painter insisted I try to paint in his style; a style that was reminiscent of Post-Impressionist artworks.
As time is fleeting, my suitcase reappears in front of me. I stare at the canvas that hangs on the wall of my bedroom that I grew to love. How do I rip my roots from the ground that I had become so familiar with? I place my canvas in my suitcase, remembering how I came here lacking canvases, paints, and brushes.
My suitcase is more full than it was in May, along with my heart and my brain. I had flourished, all because of Florence.
Connections can be forged no matter the location and there are always exchanges to be made that leave you fulfilled. Sometimes the best fertilizer for growth can be one you’re unfamiliar with.