It’s no secret that Meg struggled with alcohol, drugs and depression through a good part of her life. And in the end, that struggle cut her life tragically short for all those that loved her and loved her work. But for those that knew her for vast swaths of that life, she was pure joy. And in her work, one can see clearly her joy for life and its many faceted viewpoints, angles, shapes, sizes, depths, colors.
When you look back over her entire career of work, you can see where she started deep in the shadows of her mind, her paintings and drawings tended to be darker and monochromatic. There were layers of images subtly buried behind layers of blacks and grays. For me, these are the purest expressions of her headspace at the time. And I loved and admired her courage of that expression. To this day they are still some of my favorite pieces of her work.
Then, as she climbed out of the hole of her addiction and started to connect to her inner workings for maybe the first time, she started to see how joyful parts of her were. How much she loved being able to see the world and enjoy its richness and complicated textures. The deeper, soul searching was still there but it was balanced and nuanced and layered into her life. And her paintings mirrored that.
But what she never seemed to grasp, from my perspective, was how important she was to all those around her. How her lust for life and experience, her willingness to roll with the punches was so thrilling for all of us who loved her. It was magnetic and magical. She had a light about her that, even when she tried to dim it, was impossible not to be blinded by or as the moth, drawn to. Strangers would come to her simply to be in her space. Often, in a store or out in public, she would disappear for long stretches only to arrive back where she had started with some story about an unknown new acquaintance she had spent the last fifteen minutes getting to know for the first time. The person had simply approached her and started talking with her. All subjects were on the table. And it was her openness and acceptance of them that lowered their walls and let them share. Her ability to just be present, to hear and see someone as they were created, was a massive part of her ability to paint with such a wide range of materials and styles.
To see the complexity in each individual and be open to the natural differences was a pathway for her paper, paints and presses.
Quotes from Meg
“ It’s all about the relationship between recklessness and discipline. Enjoining the two to alternate- and a dance from which brings forth new work. It’s a delicate balance. one i strive to know more intimately. “
“ I then think, okay wise-guy, how do I get out of this new fix I'm in? At which point, something, anything giggles loose and I eagerly get back to work. This puddle was wider than my plank was long. “
“ Every step has its own blend of satisfaction in what I’ve just laid down followed right behind by a dreadfulness and fear that I’ve gone astray. “
“ Do you think i see visual hallucinations? that’s exactly what it feels like to me. no wonder i fell so madly in love with my job. By following my hallucinations like little breadcrumbs scattered ahead of me...... I trust they will show me where to go next. You know, looking for signs and wonders and having faith that the unseen will come into sight. “
“ See... The butterfly dies if you help him get out of his box. “
“ ‘Hobby’ refers to something you do ‘on the side’... in your free time maybe like a sport activity. to me painting is my job, my life, it defines me and my life. It is what I’ve devoted everything to. I never had children, a husband nor any other sort of job besides this one. It is all I do, all I think about, where I spend almost every moment of my time. “
“ Nearly everyone has tried to dissuade me from making this my life's work citing certain poverty as the primary argument. Obviously, I've been less than obedient. It is the process of making pictures that has enchanted me and has superseded everything else. This odd job of mine has been expensive in many ways- and has insisted I make many, many sacrifices en route. Yet there is nothing that I'd rather do- no other course I'd rather have taken. I feel wholly grateful for having been able to make a life out of it. I cannot imagine how I'd survive this life without it. It has been the compass by which I navigate, and it has utterly sustained me. It's into pictures that I pour those words that 'voices never share'. is this proof that I am, at heart, a coward? I pray, some day, to be more brave of heart. “
“ I get right up to this point where I’m about to begin and terror seeps in. I need that plank across the mudhole to get into the other side. to begin this long, long artful conversation with paint and paper. and skies of flight filled birds. But mostly it’s about my conversation with water. That pruning, that snipping all my bad and wilted blossoms back. Allowing new juice to seep up my stalk- and where I used to sprout prickers and thorns there will be love and forgiveness blooming there. That’s where I’ll find this picture. That’s where I’ll find a new hidden corner of me. I am afraid in the face of such possible failure. but what I don’t want is to know how it’ll go before I start. Or at any place in the process. “