I Am Flesh and Blood and Bone
Reflecting on a new artwork I made this week …
“her blood is purple, mine is red”
Oil, acrylic, charcoal, ink, and colored pencil on panel. 12 × 16 inches. 2026.
Dearest Doodle Soupsters,
Above is a new artwork I made this week — it’s called “her blood is purple, mine is red.”
Over the past week, right before I made this piece and in the days afterward, there’s something I’ve been finding the words to express …
I’ll begin with a list …
There’s a voice inside of me that knows the way home.
Let yourself find out.
In the moment, the purpose can seem unclear. That’s the role of a leap of faith. Allowing us to reach the other side, to jump from one cliff onto solid ground … because eventually, you run out of road and there’s really no turning back so the only way forward is to take the leap. Yet, once we do, the purpose of all these things that seemed pointless becomes clear. Still, we can only see this because we’ve made it to the next vantage point.
Growth, life, healing, grief, art-making … none of this is linear. I’m constantly climbing mountains, leaping from one ledge to the next, seeing the same things in new ways, from different points of view … and as I do this, I change and my work changes yet it’s also a process of moving closer to some core element that’s always here, that’s already here, I just keep getting to know this core a little deeper, from a new angle, or more holistically
Step closer, touch with my hands, close my eyes, open them again, step back, climb then look from above, crawl under and peer from below, crawl out and step back again, then move closer again, find a new detail, a new glimmer to spark something both very old and bursting forth from seemingly nothing, perpetually anew
What is that voice, the first one on the list, the one that knows the way home? What is home?
Home is physical because we are physical beings. I am a physical being. I bleed. I need to eat and sleep and drink water. Someday, I will die and my body will decompose, return to the earth. But we’re not just physical beings, are we?
The spiritual significance of consciousness is a difficult thing to prove. How much of how we think and act goes beyond the physical phenomena of neurons firing in this organic system of interconnected moving parts that composes us? I hesitate to let myself believe “too far” because I don’t want to lose touch with what’s here and now, with what I can hold in my hands and touch. Yet, reality can span so far beyond and in unlimited directions … we can’t know for sure what exists beyond the bounds of our own capacity to understand and observe, beyond the fluctuating borders of our imaginations.
I believe in the concept of a soul yet what that concept means and doesn’t mean to me is constantly in flux. Do I believe in God? Sometimes, I believe that we are primarily physical beings and I believe in what I can observe in front of me. Sometimes, I think this is useful. This concept doesn’t negate the existence of profound meaning, magic, connection. I mean what if spiritual connection is something we make in collaboration with each other and the chaos, the randomness, of what happens to exist? I don’t know. I mean, how could I really know?
Sometimes, I believe in a higher power, but what that higher power is and how this higher power operates? I don’t have a clue. Would that higher power be akin to a force, like gravity? A pull toward beauty and meaning that evades explanation? A force that makes poetry of our lives?
Even if this higher power exists, is this necessarily a good thing? It can be. Or, maybe one entity in charge of everything … I mean, that’s a lot of power. Then again, how can I apply the already complex concepts of good or bad, or power as potentially corrupting, to such an entity that I can scarcely fathom?
I could go on and on and on, wondering about our existence and what potentially exists beyond what I can touch, see, hear, feel. Yet, there is a through-line … I know what I can feel in my bones. I know what I can sense. And when I take leaps of faith, when I let myself find out, I do, I do find out.
I don’t find out everything. But I see a bit more. Often, this only raises more questions, but this doesn't mean I understand less. I think it just means I become aware of more things I don’t know. More questions take shape from what was once blank, a place I had yet to visit in my mind.
So … what is home? I’ll try another list:
A sense of belonging that I feel in my bones
Something just feels right and warm and safe in a way that goes beyond words … this sense is felt throughout my being, in my body, in my mind, in my heart, in my soul
The garden we built just outside the door
Our bed, our limbs intertwining, my cheek pressed against yours
My face buried in sweet kitty Milo’s fur
Sea foam gently grazing my skin as my toes dig into sand
Trees. Trees are home.
Sketchbooks. When I bring my sketchbook with me on the ferry, on the train, on my way anywhere, I feel more settled. Immersed in drawing, I am home.
My voice. My voice is home. And when I feel at home, I feel more freedom to use it, to sing, to speak. To accept myself, to exist as myself, to not feel as if I’m constantly holding back or shoving my true self down the back of my throat, burying her deep within my gut, oh yes that is the pit in my stomach, it is her, well, me …
Okay, now, back to the beginning again … the new artwork. Her blood is purple, mine is red. And yes, my blood is purple, hers is red.Dearest Doodle Soupsters,
Above is a new artwork I made this week — it’s called “her blood is purple, mine is red.”
Over the past week, right before I made this piece and in the days afterward, there’s something I’ve been finding the words to express …
I’ll begin with a list …
There’s a voice inside of me that knows the way home.
Let yourself find out.
In the moment, the purpose can seem unclear. That’s the role of a leap of faith. Allowing us to reach the other side, to jump from one cliff onto solid ground … because eventually, you run out of road and there’s really no turning back so the only way forward is to take the leap. Yet, once we do, the purpose of all these things that seemed pointless becomes clear. Still, we can only see this because we’ve made it to the next vantage point.
Growth, life, healing, grief, art-making … none of this is linear. I’m constantly climbing mountains, leaping from one ledge to the next, seeing the same things in new ways, from different points of view … and as I do this, I change and my work changes yet it’s also a process of moving closer to some core element that’s always here, that’s already here, I just keep getting to know this core a little deeper, from a new angle, or more holistically
Step closer, touch with my hands, close my eyes, open them again, step back, climb then look from above, crawl under and peer from below, crawl out and step back again, then move closer again, find a new detail, a new glimmer to spark something both very old and bursting forth from seemingly nothing, perpetually anew
What is that voice, the first one on the list, the one that knows the way home? What is home?
Home is physical because we are physical beings. I am a physical being. I bleed. I need to eat and sleep and drink water. Someday, I will die and my body will decompose, return to the earth. But we’re not just physical beings, are we?
The spiritual significance of consciousness is a difficult thing to prove. How much of how we think and act goes beyond the physical phenomena of neurons firing in this organic system of interconnected moving parts that composes us? I hesitate to let myself believe “too far” because I don’t want to lose touch with what’s here and now, with what I can hold in my hands and touch. Yet, reality can span so far beyond and in unlimited directions … we can’t know for sure what exists beyond the bounds of our own capacity to understand and observe, beyond the fluctuating borders of our imaginations.
I believe in the concept of a soul yet what that concept means and doesn’t mean to me is constantly in flux. Do I believe in God? Sometimes, I believe that we are primarily physical beings and I believe in what I can observe in front of me. Sometimes, I think this is useful. This concept doesn’t negate the existence of profound meaning, magic, connection. I mean what if spiritual connection is something we make in collaboration with each other and the chaos, the randomness, of what happens to exist? I don’t know. I mean, how could I really know?
Sometimes, I believe in a higher power, but what that higher power is and how this higher power operates? I don’t have a clue. Would that higher power be akin to a force, like gravity? A pull toward beauty and meaning that evades explanation? A force that makes poetry of our lives?
Even if this higher power exists, is this necessarily a good thing? It can be. Or, maybe one entity in charge of everything … I mean, that’s a lot of power. Then again, how can I apply the already complex concepts of good or bad, or power as potentially corrupting, to such an entity that I can scarcely fathom?
I could go on and on and on, wondering about our existence and what potentially exists beyond what I can touch, see, hear, feel. Yet, there is a through-line … I know what I can feel in my bones. I know what I can sense. And when I take leaps of faith, when I let myself find out, I do, I do find out.
I don’t find out everything. But I see a bit more. Often, this only raises more questions, but this doesn't mean I understand less. I think it just means I become aware of more things I don’t know. More questions take shape from what was once blank, a place I had yet to visit in my mind.
So … what is home? I’ll try another list:
A sense of belonging that I feel in my bones
Something just feels right and warm and safe in a way that goes beyond words … this sense is felt throughout my being, in my body, in my mind, in my heart, in my soul
The garden we built just outside the door
Our bed, our limbs intertwining, my cheek pressed against yours
My face buried in sweet kitty Milo’s fur
Sea foam gently grazing my skin as my toes dig into sand
Trees. Trees are home.
Sketchbooks. When I bring my sketchbook with me on the ferry, on the train, on my way anywhere, I feel more settled. Immersed in drawing, I am home.
My voice. My voice is home. And when I feel at home, I feel more freedom to use it, to sing, to speak. To accept myself, to exist as myself, to not feel as if I’m constantly holding back or shoving my true self down the back of my throat, burying her deep within my gut, oh yes that is the pit in my stomach, it is her, well, me …
Okay, now, back to the beginning again … the new artwork. Her blood is purple, mine is red. And yes, my blood is purple, hers is red.
What is the significance of blood?
To be human is to bleed. Literally and metaphorically. We are not machines. We’re not made of metal, steel, plastic, We are flesh and blood and bone. And in this conglomeration of organic matter, there’s something else intertwined, infused, threaded throughout. Something that evades definition. Something spiritual. Something strange. Something absurd, and bittersweet. In the firing of neurons that are made of us, not wire, a different kind of electricity, a wholly natural one, our thoughts and emotions and sensations transcend the literal, don’t they? I mean, I can’t know for sure. But this is what I feel. So what is this human urge to make machines? To make order from the chaos? Life is so confounding and unpredictable at its core, and there is something so profound and beautiful in that, though it can feel cruel at times for the same reasons it can feel magical … how could we not feel threatened by this magical, paradoxical, gorgeous thing that we cannot understand? How could we not want to ignore it, to move away from it? To experience pleasure that feels just empty enough that our hearts won’t swell? To build something in a manner, in a process that feels more controllable, that centers the human as designer and creator and ruler? I understand it. I do. It is the same reason why I impose rigidity where it’s not needed, why I frantically check did I turn the stove off?, why I ask over and over again, What is the point of this thing I feel so inclined to do?
Blood is symbolic of vulnerability, but also a reference to where we come from, of family. We are blood OR we aren’t blood. We share the same blood. Or we don’t. It can be used as a point of connection or division. Yet, humans (and many animals) all have blood. All humans have red blood. Some animals have blue, green, yellow, and clear blood. For example, a rare group of lizards called green-blooded skinks have bright green blood, bones, and tissues because of massive buildups of the toxic bile pigment biliverdin (a waste product that comes from red blood cells breaking down). But anyway, our blood looks red because when iron reacts with oxygen, it becomes red. And it’s the iron-rich protein called hemoglobin in red blood cells that binds to oxygen in the lungs and moves oxygen throughout the body …. blood connecting to breath, breathing is connected to how we create vibrations with our vocal folds, how we make sound, how we speak, communicate, sing.
In my art, the color purple tends to symbolize mysticism. This isn’t something I imposed on my art-making in a top-down way. Yet, it is purposeful. It is intentional. Just in a bottom-up way. What I mean by this is I spent several years in my previous body of work making abstract paintings and I painted what I felt in the moment. Then when I reflected on my artworks, themes emerged. I noticed that certain colors tended to pair with certain emotions, mental states, etc.
This is how I put it in my artist statement —
Every detail is a mode for emotional expression and making meaning of existence from color (e.g. purple for mysticism and awe, yellow for hope/joy, pink for vulnerability, blue for clarity, gray for confusion, black for deep pain/darkness/despair, green and brown for rootedness and connection to the earth) to the style of my handwriting (e.g. quick/slow, overlapped/spaced out, light/dark, capitalization, size) to mark-making (e.g. loose/tight, frenetic/gentle, bold/light, curved/straight).
But what about red? That’s one color I didn’t list.
Blood is connected to what I would say is the most severe trauma I experienced, the most impactful. Throughout my early childhood, I wouldn’t use the word “blood” and I would feel anxious whenever others used the word. I stayed away from ketchup. I still don’t eat ketchup, though now this is simply out of habit. I find this kind of funny now, and simultaneously, yes, the reason is dark.
Yet, blood itself isn’t bad or scary. I wouldn’t be alive without my blood.
So what does it mean? Her blood is purple. Mine is red. I taped this onto the back of the artwork …
My voice … not the one that was connected to the “false self,” the me I was to protect myself, to survive. This true, this wise voice, this earnest, honest voice, has felt almost like it’s outside myself yet it is me, and it was buried deep. I don’t know how to put this succinctly or coherently so I’ll just have to trust that it doesn’t really matter that much, if I have to say a few more words to find my way, to feel it out, to try to express myself. I’ll just have to trust this urge to share, even when it feels purposeless or hard or confusing.
It’s as if this real me bonded with my soul, tucked away in my subconscious all those years. When this part of me speaks, it feels as if the voice is coming from my body yet in a way that’s how the physical is intertwined with the spiritual. This is what I mean when I say I know something in my bones. There she is, this core part of myself … to survive, I had to hide her (myself) away. So now, her voice is woven throughout all that I am, in my blood, in my bones, and overlapping with my soul. And in my brain, as I’ve sorted through my trauma (and continue to do so), as I heal, as I make sense of who I am now that it is safe to be who I am, now that I can form an identity that isn’t hamstrung or limited or distorted by my environment … I can have a consciousness that is me, yes, that is the real me. And we are both me.
Maybe to some extent, this is true for everyone … there is a knowing in the body and there is a knowing in the mind. Both are important. Yet, it’s often the knowing in the body that feels spiritual, or special somehow. Like a gut feeling. A knowing before you can possibly know. There’s a certain kind of magic in that. And still, we need the mind because I think words are important too. Maybe at its best, the mind is a translator, a bridge to others, a communicator, and it can also help sort out where skepticism or questioning might offer a helpful balance.
Isn’t that what I’m doing when I reflect on my art? I’m putting my body’s communication into words.
Now, I move closer. Take in the details.
And now, I let it simmer. I let it incubate. I let the seeds be seeds. I don’t need to say anything more. I can just let all this breathe.
Still pondering, moving into rest, about to take a break from thinking, from words,
Nicole Sylvia Javorsky
P.S. Music Corner:
My song “wake up” from my album, A wildflower grows from the cracks in the sidewalk, has these lyrics (which are also interwoven in the Whispers Among the Trees text I’ve been telling you all about) …
Oh doh do doo do da woah
I don’t know what to think or what to say that I know
I’m just a little speck of stardust woken up
I am flesh and blood and bone
Oh do do doo do da woah
Ooh I don’t know I don’t know
What to think or what to say that I know
I’m just a little piece of the universe
Wondering about the universe
I’m here, alive, somehow, someway