July 24, 2017


Often for me, images and writing lie dormant for a time, between conception and their birthing. For reasons beyond me, this image asked for it's time of birthing to be now, in this dark heart of winter, though she was conceived in the flaming heart of summer. Perhaps she has come to warm my cold bones and remind me that there is also that time of vitality and shining, that will come again.

Radiance by Lucy Pierce

The Sun
I hide from Him,
terrified that He will burn me.
In the cells of my body the story lives,
that He is predator, adversary
and that my only chance of survival is to protect myself,
to contract and hide,
from the warmth of His radiant love.
He did not flinch at my fear,
nor at my rejection of Him.
He kept on shining His love upon me,
as He has every day of my living life.
The playful humour of His fingers teased at me,
wooing me to peak out at Him 
from behind my defended shroud,
a white woman in a black country,
fair skin, fair game.
I hid until the only thing left for me to see
was how farcical my own withholding was.
Once I started looking, I discovered in myself,
the threads and tendrils of the pathways 
that know how to say YES
to say I surrender and I open to you, 
magnificent love.
And in the opening,
the bones of my ancestors yawned within me,
the millennia of stories of persecution and brutality, 
the lifetimes of being victim to distortion,
let go inside my clenched cells and danced out,
down the inside of my thighs,
thundering through my loins,
into the tender light of His radiant shining, 
burning themselves home to love,
making a pyre of my body.
And all through the long day I danced 
between my fear and my longing, 
until the earth beneath me, 
dry and brittle, 
stick and rock, 
ant and spider, 
dry eucalyptus leaves crunching, 
became a nest of the most exquisitely soft holding, 
as I let go and let go, 
as He shone His love down upon me,
so that the clouds dancing in the sky 
became an extension of the sensations 
of Eros within me, 
the pulsing undulations of cosmic love-making
between Earth and Sky,
and me caught between.
And I was home,
and forgiven,
and held in the purity of this love,
with all my relations,
beneath the great dome 
of His magnificent sky.
And every gust of wind a caress, 
a raucous passion
as I let the golden light shine in,
to cleanse and purify
to awaken and ignite,
to conceive and unite,
to know of His love in my bones
and to trust the direction of His shining,
to remember His ever-presence 
and to calibrate my inner experience of life
to the vastness of my own lovedness.
Such a glorious homecoming,
through which I am safer to be more of me,
to trust the masculine as a great force of love, 
more enduring than any distortion of man,
is to feel that life is an experience in which to thrive, 
not just survive,
as I open each and every cell of my body 

to be nourished by His fire. 

Prints and Cards of Radiance available through my Etsy site www.etsy.com/shop/lucypierce

Text and image © Lucy Pierce 2017

May 10, 2017

When the Ungrieved for Past Besieges The Now

When The Ungrieved For Past Besieges The Now

Inside, deep, deep inside, there is the wounded one, her hurt so deep she has sabotaged all love in my adult life. She has been so hungry for something to come from the outside to sooth and to see and to attune and to somehow accept her and celebrate her, praise and validate her in a way she has not known how to do for herself.
And because this exultant claim of love does not come, or at least never enough of it, she has been filled not only with longing but also with rage, with bitter entitlement to some grand recompensatory gesture, some magnificent atonement for all the things she longed to have received but could not ask for, swaddled, bound, mute. 
She has been punitive and judgemental of any expressions of love towards her. It is never enough to appease the hungry and the rage-full one. And always she lives with the apposing centrifugal forces of the yearning for intimacy, immersion in a primal unified field of attunement, and a repelling of connection because it is not safe. She knows not how to trust what comes as love. Is it a wolf in sheep's clothing? The impulse to push away just as she pulls towards herself. 
It is her time now for me, I can go no further without meeting her in all her tyrannical complexity and narcissistic entitlement, and aching need and punitive protection and vulnerable longing for love. And it is no longer appropriate for that love to come from outside of myself, and thank the goddess, I've done enough work to know now that everything she needs I have within me. 

Enough of me knows how to mother and attune to other to meet her there in her deep dark cave, her shadowy crevices. I know my heart is a font of foreverness that is longing to flow to her, to retrieve her from the barren lands of her withholding. I have learnt enough about boundaries not to be subsumed by her. I can say no when it does not serve us for her to call the shots, but I can say yes to her longing and I can love her cleanly and true. 

I can wrap her and croon to her and tell her that after all she is okay, that she is enough, that there is a home for her here inside this body, that she is safe to grow from this infantile encapsulation, that all of me is safe for her to play in, to become. I can tell her that everything she needs is here within me, she need not be dependant for love on those who know not the depths of her longing. She can drink from me, from the vast elixir of star milk that flows through my being, from the deep primal vibration of our first mother. 
But I will also say that she will no longer make decisions for me in this life, no longer will she choose to put all her eggs in the basket of one who knows not how to give of their love. I know that she does this so that she can stay in the wound and perpetuate the pain and always have someone to blame for the lack, the poverty, so that there can always be someone there to play the role of the withholder, shaming and threatening and belittling her need. She perpetuates this for it's all she's known. Not any longer. 

She will no longer sabotage my initiations of power and emergent creativity, I will not believe her anymore that the world is not safe to share in, or that I am not safe to give of myself. I will take from her hands the reins of my power and evolve beyond her pain, and the great stuckness of her grief. I will reclaim from her the parentified imperative. She will receive her age-appropriate care so that she may return to her place in the line of my evolution, she will always be there but not as the wildcard that covertly governs the strings, but as the one, that received late, but not too late, the things she missed when she needed them most. 

I feel this great inward turning, an impulse to be still and to meet this one, for she is mine to meet and I will never be home if there is a part of me that believes my salvation dwells outside of my own being. So much longing and grasping and hungering and removing myself from the needful one. I am turning now to meet her, with all my heart.

Prints of the image available at my Etsy site.

Words and image © Lucy Pierce 2017

January 21, 2017

Prayer for Unity

Prayer For Unity                                    by Lucy Pierce

When I go to war with that which diminishes me, when I blame and shame and turn my back, when I take up arms and attack or retreat into bitterness and resentment, I make myself less and I stem the impulse to evolve through the tension of apposing forces, that great fertile ground where opposites meet and collide in a fecund hotbed of confusion and misunderstanding. Those who appear as my enemies are actually my greatest teachers in disguise, and when I seek to annihilate them I rob myself of my own awakening. I walk from the testing ground where understanding and respect have not yet flourished, where what is tender and fragile has not yet been seen underfoot, where the impulse to care for that which is other to us has not yet managed its own cultivation. 
How do I stay with that which triggers my pain? How do I tend to the rifts that dwell between those who have hurt or misrepresented me, so that growth can happen? How do I honour myself and also stay open to teaching the other of how it could be different, of what it is my soul aches and reaches  for in the night? I look at the world around me and I feel so tired of the rending apart of the fabric of life and family, of tribe and blood, of man and woman. I want to stay when my pain is screaming hate, I want to learn what it might look like to come to love that which has transgressed against me. 
And when the shape of our lives have become such that a part of our innocence of expression has been thwarted or crippled, by those who in their unconsciousness knew not the preciousness of our vulnerability, how then do we lean into the shape of that wounding so that we can again embrace the unique shape we have become, and give of ourselves with fullness and purpose, so that our wounds become our gift rather than the excuse for our withholding from what we are? For is not the inevitability of life's capacity to bestow pain as well as joy, only made toxic by our contracting around that pain? Is it not the holding on to the belief that we are not safe to offer our giveaway, where the true poison lies? How do I cultivate such a profound practice of self love that I cannot be belittled or betrayed for I am pristine and incorruptible, answerable only to myself? 
After the great dismantling of 2016, and as my partner and I enter a new year together, I find myself asking many questions. How can we weave a robust fabric from our lives, that will carry the bundle of our children into the future, that they will know that loving has less to do with compatibility and more to do with tenacity and the capacity to hold multiple truths in hand at any given moment, it has more to do with forgiveness than grudge, more to do with human fallibility, with wounds poulticed and bruises salved, than impeccable execution in the first place? 
The love between my man and I can be rugged and fierce, it has at times been a battle ground and there have been times when I have so wanted to make him wrong so that I could be right. How now do we stay with our hearts deepest truth, with our longing and hunger for each to be more than we have ever learnt to give? How do I ask for miracles of love from us, with our wounds and hurts? How do I honour the grand call to unity and intimacy and connection from my own battle scarred heart that has learnt so fiercely to protect itself from those it is supposed to love? 
How do we put down arms my love, and sit together, with the bloody carnage all around and learn what it is that peace might look like, an embrace of diversity, a growing into the qualities that we are most resistant of within ourselves, a courageous laying bare of the most tender of scars, most annihilating of fears, most punishing of illusions, and learn the deeper lesson, the great and holy grail of loving, the places that once were unlovable, caring for the parts that are most in neglect, severing our attachments to the most entrenched mechanisms of safety, burning on the pyre the illusion that  we are victims to one another, and seeing ourselves instead as great allies in the transcendence of pain, and the seeking and slow finding of belonging to our own selves in our own skins, belonging to one another in some mythic and also mundane way, but maybe most importantly belonging to this great cosmic movement of alchemical transmutation of suffering into blossoming, of separation into unity, of fear into love.

Cards and Prints of the image Prayer for Unity available on my Etsy store. www.etsy.com/shop/lucypierce 

Words and image © Lucy Pierce 

November 3, 2016

Listening at the Loom of Her Love

“I feel that in our modern western culture we are taught as women to judge, compare, belittle and compete with one another to find our place in the world. Self-love and deep belonging to one's inner wisdom and to the awesome power of our sisterhood is scorned and we are taught to  seek our salvation in the futile and exhaustive commodified quest to become something that the impossible standards of the external gaze will find acceptable, that we might finally become beautiful and exceptional enough to be worthy of love. 
It has been through my experiences of being in women's circles and partaking in festivals like Seven Sisters, where the deep primal power of the collective feminine has shown itself to me, as a world-changing, earth-quaking, truth-making force that is an imperative evolution at this time. It is not always comfortable as we truly learn to belong to ourselves and to the tribe that is our community of sisters, but it feels so very deeply gratifying to feel the jubilant and joyful celebration of love as we open, teach, guide, learn and reveal the truth of our reciprocal connectivity, and that together we are so much stronger than when we stand apart.”

This is a new image I painted for the call to artists for the Spirit Weavers Gathering 2017. I am feeling deeply honoured to have been selected as a finalist and very grateful for all those who supported me with their votes. I hope to make it over to this festival one day.

I now have prints and cards available of this image on my Etsy store 

Words and image ©Lucy Pierce 2016

October 10, 2016

A Water Prayer for Standing Rock

I feel so present at this time to all the peoples gathering together at Standing Rock. That place feels so very far away from where I am, the landscape and people so different in so many ways, and yet I feel a resonance of hope and truth, reverberating across the planet to rest in my faraway heart, from that potent impulse to gather and protect, that is happening there as a stand against the proposed oil pipeline. This action stands as a symbol for all people, the people of Earth, standing up across borders and boundaries and speaking with deep strength, power and love to the destructive paradigm of futile hunger and ravaging greed, which would desecrate our sacred Earth, plundering her resources for the benefit of an elite and the detriment of an entire ecosystem. 
There are a thousand ways we could all be standing and joining together in this way, in each and every country to put our collective voice to this story, of the ancient and wise people who listen and honour their Earth, threatened by the mindless consumption of a brutalising and disconnected force of consumption. My own country has its own vast history of persecution of its First Nations people, desecration of their sacred sites and ceremonial lands, and brutalisation of the environment we all share. 
In my dream last night I received a teaching about water. In the dream I was struggling to carry a very heavy object which held within it a great knowledge, a precious but somehow impenetrable information that the people who had gathered upstream required for their council. The object was far too heavy for me to lift, or push or roll, across the muddy ground, up hill and down, across the land that stretched out vast and immeasurable before me. But in the dream I realised, in a euphoric epiphany, that I just had to get it down to the river, down to the water's edge that nestled in the valley below, and that from there the knowledge and information would be received by everyone through the water. Once the knowledge was in the water, it would touch every living thing on the planet. 
On waking I thought about this conductive quality of water, about its connectivity and the way it has no boundary, that it permeates and cycles and transcends separation. Water has no territorial boundary, it is always in deep communication with itself and with all life, the ocean with the cloud, the river with the sea, the mist and the dew, the lake and the rain, the tear and the blood. It is everywhere, and essential for our survival and it communicates and responds to the forms of our thoughts and our prayers. 
And so today I descended from my hilltop to the valley and the river's edge, and I sent a little woven offering, of grasses and blooms, feathers and butterfly wings, a raft of my prayers upon the river of my far away home, to the people gathered at Standing Rock across the globe, across deserts and cities and forests and prairies, across oceans and skies, and also to the people and the land and the water and the creatures of my own country and every country. I send a prayer in gratitude for your work of protecting our planet, in solidarity for your integrity as a people working so deeply with the harmony of Earth and its mystery, giving thanks for your courage and honour. I send a prayer that the mindless desecration may cease to be the dominant paradigm in this world so on the edge of itself, a species so close to losing its own magnificence. 
Standing Rock, I add my voice to yours through the ever present alchemy of our shared water in this vast biosphere. I trust that my prayers will be heard, in the lapping of your rivers or springs, or in the settling of the morning dew upon the gentle Earth, as she cradles your feet, or the curve of your resting cheek, as the sun rises on another day together on this planet. Blessings.

August 2, 2016

Leaning into the Unknowable

Photo by Scanlon Carter Photography

I recently had two very beautiful women come and visit me in my home to interview and photograph me about my practice as an artist living in the Upper Yarra Valley. The day prior to their arrival I reached for the phone many times to call and cancel their coming, with many internal voices chattering in my mind. The voices said that I'm not really an artist, that I am too distracted by the endless tasks of motherhood and too enslaved by domestic drudgery to still call myself an artist, that I'm too heavy and morose to offer anything life-giving to their project, the narrative of my winter having been the grappling in the labrynthine darkness of my underworld, attempting to befriend the Minotaur, grappling at the interface of the seeker, red-thread in hand, and the abandoned and outcast aspects of my own psyche. In the face of this I was feeling altogether not sparkly enough, not successful enough, not productive and polished enough to be interviewed.

The ask of this meeting brought me face to face with the fraudulent feelings I have whenever I am asked to state my occupation. I write "Mother and Artist" or "Artist and Mother", but really who do I think I am kidding, to think that either of these activities were a "proper" occupation, despite the fact that they have wrung every ounce of effort and persistent force of will, blood, sweat and tears from my being for the majority of my adult life. I thought that maybe in coming they wouldl feel obliged to include me in their project, and despite my obvious inadequacy, would feel obliged to include me rather than hurt my feelings, so that maybe I should save them from the discomfort of having to either reject or tolerate me..... 

Another, deeper part resisted the urge to hide under my bushel and so by default of my not following through on any phone calls, they arrived on my doorstep on a Friday morning and I ended up having a beautiful morning of conversation and connection, delightfully losing myself in the fumbling attempts to articulate the bones of things that are often left unspoken to. 

I wrote this in the aftermath of their visit, grateful for the questions and the quality of listening that asked for more of me, rather than less. These are some of the ways that I feel I am an artist, regardless of success or productivity, these are some of the ways I come to belong to myself.

"I feel that at its best, the experience of making art, song, poetry, or at least the receiving of the inspiration for these things, is a deep listening at the interface of self and that which is beyond the self, a moving towards what is vulnerable and unformed, tender and ephemeral, in order to receive something new about oneself or the condition of life. Often the things received in this place are far from grandiose visions of salvation but rather gentle and intimate homecomings, private revelations of understanding about the patterns and shapes of our wounds and our gifts, and a sensing of what the balm might be. 

I feel we have so much to learn at this time about how to bring ourselves as a people into a greater balance and a deeper respect for our planet and for all living things, I feel we have so direly lost our way and that the answers for how we can reclaim our integrity will not come from what we already know, but from what we are gifted by our attuned listening, our stillness in the moment, in our receptivity to a higher wisdom, in our capacity to sensitively receive guidance from that great creative river of life. We will learn to protect the earth by deeply listening to the consciousness of the Earth itself. She will teach us. 

In a sense there comes to be a leaning into the unknowable, a moving across the threshold of what is known, to see what medicine we can find there. There is less and less agenda for me, and more of a seeking of what feels in my body to be true. This is not an easy thing in this time, it is my daily task to bring myself to this endeavour of embodying into the moment and receiving the inspiration that life is asking to birth in me, rather than attending to the thousand and one distractions that pull me away from what is deeply true. And many days I fall short, many days I sleepwalk through, full of forgetting, believing in lack and the separation, my shame or stories of blame. 

I feel that there is a great deal of trauma that exists in the bodies of many of us in this modern world, and for me my art practice has been a way of speaking to what it is that exists beneath the experience of trauma, I feel that I am asked to source the remedy for my own disconnection, I am asked to break through my complacency and humbly drink from the wellspring of creation. It feels to me that there is a sense of personal salvation that opens to me when I open myself to receive from the beyond, from nature and the earth beneath me and all around me, and the vast and mysterious cosmos above me, to be alive to the way that life is asking us to be made anew in every moment, to create for ourselves, in sovereignty, a new reality that serves the whole of creation. 

I would like to surrender more deeply into this process of creativity, to come more deeply into this service to creation, be more courageous at the threshold, to become more comfortable with the feeling of annihilation in the wake of belonging less to the world and more to the void of creative potential, have less fear and less need to control and say yes more deeply and more often to losing myself to the making new. 

There is always a great deal of discomfort for me at the beginning of a creative birthing, a battling with distraction and lethargy and complacency, requiring a force of will that feels momentous to muster. And then always for me the finishing of a piece of art is very similar in feeling to falling in love. It holds that sense of elation and wonder, of madness and joy, of open hearted recognition and devotion, as though a part of myself that had been buried and unformed has been made visible to me, brought from darkness into light, born of the heart and life-giving.

There is a part of me that endeavours through my creative expression to become the channel that is open to receiving life's capacity to create itself anew, cultivating an attunement of the psyche to receive a gift from the mytho-poetic strata of life, a willingness and capacity to be blind and unseeing in the realms of shadow and of grief, facing one's own discomfort to become more deeply at home in oneself. I feel that art and life are inseparable in this sense, the art a distillation of the living one does, an expression of where one's attention has been in all the moments of our days.

What matters to me now as an artist seems to be more about what matters to me as a human, inseparable from productivity, the valuing of the beingness behind it. How do I make myself a receptive instrument for divine guidance, sick of the inadequacies of my limited solutions, defence mechanisms, self protections? How do I let go and trust that there is a magnificence at work that I am worthy of receiving? What is life most deeply asking of me at this time? And what am I carrying that impedes the flow of creation through the bones of my being?

I feel I have lived much of my life from outside of my body, often very disassociated, conditioned as we all are in our modern world by an individualistic intellectualism, deeply saturated in an underbelly of grief for what has been lost. In the vacuum of my own uncertainty a deep keening arises, for true intimacy and authenticity. 

As I have journeyed deeper into this life I have discovered that all the magic comes when I enter deeply into the body, into the dance, into the heart and the womb and to the web of life, within which I am embedded. It is as simple as this really, this coming home to a deeper more embodied, more embedded self. But this has been momentous work for me, it has taken all I have. 

My creative offerings are the gifts, alongside the children I have birthed, that my body has given me when I have stopped long enough to listen. They are the microcosmic gifts that may or may not reflect something at work in the greater macrocosm, but which I offer up all the same, as the only true thing I have learnt about what matters in this life."


July 3, 2016

Medicine Voice

Medicine Voice - Lucy Pierce
(image courtesy of Medicine Voice)

I had the pleasure  of working with the beautiful Sar Friedman earlier this year on her project Medicine Voice, with an image for the album I and Thou, which she released in May.
The process was such a lovely blend of intuition and trust and the gentle inspiration of Sar’s rich relationship to symbol and spirit. The creation of the piece for me, conjured themes of sovereignty and power, and I loved immersing myself in the wonderful soundscapes and  lyrical richness of the album I and Thou.
 You can find the album here 
And prints and cards of the image are available on my Etsy site courtesy of Medicine Voice.

April 19, 2016

Three Sisters

Three Sisters, their voices weaving the universe together, plaiting the strands of Cosmos, Body and Earth. Embedding the song into the deep. Connecting hearts and souls with sound, vibration and the joy of communion.

Grateful to Megan Frasheski for the inspiration, in honour of the beauty she is weaving with the Three Sisters Song Collective.

Prints and Cards of Three Sisters are available from my Etsy store.

Image ©Lucy Pierce 2016

April 16, 2016

Earth Angel

This painting is a tribute to an incredible woman who passed beyond this life earlier this year. She left such a profound legacy of abundant beauty and love, of connection and joy,  generosity and realness. I am so grateful to have known her.

Beautiful woman, you fed the soul of the world.
You nourished our eyes with the grace of your beauty,
you nourished our hearts with your fierce and radiant love.
Our bodies you nourished from the gifts of your hearth,
the twinkle in your eye,
and each and every step of your dance,
every note of your song,
nourishing the soul of our beings
and quivering through the sky to the farthest of stars,
your humble offerings of magnificent love a gift to the cosmos.
I am sorry that we could not hold you here,
that our drinking of your beauty
could not ease the suffering
that your vastness also held,
the private serenade of pain
that often belies the surface of our lives.
I'm sorry we were not a more tender resting place,
a more truthful mirror,
I'm sorry that we could not reach in
to touch that place of no return,
I am sorry that our culture does not make ceremony
through which we may purge our grief and our torment,
through which we may be seen to the depth of our shadow
and held as we are in all our earthly offerings to the light.
All the world mourns the passing of you,
your shining heart and generosity of spirit.
All the world is a sadder place
that we did not make a home of you
till your hair turned white
and your skin became a treasure map
of all your pleasures and all of your pains,
of all of the gifts that you bore us,
the tears that you shed
and the gentle shimmering of your joy,
of your courageous depth of feeling.

Cards and prints of this image are available from my Etsy store, with 50% percentage of profits going towards supporting the passions Trish fostered in her living, through Trish's Legacy Fund, contributing to The Growing Abundance Project and in support of the Yolgnu women.

Image and words © Lucy Pierce 2016

February 20, 2016

Etsy Updates

I've just listed most of my images as large cards on my Etsy site. www.etsy.com/shop/lucypierce
They are printed on lovely fine art paper with Epson inks and are a nice big size. It's also possible to buy 6 cards of your choice at a cheaper price.
If there are ever any images you'd like as a card that aren't listed please let me know.

 I’m also having a 50% off clearance sale on selected prints (limited stock).
Clearing the old to make way for the new!
Blessings and love to all.