Let the Ground Rest
Fleeting fluidity becomes intricate complexity when surrendered to the pull of the ground.
About the Piece
Let the Ground Rest began as both a question and a longing.
A friend sent me Chris Renzema’s song Let the Ground Rest, and I found myself listening to it on repeat for days. Something in it reached a quiet place in me that was deeply craving stillness — longing to step back from constant productivity, to stop striving for a moment, and simply be.
It made me wonder: what does rest actually look like?
As an artist, I often process those questions through making. This piece became my way of exploring that tension between movement and stillness, productivity and pause, complexity and simplicity.
The work developed slowly through layers of watercolor, fabric, felt, and stitch. Each material settled over the next like sediment or soil — building quietly, gradually, over time. Much of what gives the piece depth is hidden beneath the surface. You cannot see every layer at once, and yet each one remains essential to the whole.
That felt meaningful to me.
So much of life happens invisibly. Healing. Growth. Renewal. The deepest transformations are often the ones we cannot immediately see.
The title itself comes from the biblical practice of letting the land lie fallow — allowing the soil to rest so it can restore itself before new growth begins. Nature already understands rhythms that we often resist: seasons of abundance and seasons of dormancy, seasons of productivity and seasons of restoration.
Creating this piece began to feel like participating in that same rhythm.
As each layer was added, I found myself becoming less interested in control and more interested in surrender — allowing materials to settle naturally, allowing space to remain open, allowing quietness to exist within the composition. Torn edges were left exposed. Threads hung loosely. Vertical stitched lines emerged throughout the work, suggesting gravity, rainfall, roots, and the slow passing of time. They ground the fluid movement beneath them while also pointing downward — toward hidden systems of growth occurring underground.
Each stitch became a kind of prayer for pause.
I think many of us are longing for that right now — especially within cultures that celebrate constant productivity and endless motion. Living in a busy city while raising three young children, rest can often feel unrealistic, even impossible. And yet the longing for it continues to grow stronger in me.
The ground rests by design. Forests rest. Fields rest. Trees rest in winter before new rings begin to form.
What would it look like for our lives to mirror those rhythms more honestly? And what happens when they do not?
This piece does not offer a complete answer, but it does hold an invitation: to slow down, to breathe more deeply, and to trust that beneath seasons of stillness, something living continues.
Roots stretch unseen.
Healing gathers quietly.
Growth takes shape slowly beneath the surface.
Sometimes the most important work is happening in the places no one else can see.
Let the Ground Rest
Watercolor, Acrylic Ink, Fabric, Yarn and Stitching on Raw Canvas | A Mixed Media Diptych, each panel 37×44