Walking this week, I am thinking about butterflies. There are several pieces of art along the Beltline that are about butterflies. Across from Mariposa, at the time of my original project, was This Was Something I Had to Go Through. I situate them here, next to one another, to make a point. There is something about their message — a chrysalis and throughness, beauty and peace in becoming, of life itself as through. The ConNectar is about connection and sweetness. Connection being how we make it through.

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Mariposa

Mariposa, by Random Direction

Mariposa makes me think of a butterfly’s cocoon. It reminds me of the absolute miracle that is a butterfly’s metamorphosis. Mariposa invites us to sit on a chrysalisesque bench between butterfly wings, welcoming change. As such, we can envision a new life.

I have long been fascinated by a butterfly’s chrysalis. What exactly is a chrysalis, that essential element of a caterpillar’s journey? Scientifically speaking, the chrysalis is a distinct developmental stage in which the pupa of a caterpillar develops into an adult butterfly. The childhood structures of the larval caterpillar are broken down and adult features emerge. Butterflies leave the chrysalis as adults and are immediately challenged to use their newly formed wings. Color and spectacle in place, their wings must be hardened through rigorous flapping to be able to take flight. There are no hard and fast rules regarding how long a butterfly stays inside its chrysalis. There is no prescribed method by which a butterfly frees itself. However, it is generally accepted by butterfly scholars that breaking free from the chrysalis occurs because of a hormonal response within the butterfly. A complete metamorphosis occurs inside a chrysalis.

When I see Mariposa, I think about a metamorphosis. I think about the promise of spring. I think about the biology of change. I think about the beauty of wings. What does metamorphosis look like for me right now? What opportunities, possibilities, doors, heights, dreams, goals exist? Is paying attention a key to metamorphosis, in the way that listening and seeing are key to growth? I think about the not yet and why. I think about the complete sentence: I am. 

This Is Something I Had To Go Through

This Is Something I Had To Go Through, by James Davis.

Art is a window through which we see our personal experience. The plaque next to this sculpture reads, “This sculpture is about a particular moment in the artist’s life when he was afraid. As humans, we are all faced with challenges, adversity, and fear.” As a person living with Turner syndrome, I live in the middle of something I have to go through. There is no stop and start; there is only through. The other side never comes. Peace and joy and beauty are found throughout. Between joy and sorrow. Between fear and courage. Between past and future.

When I see this sculpture, I am reminded that we are all going through things. We are not alone in our vulnerability and shame and wandering. We are not alone in our questions and pain. Our stories are full of through — the other side — never happening. We are deeply familiar with life’s impermanence. During all that, we are asked to embrace the middle space and be present. I understand the depth of carrying questions, which have no real resolution. Perhaps resolution is found when I surrender and breathe. Perhaps through does happen, not as an end state, but in the continual process of falling apart and falling back together. That makes sense to me.

This Is Something I Had To Go Through is hopeful. It is made more beautiful by the seasons. It sits in nature, the definitive place of through, knowing, and ebb and flow. In all our thoroughness, it welcomes everyone to rest for a second and then keep walking. There is hope in through.

The ConNectar

The ConNectar, by Kaylin Broussard and Chris Bartlett

The ConNector is aptly named. It highlights pollination — the life blood/connection of flowers and plants to life itself. I first saw this sculpture on a Thursday evening run, co-sponsored by the Atlanta Track Club and the Atlanta BeltLine. Most Thursday evenings, a group gathers at a brewery along the Beltline to meet up and run/walk. My husband and I started with the group in April of 2021, just after we moved to Atlanta. The group immediately connected us to people, the Beltline, and the city. Before moving to Atlanta, we hoped the Beltline would be a resource for us newcomers. Now, we know it is.

Read Talking A Walk #1 here

A Note on my Atlanta Beltline Writing Project [This paragraph appeared at the bottom of every post in the original project.]

I am practicing paying attention. I am practicing noticing beauty. I am practicing getting in touch with my artist self. I am practicing connecting with the outdoors. I am practicing my inner Mary Oliver. I live in Atlanta, “the city in a forest.” I live on the Atlanta Beltline, an interurban trail that graces the city. The Beltline is part arboretum, part art gallery, part park. It connects shops and restaurants and homes with people of all descriptions. I walk on the Beltline 4 or 5 times a week. I have spent the last year appreciating all that it is. I have personally photographed the images I will share. I hope to write about it — its art, trees, landmarks, etc.— for the next few weeks as spring unfolds.

Thank you for taking a walk with me. Subscribe to the Wide-Awakeness Project for more walks, art, and everything wide-awake.