Where Do We Go From Here?

"Hope, on its last breath."

Where Do We Go From Here?

When you’re caught between despair and hope, what carries you through?

Where Do We Go From Here? captures the silent battles waged beneath the surface, the kind that leave no bruises, but leave you hollow. When the weight of life became too much to bear, when every attempt to outrun the pain fell short… I found myself asking, what’s next?

Suspended in a sea of uncertainty, this piece explores the quiet desire for relief, for rescue, for something to hold onto.

The colors swell, part ache, part revelation. The tubing curves like a question.

When nothing is certain, what do you reach for?

  • Where Do We Go From Here? presents a stark meditation on emotional exhaustion and spiritual longing. The composition features an outstretched hand suspended in a saturated sea of violet and turquoise, tethered by an IV line that both connects and confines. It’s a visual embodiment of that quiet, desperate question asked when everything else has been tried.

    The image captures the weight of internal collapse, when words dry up and silence takes over. In this piece, the artist allows us to glimpse the heavy stillness of numbness, the moment after the storm where grief becomes fatigue. And yet, through the buoyancy of the colors and the open reach of the hand, we are reminded that even in despair, the desire for connection, for relief, remains.

    This work doesn’t offer answers, but it doesn’t turn away either. It stays in the ache, asking the same question many of us have whispered in the dark: Is there still a way forward?

  • When we’re too weary to move forward, even the idea of hope can feel cruel. But Scripture reminds us that God doesn't ask us to muster strength we don't have, He offers to be our strength. In the swirl of numbness, sorrow, and surrender, His grace doesn't always come as a roar. Sometimes, it comes as a whisper: “I see you. I am with you.”

    This piece rests in that fragile space between giving up and being carried. And sometimes, that’s the most honest faith there is, the kind that doesn’t pretend, but simply holds out a hand.

    "My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." Psalm 73:26

    Reflection Question

    When all your strength is gone, can you still believe that God will meet you right there, in the silence, in the stillness, in the ache?