The Grey Christmas: Loving Without Wrapping Paper

Grau (Grey) 1968 Oil on canvas

I woke this Christmas morning, alone, no obligations to anyone but myself. I meditated, but felt sleepy, so just laid back down and drifted. I did what I wanted. I reached for my phone. The dopamine hit – I can see it now for what it is. Without the other distractions in my life, the obligations, the pressure, the addiction becomes more ridiculous. I am no longer seeking relief from the cortisol spikes. I’m avoiding the emptiness. Apps deleted – I watch. It’s Christmas morning, and every Christmas morning for the past 8 years, I’ve woken to the magic I created in our home – for our son. This morning, I sit in silence and the soothing purr of two little kittens. Apps deleted. I watch. My son! I must call him. Not for me, but for him! I call, he answers with huge delight! Mum!!! I got this, I got that, this is actually the worst Christmas ever, but it’s too complicated to explain. I got this and I got that! I love you so much mummy! I love you, too. Have some rest and take your time, it’s going to be a busy day! Love you, bye! I watch.

I remember Gerhard Richter’s Grau (Grey) series at the Tate Modern in London. What struck me was the plaque with his description for these paintings. There were three or four. Huge canvas, just one colour paint – grey. What struck me is what he said. He described how he painted these three in the same colour, same technique but when he looked at them, he found he had a preference for one over another. On the gerhard-richter.com website, he states “Grey. It makes no statement whatever; it evokes neither feelings nor associations: it is really neither visible nor invisible. Its inconspicuousness gives it the capacity to mediate, to make visible, in a positively illusionistic way, like a photograph. It has the capacity that no other colour has, to make 'nothing' visible.”

From a letter to Edy de Wilde, 23 February 1975, 1975SOURCE

I’ve allowed myself to experience the grey of this holiday season. I’ve had solitary Christmas before, and am not saddened or lonely. But this one, is quite different. This one, I experienced the grey of having been a fantastically devoted, magical making mum – to total emptiness, knowing her son is having a subpar experience but fine nonetheless. I didn’t even wrap him a Christmas gift. I gave him an unwrapped tiger’s eye bracelet to help him overcome fear. I handed it to him at the train station as I sent him off.

I loved Existentialism at university. Sartre’s description of nausea when experiencing the nature of reality. Camus’s experience of being a strange man in a strange land in The Stranger (Outsider) or the ‘judge-penitent’, in The Fall. Existentialism leans towards nihilism, and I’m personally too optimistic to stay there very long. But I love the stripping down to the bare bones of an experience. What do I authentically love here? Am I just playing a game or is this in some way real? These questions haunt the human experience, whether we’re willing to sit an observe or not.

Wishing you all a jolly holiday season! Full of authentic cheer, community and love!