The Brushstrokes of Life: Discovering How God Brings Beauty and Purpose to Your Story

By Anne Neilson

Here's a secret: God has deposited a gift inside of you. Acclaimed angel artist Anne Neilson wants to help you find yours as she shares her personal story of passion and purpose and how faith radiates from every canvas of her life. The Brushstrokes of Life will help you see there are no coincidences with God.

Anne Neilson believes that each of us begins our life as a blank canvas: clean and fresh and ready to find texture in our experiences. Each trial, each joy, each heartache, and each hope leaves an explosion of color and sweeping brushstrokes that shape us. When we allow God to take over as the Master artist, we will find that He carefully adds dimension and highlights to create a beautiful masterpiece in us. Often, though, it's hard to find the beauty when we are wading through mess.

In this beautiful memoir, Anne shares personal stories about why her faith is so important to her and resonates in all her work. In The Brushstrokes of Life, you will learn how to:

• Open your hands to God's possibilities
• Connect your trials from today into hope for tomorrow
• Trust God's role in your story

Including a photo insert with several angel paintings never-before-seen in a book, Anne's stories will be a beautiful reminder that God is both our Creator and the fulfiller of His promises. He is the artist of our life. Creations are messy, but the divine artist never fails to reveal a masterpiece.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Nelson
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9780785292395

Anne Neilson

Anne Neilson is well known for her ethereal Angel Series, which are inspiring reflections of her faith and recognized for their stunning use of color. In response to demand for more access to her acclaimed Angel paintings, Neilson published two coffee table books and launched Anne Neilson Home, a growing collection of luxury home products, including candles, note cards, Scripture cards, prints, and journals. Neilson also owns Anne Neilson Fine Art, a gallery located in Charlotte, North Carolina. Representing more than 50 talented artists from across the world, the gallery is dedicated to being a lighthouse in Charlotte and beyond, illuminating the work of emerging and established artists. As a wife, mother of four, artist, author, and philanthropist, Anne paints and creates with passion and purpose, always giving back to others by contributing to local, national, and international charitable organizations. Learn more about Anne, her artwork, and Anne Neilson Home products at anneneilsonhome.com.

Book preview

Introduction

The blank canvas stares at me, its white face stark and bare.

And yet, even now, I sense the promise of life within. God will bring beauty to this canvas; I’m sure of it. I have this confidence because I’ve painted for more than twenty years. Never once has He failed me.

And so I look at the blank facade in front of me with anticipation and wonder. What will You do with this one? I ask the Master Artist.

The familiar, pungent scent of oil paint hits me as I squeeze burnt umber onto my palette. I smile as I think of my oldest daughter’s chiding concern, "Mom! You have to get ventilation in here. This stuff has got to be bad for you." She’s always looking out for me, that one.

I reach for one of my sketching brushes. It’s dirty, as all my brushes are. I’ll use my one clean tool—my palette knife—later, when I’m layering color to create texture. But for now I focus on the angel who will emerge as I sketch. I turn slightly to make sure my notepad is nearby. I’ve kept it close for many years, ever since God started giving me ideas for each painting’s title while I work. I don’t want to miss anything He has for me.

Praise music flows through me from my headphones as I turn my attention back to the canvas. When I first began painting, my home studio provided lots of privacy. I could blast worship songs as loud as I wanted. But I needed more room, and now I paint in a more public space, an old mill shared by many artists. I don’t want what inspires me to disturb others. As Sheila Walsh’s Blue Waters album plays, I breathe deeply.

It’s time to create again.

———

Like many young children, I loved looking for pictures in the clouds. I’d stare into the heavens, eagerly scanning for a poodle or pony hidden in the fluffy, white expanse. To this day, I’m a cloud watcher. I continue to marvel at the colors of sunrise and sunset, just as I did at six years old.

Though I didn’t understand why or how, I knew that Someone had painted the skies. I saw His brushstrokes everywhere. I noticed shades and hues before I even had words for those things. Green became one of my favorite colors. I experienced God as the Master Artist even if I couldn’t articulate this core belief for a long time. I looked at the world, at the captivating creativity around me, and wanted to join it. By third grade, and only eight years old, I knew I wanted to be an artist.

My story wound through a lot of twists and turns over the years, but my longing to create and to participate in beauty never faded. It’s taken different forms and expressed itself in unique ways, but I’ve always wanted to reflect the brilliance I see in creation. I’ve always longed to be an apprentice in God’s studio.

———

Though I wasn’t a diligent art history student (and my art grades reflected it), I did learn at some point that many young painters acquired their skill through apprenticeship. During the Renaissance, when art experienced a radical rebirth, boys as young as seven would become students of master artisans—painters, goldsmiths, sculptors, and so on. They would be taught craft and technique. They would mimic the style of their masters. If they were fortunate, they would learn from the best. Eventually, after many years of practice (and, I imagine, a whole lot of failure), an apprentice might become so skilled that his work and his master’s appeared almost identical.¹

I am an apprentice to God, the original creative genius. From Him I have learned—and am still learning—how to mix color, shape form, and express beauty. His brushstrokes are perfect; mine are still in process. But by following His lead and imitating Jesus, I have grown. Truly, I have learned from the best.

When people look at my art, I want them to see more than my ability. I don’t want them to see only angels when they look at my most popular series of paintings. I want them to see glimpses of the One who created the angels. I want them to see into the heart of God, whose love never fails.

I felt led to write this book because, in telling my story and in sharing some of what I’ve learned along the way, I hope to encourage you to see the brushstrokes of God in your own life. Whether you’re an engineer or a stay-at-home mom, God teaches all of us to bring beauty out of our daily lives. For me that means painting. It also means being a wife, a mom, a sister and daughter, a friend, and a business owner. For you, life may look quite different.

The Bible uses the word discipleship to describe this process of apprenticeship. Please don’t get hung up if that word sounds old-fashioned or overly religious. It’s really quite simple—and exciting! When you accept God’s invitation of love, you embark on a lifelong adventure of learning from Him, growing in Him, becoming more like Him. That’s why the Greek word for disciple used in the New Testament can also be translated as apprentice, student, or follower.² God invites us all to be His apprentices in the studio of life.

Since I’ve experienced my share of joys, triumphs, trials, and tribulations along the way, this book will not only tell my story but—I pray—help you understand your own story better. When we focus our attention on the brushstrokes of God, we see His beauty and our own belovedness more clearly. Doesn’t that sound good, dear one?

If you’re ready to join me on this great adventure, keep a notepad or journal handy. God may impress something on your mind or heart. Writing about it as you go will help you hold on to what you learn. Throughout the book I’ll provide short pauses—I call them Brushstroke Moments—for you to process what you’re reading. I strongly encourage you to pause at each moment and take the time to journal your thoughts, pray about the questions and ideas posed, and maybe even talk about them with a close friend. This is an immersive experience!

It may be messy too. In that way, our journey together will be a lot like painting. I almost always paint in old jeans and a plain white shirt these days; I learned the hard way that, when one paints in her favorite skirt, bad things happen. I regularly leave my studio with swaths of paint on my face, in my hair, impossibly lodged in the in-between places of my hands that regular washing doesn’t seem to reach. Painting—at least for me—is a messy business.

But life is, too, isn’t it? Messy. Complicated. Difficult.

And so, so beautiful.

Whether or not you consider yourself a person of faith, I pray you’ll be open to tracing the Master Artist’s brushstrokes in my life. Jesus has redeemed the hurt in my life; somehow, someway, He’s made it beautiful. And maybe—just maybe—as you journey with me, you’ll be able to look back on your life and see blessing in your own brokenness too.

In my studio, I bring beauty out of mess. And each and every day, God is creating a masterpiece out of the mess of my life. He’s doing this in your life too. And both of us get to join Him in the process. So let’s roll up our sleeves, change into comfy clothes, and open our hearts to His work. Together, let’s look at the brushstrokes of life.

one

Beginnings, Brokenness, and Beauty

It is hard to render an honest self-portrait if we want to conceal what is unattractive and hide what’s broken. We want to appear beautiful. But when we do this, we hide what needs redemption—what we trust Christ to redeem. And everything redeemed by Christ becomes beautiful.

RUSS RAMSEY, REMBRANDT IS IN THE WIND: LEARNING TO LOVE ART THROUGH THE EYES OF FAITH

How many memories do you have from childhood?

Are they crystal clear, like scenes from a high-definition movie, or are they fuzzy and half-formed, like dreams from which you awaken a bit disoriented?

My memories from childhood are more like the latter. It’s almost as if my brain created only a highlight reel of my earliest days. I recall certain times, places, circumstances, and conversations. I can replay those memories as if I’m there right now. A great deal of my childhood, however, feels like a hazy dream to me.

As an artist, someone who loves beauty and wants to bring more of it into the world, I’d like to paint a picture of a beautiful beginning for my life. It would be easy for me to skip over the unattractive parts of my story. Like most people, I want to appear put together, not fractured. And there are lovely parts of my childhood. I am so grateful for those. But if I concealed the brokenness I also experienced, I wouldn’t be painting an honest self-portrait for you.

Perhaps you, too, have a story that weaves brokenness and beauty together. Maybe it’s easier for you to focus on one aspect than another. I understand. The more of life I experience, the more I see it like the paintings I’ve worked on for more than twenty years—full of texture and contrast. Perhaps I’m drawn to techniques like layering (which creates rich texture) and contrast (which involves mixing and placing colors that might otherwise never fit together) precisely because my childhood was more textured than flat, full of more contrasts than consistency.

I’ve learned not to hide or paint over the hard parts of my story, because those are the very things that allow me to see God’s transforming brushstrokes most clearly. Without texture and contrast, I can’t create a painting with depth and meaning. And without childhood memories that include layers of hope and hurt, I could not offer the world the Angel series or my heart: real, raw, and redeemed.

Brushstroke Moment

Is it easy or difficult for you to look back on your life and see beauty, even in the brokenness? If you are willing, invite God to show you His presence and artistry in a painful moment of your life.

I remember a house and a little bedroom. On the wall next to the bed hung a framed picture of the poem Footprints in the Sand. My parents were newly divorced, and I was six, maybe seven, years old. My sister, Beth, four-and-a-half years younger than me, was still a baby. She was too young to know that Mom was sick, in and out of the hospital while struggling with mental illness. She was too little to remember Mom and Daddy together.

I was alone in my bedroom one night, a night I’ll never forget.

Whether in a dream or a vision, I encountered Jesus. As I lay in bed, the power and presence of God filled my tiny body and I felt as if I had been shot straight into heaven. I don’t remember if I had prayed before bed, but likely I had recited the words my mother taught me early in life: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep . . .

I was too young to understand the meaning of that prayer, but when I encountered Jesus that night, I felt kept, held, safe. To this day, it’s difficult for me to explain how, but I knew in that moment that God would care for me. There was quite a lot of instability and uncertainty in my home. That night, when Jesus took me into His heavenly arms, I knew I was not alone.

This precious experience changed me. It did not, however, make everything easy.

My mother remarried and our home life continued to be rocky. We eventually moved out of the little home where I had met Jesus and into a complex with townhomes and apartments. We had a two-bedroom town house at first, so Beth and I shared a bunk bed. This did not make me particularly happy.

Being the older and (in my eyes) wiser sister, I came up with the brilliant plan to draw a line between my space and Beth’s. The trouble was, our town house was the size of a shoebox, and our bedroom provided an area for bunk beds and not much else. I told Beth, My space is the beds. Yours is between the beds and the door. I followed up this statement with the adamant assurance that doom would fall on Beth if she crossed into my space. I actually forced my sister to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor in her space. I can see that quilted sleeping bag clear as day in my mind’s eye.

Beth will tell you that this arrangement dragged on for days. I remember only the one night. Whatever the case, I cringe at the memory. I wronged my sister, and I hate that I did that! Looking back, I see myself as a hurting girl trying to establish order in a home where stability was elusive. It certainly didn’t occur to me then that my need for control and boundaries arose because our home life tended to be more chaotic than consistent. I only knew that I could get Beth to do what I wanted and somehow that made me feel better, at least for a moment.

Wanting to control things—situations, information, relationships—felt very important to me as a little girl. Back in that tiny town house, I was far too young to express it this way, but I can see how my need for security grew as circumstances continued to spin out of my control. Beth took the brunt of my fear and angst. I exposed the truth about Santa to her, stealing some of the magic of Christmas. I woke her up in the middle of the night every time I needed to use the bathroom.

Beth, I would whisper in the darkness. Get up.

Why? her sleepy voice might respond.

I have to go.

Night after night, Beth would get up with me. Or she’d allow me to drag her to the bathroom. Whatever the case, I sometimes left Beth asleep on the floor of the bathroom, where she’d lain down while I used the facilities. I was so afraid of the dark but completely powerless over it. I couldn’t control the dark or the feelings it produced in me, so I controlled my sister instead.

I’m not proud of these memories. I look back and grieve over them. This is quite an inauspicious beginning to my self-portrait, I realize. But it is a true one, and it is also one that God has redeemed.

It’s been almost fifty years since I dragged Beth from her bed to follow me to the bathroom, and it would be understandable if Beth carried bitterness in her heart toward me for that behavior and others. But God did something else instead. He completed a miraculous work to heal our relationship and moved in her to forgive me.

Back then, I was an awkward, scrawny, confused, and frightened older sister. I wasn’t big or wise—at all! I repeatedly hurt Beth. But she has forgiven me, and we now share a priceless sisterly bond.

Perhaps reading about my relationship with Beth brings up painful memories from your past. Maybe you were the Beth, the one wounded over and over again in the family dynamic. I’m so very sorry if that was your experience.

Or you might have been like me in your earlier days—mean in ways you didn’t fully understand and now shudder to remember. Whichever side of the equation describes you, the only path through these types of painful memories involves repentance and forgiveness.

Brushstroke Moment

What does forgiveness mean to you?

Have you experienced the beauty of forgiveness?

Is there someone you need to forgive or someone you hope might forgive you?

Forgiveness brings freedom. Freedom from the pain that keeps us in bondage to bitterness. Freedom to move on and move forward. Freedom not necessarily to forget but to remember differently. Because of God, we can remember redemptively. This means that we look at the past with honest and grace-filled eyes.

I don’t paint over the rough patches in my childhood relationship with Beth, because they taught me that I needed God to change me. I was a hurting little girl, yes. But I also hurt others. Forgiveness allows me to see both things as true.

In the past, master artists who disliked a painting on which they had worked might slash or trash the canvas. I don’t do this. Instead, I’ve made it my habit to embrace the mess of my artistic process, layering and mixing, layering and mixing, until beauty emerges. It may take quite a long time, but when the breakthrough happens, and the mess becomes a message, it’s nothing short of breathtaking.

In a similar way God uses our circumstances and choices—many of which look like chaos on life’s canvas—to alter and even adorn us. The Bible tells us He provides for those who grieve a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair (Isaiah 61:3). Jesus redeems and restores rather than casting us aside like so much rubbish. Isn’t that magnificent?

Like me, you may have had some messy relationships. We can learn a great deal through the challenges of interacting with other people, though, can’t we? I’ve decided to embrace the mess of my relationships like I embrace the mess of my artistic process, always looking for God’s message in whatever’s before me.

I try to relate to people as they actually are, not how I expect or want them to be. It means being quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry, like God’s Word describes in James 1:19. And it involves seeking, receiving, and granting forgiveness again and again. But please don’t misunderstand me. This never means allowing others to abuse or mistreat us. Instead, we honor ourselves and others by taking every messy situation to Jesus, trusting Him to be our defender, helper, and guide.

Dear one, what message might God want to bring from the messes in your life? Some of my childhood memories loudly proclaim that I need God’s forgiving love. What about you?

two

That Is What I Want to Be

If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.

EDWARD HOPPER, AMERICAN REALIST PAINTER AND