Our Story
My sister pulled me aside after the funeral. “I have a request,” she said. “If you don’t want to do it, I understand.”
“Okay,” I said, waiting to hear what she wanted me to do. How bad could it be? And why would I ever decline an opportunity to do something for my sister? She had suffered so many losses in her life. And now her husband, how could I say no regardless of what it was?
“I want you to paint a red rose for me. They were David’s favorite, and I always loved your roses.”
So far so good. As an artist, I had a particular fondness for roses. But then she added that last part, the part that made me cringe a little, the part that actually made me think twice about doing her favor. “I want some of David’s ashes in the painting.” She smiled that smile that only my sister could do, the precious, heartfelt, loving smile of ‘I understand if you say no’.
“Okay,” I said, not even thinking about what I just committed to. I had to agree. I couldn’t let her face one more sorrow, no matter how hard it would be for me to do it. I smiled back, hoping I was hiding my internal flinch enough that she didn’t notice. If she did, she never mentioned it. As soon as I agreed my mind immediately went into creation mode. How could I do this? It will ruin the efficacy of the paint. I am not a textured painter. I paint smooth, blended, layered works. It suddenly sounded impossible.
From that point forward I was on a mission to fulfill a promise to my sister. When I received the ashes several months later, the box was small, the size of a ring box. It was wrapped in brown paper and taped securely, so I never bothered to open it until it was time to create the actual piece. By then, it was months later, and I needed to have it complete before going on a retreat with my sister in July.
When I finally opened the box, I prayed, “Lord, help me to create art that will do his life justice and be pleasing to my sister. Help me make this piece perfect.” When I opened it, there was a small note inside next to the tiny plastic bag of ashes.
I had never noticed it because it had been tucked under the lid. I picked it up and read the words that would eventually become the drive for my business: Make him beautiful for me.
Tears rolled down my face. I prayed again, this time for strength. I cut chunks of clay off the block and kneaded it in my hands. Tears filled my eyes so full I had trouble seeing. I grabbed the tiny bag of ashes and sprinkled a small amount onto the clay and kneaded it in. Now I was outright bawling. I cried and prayed, prayed and cried, the entire time I sculpted the petals onto the wood board. I had no idea it would be this emotionally difficult for me. My emotion came from the heartbreak of my sister. The love and the lost time between us burst into this one moment of creating something for her that she could cherish. She never asked me to do anything for her, and I was honored that she asked.
But it was emotionally overwhelming for me. I swore I would never do it again. I wanted to be done with it. Yet, as I worked and labored over the petals, my heart and mind were soothed, and it became more of a tender moment of creativity. By the time I finished sculpting and painting the artwork, I was quite pleased with how it turned out. I could even see myself doing another piece.
After the rose was delivered to my sister, I began to think about what I truly accomplished. The artwork I created served a bigger purpose than just a pretty painting or an emotional connection. It was connecting part of a loved one, a cherished piece of art that would be invaluable to a hurting family. My brother-in-law was gone, and I took a piece of who he was and made him beautiful again. I had a sense of fulfillment, as if my creative gift finally meant something. The Lord had led me to something beyond myself or my work to serve a much bigger, more important purpose.
I began to toy with the idea of creating pieces for other people. But there was something that held me back; I wanted to avoid going through the anguish that I felt with the rose. But how? At the time, I was working part time as a personal trainer, a result of reducing my hours for other creative endeavors. So, I had the time to start a new venture, and had already planned to kick my artwork and skills into high gear. But I wasn’t sure how to begin.
One of my clients owned his own successful marketing company. I mentioned my idea to him and briefly told him my story and dilemma of being able to do it for others. He gave me ideas and guidance, and soon after that conversation, I found myself knee-deep in product testing, research, and development. My husband and daughter were fully supportive, but they both had full-time jobs and would not be able to offer much time. Their encouragement was nice, but I would have to start this myself.
There was no other business on a large scale that offered such artwork. I was starting from scratch. Yet, once I began to make progress, I discovered I had highly underestimated the support my family would give me. My husband helped to build much-needed tools that had to be specialized. My daughter became a part of the business, and we became partners. Her skills with a myriad of business needs proved invaluable. We were on our way.
That was the beginning of Inherit Artworks.
The time, the risk, the effort, and money it took to begin this company was worth the sacrifice now that the business has become real. My heart goes out to all who have lost a loved one. I know that I and those working with me to fulfill this dream will be able to honor those who are gone and give something in return that those who remain could never have until now. It is a blessing, and one I will continue with all my heart. Making the one you love beautiful. Giving you cherished memories. This is what Inherit Artworks is all about.
With Love,
Jill Stelzer, CEO, Founder of Inherit Artworks