the Promised Land

Mezenfamilie, mosaic by Erica Fraaije, circa 2005. A reflection on the natural rhythm of care and nurturing.

In the mosaic above, I captured a scene that resonated deeply: birds tirelessly feeding their offspring. I created this piece when I was immersed in raising my own children, juggling the care of a young family alongside countless other responsibilities. Watching birds work with such natural dedication brought me comfort. It reminded me that the constant giving, the endless cycles of care, are part of life’s rhythm—standard, natural, and significant. This thought stayed with me and softened the weight of those years.

It also ties closely to a dream I once had that still lingers in my memory. It was a dream of promise, hope, and something beyond the everyday.

I don’t dream as much anymore, probably because I often wake up before I fully enter dreamland. I used to dream a lot, and I even wrote them down—intriguing stories. One vivid fragment of a dream still lingers in my memory: a landscape, flat and green, which I viewed from a mountain ridge. It was a land that promised all good things. There were a few clouds, the sun was shining, and no rain clouds in sight. It felt like the “Champs-Élysées, avant la lettre.” When I woke up, I felt elated, filled with hope, optimism, and confidence.

Back then, our family was young, with small children, and I did my utmost to help everything and everyone flourish. The garden, the kids, and my husband’s career—all received my attention. And I came somewhere last. My atelier time was like a Promised Land I never seemed to reach. Just like the dishes, vacuuming, tidying, laundry, and all the other household tasks took priority before I could go to my studio, so did my energy go first to all the living beings around me and only last to myself. It’s no surprise that people saw my artistic work as a hobby.

But now I see it differently. What the birds taught me was to stop resisting the natural flow. There’s a rhythm to life, and sometimes care takes the forefront, but there also comes a time to nurture yourself. Now, I’m trying to make myself less small. I’d like others to give me back the energy I once gave to them, but that’s not how it works. I have to find it within myself because the work intrinsically nourishes me. And I’ve learned to “let others deal with it” – not to depend on their approval. It’s a lonely path, lonelier than most careers or life choices.ause others resonate with my thoughts and may take this solitary road occasionally. For them, freely. Because the act of sharing nourishes me intrinsically.