For a girl who uses a lot of color, I’ve discovered quite a few art pieces that are in black and white. Many are casual sketches created while listening to music. This is certainly the case with the three drawing series called Strings. I like these abstracts because you can turn them whatever way you’d like.
Time – My Obsessions
Bruised Reed – SOLD
There are most certainly some art therapy pieces in there such as Blink, Bite, Impact and Bruised Reed.
I go through black ink like water, but I usually add color. Sometimes it just doesn’t feel right, or I leave it up to the purchaser to add color if they desire. Many of these sketches are available in my Etsy shop. Please see the link on the sidebar.
Okay, I’m out. Time for sleep. I shall visit people tomorrow and Friday.
See ya soon.
My face is turned down, I can feel it. The sides of my mouth feel tugged towards the floor with little or no resistance.
Thirty minutes ago my stress level was too high. I started talking myself down. Relax. Everything you need is right here, you just need to calm down.
I could feel my heart racing.
I nearly screamed. I was so exhausted and anxious that I just wanted to scream. I felt like I slammed on the brakes. You are not going to scream.
There’s too much noise. The AC, the fan beside me, the ceiling fan, the bubbler in the fish tank and the sound of my anxiety.
I was shivering.
My tongue feels thick. It tingles where it makes contact with the top of my mouth.
Despite very little sleep due to some health issues, for the first time in about 3 years I am not in system wide medical crisis. Mental health is a different story.
June 22, 2016 – 11:51 pm
After seeing the PT I was kind of a mess but was able to quickly regain composure. I was not expecting the change in positions for treatment. During the next 2 months this guy will have me lay on my stomach so he can work on my shoulder and neck. I did not expect it! I’d already switched in his office and couldn’t answer too many of the questions. This means I need to keep a small journal so I can bring in info. I have a medical journal I use. Continue reading →
Not having a television means I don’t have to sit through commercials about how I should love, appreciate and buy something for my father. YouTube pushes commercials but so far I’ve not been hammered by these things too much. It seems though, Father’s Day has gotten under my skin and played out a bit in my dreams.
I was in a house with a very, very long hallway with burgundy coloured carpet. I got word that my father was in the back of the house so I ran to meet him. I called “Dad!” but he ran from me. He ran out of the back door, got in a car and left. What he left behind was 20 of his children who gathered to see him. The children sat in groups, some were twins, quadruplets and quintuplets. The outgoing half of a twin came over to me and began massaging my shoulder. He was such a tiny thing but he tried to relieve my pain. An older sister who knew him reminded him to be gentle. He skipped off, climbed a small ladder and sat with the group of all my half siblings.
At that point my father returned. When came back, my mother appeared behind me then went back in her area of the house just as quickly as she arrived. My father and I stood face to face. I thought, he’s ugly. When he stood in front of me he put his hand over his heart, looked down and said, “You look just like her, just like her.” The sound in his voice was loving.
I tried to follow him into the area of the house where my mother lived but the door was too small. He and my mother could go in but I and my half siblings were too big to squeeze in there, even the tiniest of them were too big. We all talked together and discovered that we’d abandoned his last name and anything at all to do with him. Even the small boys had their last names changed so that the birth name could not be passed on, there would never be another generation of men with that last name. It dies with him. I felt satisfied. I woke. End dream
There are only 3 of us kids. My brother was taken away at age three.
………I missed out on knowing you, your mother, your aunts. I remember visiting your sister once. My mother took us there, I believe to scare us. It was dark outside when we arrived, it was dark inside her house except for the dim glow from a light over the sink in the kitchen.
I remember sitting there at the table saying nothing. I didn’t look around. I sat perfectly still. I wasn’t sure why I was there. My mother asked questions but to tell you the truth, it didn’t seem real. Nothing about that moment felt real.
My mother had already told us to be mindful of the voodoo. Yeah, ok, but why are we here? Back in the car she said that his sister claimed she hadn’t seen or heard from him in years. My mother sounded as if she didn’t believe her. That’s the last contact we had with his family. She said they didn’t care about us so we never went back. The location of her home is forever burned in my mind. I will not forget.
This next part of this entry is emotionally provocative. However, every word of it is true. It’s how my mother gained obedience from me and my sister without question.
A Mother’s Rules of Combat to Condition and Control Her Children
A simple black and white tree with branches that reach wide, up and out
open to color or satisfied with where he is at this stage of being.
A simple black and white tree ever growing, keeping his arms open to freedom and possibilities.
Will it bloom pink flowers or produce fruit in its season?
Will it stand by the water and drink its fill or
Create its place in the yard of a family to shade the loved ones inside?
It’s a simple sketch.
A simple black and white sketch.
Sometimes simple is exactly what we need.
Art Title: A Tree
Art by: Faith Magdalene Austin
Size: 9.5 x 14 on artists paper
Finish: Unsealed, unmounted, raw art
Style: Illustration, Organic
I draw trees a lot, a whole lot. Drawing trees or sunflowers is soothing for me. They’re my go to item when I’m emotional but clogged up and unable to express myself better. I think after drawing them I’m more relaxed which does allow me to either speak freely or paint with purpose.
This tree is one of my bare trees. I hardly ever draw them with leaves. I think I’m more interested in the intricacies of the branches than I am of the leaves. The bark on trees is a magnificent work of art and a nice hiding place for tiny little lives. Man, trees sustain so much life.
I’m old school, diagnosed in 1992 so I still call it MPD as well as Dissociative Identity Disorder. What ever you wish to call it one thing remains true – I’m not alone in my head.
The reason I’m writing today is because I visited a young woman who reminded me of how difficult it can be to feel as if nothing belongs solely to me. As time passed and therapy got deeper there was a decrease in the resentment I felt for constantly living as many.
Keep in mind please, that in order to develop Dissociative Identity Disorder / Multiple Personality Disorder, there must be major trauma in the child’s life. The word trauma is an important one because it doesn’t have to be abuse that triggers the extreme dissociative response. I personally know a young man who feels he first split while under going constant excruciating medical care as a child. No matter if it was long term abuse or other long term traumas, the mind will try to protect itself.
I know as a child nothing at all was mine. My body wasn’t mine, my thoughts weren’t mine, my actions were determined by what trauma was taking place. I had no freedom and no control over anything. So now I’m a multiple and still nothing is my own.
There is only one thing I desire today and that is self care. It’s Friday, that means there are a lot of one’s to be counted. These are not all in order.
One woman, one foot spa with fresh lavender and Epsom’s salt. One square of 90% dark chocolate, one glass of red wine. One small pizza, one large cat. One chick flick, I’m thinking Jane Eyre.
As the night moves on I’ll be rather relaxed so I’ll finish details on Twelve. I’ll finish details on The Last Lullaby. Slowly but surely I move through each project to its completion. By the time I reach The Last Lullaby it’ll be late, but sleep won’t come that quickly. I hope it’s easier than other times.
Growing up in a toxic household I found myself playing a role for which I never auditioned. We don’t get to choose which role we’ll play, we’re cast and then put on stage. It’s another realization of just how powerless we were as children and young adults.
I made her laugh. I looked away when that was called for. Most of all I never showed true emotion and never even knew what it was until well into my adult life. When I was a in her home I did whatever I could to survive the impossible.
A Jester or clown puts on a false face, parades around and makes a “fool” of himself to get a laugh. He distracts people from the real world around them and for just a tiny bit they forget. I hate clowns for that very reason and yet I’ve been compelled to paint them. Continue reading →
This is the full letter from the individual I affectionately call The Lighthouse of Palo Alto.
Your Honor, if it is all right, for the majority of this statement I would like to address the defendant directly.
You don’t know me, but you’ve been inside me, and that’s why we’re here today.
On January 17th, 2015, it was a quiet Saturday night at home. My dad made some dinner and I sat at the table with my younger sister who was visiting for the weekend. I was working full time and it was approaching my bed time. I planned to stay at home by myself, watch some TV and read, while she went to a party with her friends. Then, I decided it was my only night with her, I had nothing better to do, so why not, there’s a dumb party ten minutes from my house, I would go, dance like a fool, and embarrass my younger sister. On the way there, I joked that undergrad guys would have braces. My sister teased me for wearing a beige cardigan to a frat party like a librarian. I called myself “big mama”, because I knew I’d be the oldest one there. I made silly faces, let my guard down, and drank liquor too fast not factoring in that my tolerance had significantly lowered since college.
Today during physical therapy Ariel Michelle presented. I could see from a distance and tried to work my way back to solid ground.
I saw the orthopedic doctor who ordered more therapy 2x weekly for 2 more months. He wants the neck traction machine ordered for me. While I don’t desire to be in physical therapy that long, I appreciate the fact that someone recognizes that this arm is as bad as I say it is. I’ll take full advantage of the time I have there so I can benefit long after I’m released.
My blood pressure has been in the triple digits on top and bottom, that’s despite the clonidine patch which lowers my blood pressure.
It’s been a long day.
It’s time for leftover lasagna.