I told Dr. D I feel creatively constipated, and I do. I'm struggling with this painting. Her dress isn't finished. It'll eventually be a little girl in a red dress ...continue reading "The Child’s Face. Depression Rising."
The Little More Girl has more hope and more ways to grow than she ever realized.
I think part of my happy clap is the frog green dress she's wearing. I also do a happy clap for pink and purple. Add all three and I'm thrilled to bits. ...continue reading "The Little More Girl"
I tend to work on many pieces at one time, including this little one here. She was created by scribbling loops on the page, erasing in areas then connecting lines to picture this little girl. The other drawing in this entry was created by the same process of loops, lines and pearls.
Sketchbook art in watercolor.
She grew up with more than Lupus. She grew up with the ability to imagine and do more than anyone thought she could.
If I became too annoyed with myself concerning my lack of focus and the many half started paintings, I'd be too discouraged to finish anything. I'm going with the flow. I put a few more lines to one drawing then work with another. I add paint to one piece then add the last thing, my signature.
I sometimes assembly line work with one color. I lay out 4 or 5 paintings and add the color to each. I let them dry then do the same thing to the next batch.
My way of working can be frustrates me. I think I'm not getting anywhere, that is until I put the finishing touches on 5 art pieces in one day. That's when I realize my focus is off a bit and I feel scattered, but I'm still finishing artwork. Recently, finishing art has taken longer but I'm willing to accept that too, especially since I am finishing art. I have four sketch journals I could think of as failed finishes or a head start to the finish line. I choose the latter.
9/22/17-9:13 pm EST
Guess what was bartered today? Guess who gets a new home? Red Balloon! Good choice.
The African American boy with blue accents around his eyes stands tall in front of a rainbow background. There's a faint show of a crown of small, round lights circling young Sam's head. Open the detailed image and look closely, you'll see it.
Your light is still there, even if other's can't readily see it. So when it glows only above your head just remember, your light shines to guide you, not others.
Art Title: Sam's Red Balloon
Size: 8.5 x 5.5
Media: watercolor, 98 lb paper
Finish: unsealed, unmounted
Style: African Americana, Black Folk
Content: Self image. Sexual abuse w/ frank speech at times. Discussion of the mother forcing a gender role for the purpose of abuse, hatred of men, degrading women, the mother's sexuality. It's a heavy entry, one difficult to write.
We started off going over art pieces in my sketchbook. We talked about which color I've used most and changes in how I depict figures. One art piece not posted was drawn to signify how pervasive sexual abuse was in most aspects of my young life.
Dr. D asked why I add heavy markings below the eyes. I said its all about color significance and my own symbolism. (see art therapy gallery) When I put blue under the eyes I'm trying to say that no matter what I'm going through or how negative I feel about myself, I understand on a different level that these thoughts are based on lies. I'm able to better see that my self image isn't based on reality but abuses as a youth and young adult. ...continue reading "Therapy Review: Identity. Gender. The Mother’s Sexuality"
colors based on what I use most but on the other side I put colors I need more work with. For the most part, I enjoy watercolors but at times I swear it off saying I'll never, ever try this media again.
There was a mishap that took place that required damage control. You know those water paint pens? Well, see, no one told me I was supposed to put only water in there. I thought I was to fill the barrel with ink or paint so that's what I did. Later on I saw in blog entries that they were not used that way. I tried to clean them up as well as possible but it didn't turn out so great. I was able to clean and save one barrel but all the brush tops. ...continue reading "Sam’s Red Balloon and the Great Pen Incident"
As you know, art without a wall of its own is sad, but today "Jane's Flowers Bloom" was adopted. To celebrate this momentous occasion is the legendary Phil Collins singing, "In the Mail Tonight".
Art Title: Jane's Flowers Bloom
Art by: Faith Magdalene Austin
Media: Colored pencil, ink, card stock
Size: 4 x 7 inches
Finish: Acrylic seal, signed on the front and back, unmounted.
Style: Primitive, African Americana, Ethnic Folk Art
Well I remembah, I remembah orange flurries, flurries, flurries
How could I ever forget
It's the first bloom,
the white moon
and an intimate moment.
But I know the reason why you kept your purse closed up,
Oh no you can't resist me.
Well the love it shows
and the heart it rose
with a flower from you to me
(enter awesome drum solo)
I can feel it coming in the mail tonight, hold on
I've been waiting for a wall of all my own, oh Lord, oh Lord
I'll be coming in the mail tonight oh Lord
for a wall
of my own. oh Lord (end remake)
Me: Thank you so much Phil for coming to Sundrip to sing that classic song; a song for all time. What do you think Mary Jane, studio cat?
Mary Jane: That song chokes me up every time. He kills it on the drums. Amazing job Phil. Thanks for coming.
Me: Thanks to everyone who has given original art the only thing it's ever wanted, a wall of its own.
Is there wall space in your home? Can you open your heart to grant the wish of original art? If so, please visit my Available Art galleries as well as my Etsy shop. Contact me and we'll work together to stamp out homeless art.
Faith Magdalene Austin
Mary Jane Austin
Studio Cat and Quality Control Manager
Content: The comment option has been turned off. 11:06 pm EST a man on meth and drunk upset a child and mother. Threat of violence to the mother and child. I yelled at them as the child screamed, "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy."
If I don't get this out of my head right now I won't be in any shape to finish the remainder of my evening in peace...and I do plan on spending it peacefully.
I'm shaking inside. I was in the restroom and the window was open. I heard a child screaming and crying "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." The child was in a lot of distress. It was an emotional call not a tantrum. He was emotional and screaming over and over, "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." I heard the mother tell the little one to be quiet because its late and people are sleeping. (not). He quieted down a little but then a man came up and started cursing and screaming at the woman. He called her all kinds of things while the child still cried. Things got even more heated and louder and louder to where it was going to explode into violence. I know that sound just before tipping point. I know that sound!
Both parents were yelling and screaming. I couldn't see them. It was too dark. As things got heated to the point where I feared someone would get hurt I just started yelling out my window, "Stop! Stop!" I just kept repeating it. When there was a moment of silence, and I mean a moment, I yelled to them, "For the baby, please stop!" There was only a fraction of a breath before they started again. It was like they realized someone else was in their world but then they started right back up so I started yelling again. Then it was just silent so I said (I didn't yell it) I said, "For the baby, please, please stop." The man had to get in a few more words then they went their separate ways with him still running his mouth. The last insults included the stuff about him being drunk and on meth. ...continue reading "Stop! Stop! Stop!"
I posted a photo on my FB page about PTSD but later when I visited the page it linked back to, I erased it. There's probably valuable information on the page so I do not fault it for that. I removed the link because of the memes and quotes....and how they landed this hour of the night. In other words, they didn't do anything wrong......it's just hard right now. I'm ranting, anxious, triggered and tired.
I completely object to the idea of showing PTSD as pretty, the same way I am disgusted by people showing Lupus in a dreamy way. I assure you, when I'm in pain I don't think about purple butterflies with trailing light. When I'm up this late I don't think about anything other than running from the brain vomit produced by PTSD.
I've been up too long, and I'm mad....at everything. I can't get myself to go to bed. It's hot and sticky. My brain won't shut off. Why do I only think to take something for the anxiety when I'm far gone, like this?
I hate this world. I've thought recently of just walking away and living quietly in some place...who knows where......just some place. I'm weary, worn out and appalled by the human condition. I'm appalled by the lack of reason, the abundance of openly hating one another and purposeful harm in action and words. It's like there's blatant behavior to inflame and keep communities unsettled. From top to bottom people seem to want nothing more than to upset and destroy each other. It's hard to watch.
I want no part of loving anyone....or hating them. ...continue reading "PTSD Isn’t Pretty"
The world moves forward but I feel stuck.
I can't call my aunts or my sister or cousins to share the grief, to encourage or be encouraged. I often feel alone with this. I feel broken. I've vomited out my heart. I no longer have one.
I tread waters of criticism when I say I can think of a hundred people who should take his place in a coffin. I have a hard time thinking that he's in a box decaying. My brother!!!! My boy is decaying!!! Really? Somewhere I read about a woman blogger whose mother died. She talked about how undignified death is. I can't remember which blogger it was, but she talked about how her mother's autopsy discussed her in ounces and pounds. To think there was an autopsy done on my boy is mentally terrifying. You cut up my boy? You weighed him like a pound of meat, sewed him up, put him on display, locked the lid then put dirt over it. You left him to the bugs. I'm mad that such barbarous acts were perpetrated against my loved one.
It's confusing and huge. It weighs down my shoulders and makes my eye lids heavy. I slightly drift to the left and rock just a little, back and forth. This death, this self murder, this selfish act haunts with a force powerful enough to freeze me in my tracks. ...continue reading "Grief: Didn’t you know this would break us? 2"