"The Last Reign" is in the Visionary Original Paintings gallery as well as in my Etsy shop.
This 5.5 x 8.5 mixed media piece showcases deep colors and moody lines. It is truly a Sundrip piece in that I've painted edge to edge with imagery everywhere you look.
There are masks or what some may call face shields. There are people and washes of color. Blue, gold, black, and red shape images of human figures with history written on their faces. ...continue reading →
Dr. D asked why African Americana is one of my favorite types of art. I like it because its simple. I like faceless black rag dolls and faceless black art. This little 4 x 7 piece is a simple illustration of country home life. It shows a mother and child in the garden with the flowers blooming in beautiful white all around. The mother gives her daughter a single bloom.
One of the other things I appreciate most about simple, primitive art is that I can give it my own story. Did a mother give her daughter a flower or did the woman gift her younger self? Did the younger person give the flower but the hand movement isn't shown? Was the flower given on impulse of love? Maybe it was the perfect flower for the perfect friend. In primitive art such as in "Jane's flowers Bloom," the story isn't spelled out for me in strict detail; it's hinted at and whispered through the field. ...continue reading →
Content: Spiritual abuse. Emotional and psychological abuse, homelessness, covert sexual abuse
Mother taught me that if I do the little things right I'll do the big things right. She taught me that a strong foundation must be laid but that all foundations start with a grain of sand. Their grains packed together to support materials much stronger than a grain of sand standing alone. To build up a solid foundation we must do the small things right.
My mother taught me that I have no foundation and that my presence was like a sledgehammer against her house.
My mother taught me a scripture that says, "By my God I can climb a wall" and a scripture that says, "If a tree gets cut down it will sprout again."
My mother placed walls around me I felt I could never escape. Inside those walls she did her best to root out willfulness, individualism and hope.
My mother taught me that I can only trust her and that I don't have the intelligence to live without her. She said I'd never survive out here in the world, that she alone could protect me.
She said to tell her if anyone ever touched me wrong. It was her hands around my mouth, my neck. She touched every aspect of me and left me ruptured.
My dear mother, my poor mother is food for worms. How undignified. I hate that.
Today's therapy discussion focused on family matters: mother's thorough brainwashing and effective divisive tactics, scapegoating, emotional boundaries between myself and all birth family and a recap of nightmares from a few days back. After writing this entry I was reminded of the paintings "Resilience Tree," so I included them in the entry.
I was awake all night and until around 10:30 this morning. I had my session to go over the graphically violent and blood dream about cannibals and going to a psychiatric prison for the mentally insane because I was guilty of murdering my child self, the inner child of my sister and the inner child of my brother. I'll pick up more on that topic later.
We talked about the complete lack of protection from my mother: physical, emotional and spiritual responsibilities were ignored or out right withheld.
So you have a room divider meant for family photos but you'd rather do something artsy with it, try filling the spaces with original art. In my room divider I've added such original works as the encaustic mixed media painting called "Fall Tree". Beautiful blues are displayed acrylic painting in "Abstract Waves". I've also showcased original watercolor paintings such as"Rich" and "Hush Be Still".
Can you spot "Bruised Reed II" or the painting "She Flows"?
I've fallen in love with "Blue Wonder" and "Altered #7" so I framed them until they find a permanent place to live. Also on the wall is "Landfall II" , "Purple Tree" and my favorite painting of all time, "Little White Dress." Little White Dress is digital art created forever ago with my computer mouse.
The below gallery shows a few paintings up close. In a different entry I'll discuss and show better images of the painting "Nesting Place," a beautiful orange, gold and turquoise painting of birds and flowers. You can spot it here on top of "Nesting Place II" ...continue reading →
If spelling is a life test then I'm failing miserably and autocorrect is helping that failure at an alarming rate. I read over some of my entries and was like, what? I didn't use that word, that's a totally different word. Curses to you autocorrect! See in my eyes the anger, see me wave my fist in fury.
I'm loving every second of abstract art. This should be a fun year. My art goals for 2017 now show on my sidebar.
Blue is a color I use quite often in my art and more recently turquoise has made it's permanent mark. I've seen it so much that I'm beginning to think about its use, what does it mean to me, what does it symbolize and will it, like other colors, keep its meaning over time?
My page called Art Therapy talks about color choices and art symbols specific to me. Off the top of my head I would place turquoise next to blue and purple symbols. I see it as a color of strength, of depth, honor, birth rights.
Subject: PTSD from chronic illness, suicide comments, shame, on the upturn, not feeling positive
I wonder if it's possible for a patient to have PTSD after going through several physical pain experiences? This chronic illness torture makes me want to slice myself from navel to nose and and climb right out of your skin because my mind just can't take another second of the current pain.
I fear it. I fear the next flare up. I want to say that while on the up turn from this flare that I'll take advantage of each day I have where my pain is baseline, but I don't feel all gung-ho, lets get back to life, jump in the deep end. I'm not going to jump up and down and proclaim, "I'm happy to be alive!" Excuse me if I don't celebrate surviving that. I could use some nachos but I'll skip the party. I do feel refreshed after such good sleep since Tuesday evening. I feel a lot better but.......... sigh...........I'm shell shocked......and I'm angry.
I did not expect this painting to ever be chosen, to be taken home. I couldn't believe when I got the email telling me of the sale for "Ariel Knew it Would Rain."
She's art that's difficult to look at because, though she is silent, her face tells you everything. What use does one have for a few words when they are the picture worth a thousand? I'm amazed and touched that she was purchased, and humbled too.
Sometimes I am so raw with my art. It is clear I'm not a happy camper. It's clear the painting came from pain. When I do that I worry about saying exactly what the painting was about but recently I've taken more risks and just saying, hey, this is what I was thinking, this is what I felt before, during and after. It's a risk I'll continue to take because with art my voice is most authentic.
Sometimes Dr. D looks at my work and says, "This is disturbing".
So I say, "Thank you."
I'm more intrigued than disturbed. I notice all the commotion in each piece. Even though people are crammed together they're not connected, they're having their own experience....and so it goes with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Each has his own view of what's going on. Some are more in touch with 'reality' than others, but all feel disconnected, separate.
I feel like when I walk outside people can see I'm trying to keep myself in the here and now. I think they can see on my face that I'm fractured
At times it feels as though there's a swoosh of air that passes over my head, forcing it to bow. I hold it in my hands and rock. The more i rock the further away I get from the here and now, but part of it feels good, to just hide my face and rock back and forth. I close my eyes, block everyone out and rock. I can't stay that way too long.....