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Fear - Therapy Discussion
I’m feeling kind of closed off, isolating a bit I’d say. The last two week watching friends struggle has been difficult but then there’s my stuff too. I don’t know, I feel like I want to shut the PC off and just go to bed.
In therapy Dr. D and I again discussed the picture I drew of myself as a little girl showing what I might have felt like had I been afraid. We talked about how I don’t really remember being afraid. Now that I think about it I can remember 3 specific incidents where I was afraid but mostly I remember being angry, feeling like a deformed misfit in that family. I remember a lot of pain but I don’t remember feeling a lot of fear. I felt sad, alone, hopeless but afraid isn’t something that comes to mind when I think of my childhood and early adulthood. Perhaps I was too busy thinking instead of feeling, planning to stay one step ahead of her instead of feeling. Well, I felt but I guess fear didn’t show up too often. I felt ashamed to be me. I felt disappointed in myself for not being able to please my mother. I felt ashamed of being what I felt was a disobedient and wild daughter. But fear? I don’t know, not that often I don’t think, not that I recognized anyway.
Color Outside The Lines
A comment came in on Redbubble from a fellow artist who says that my artwork has a sweetness to it and that I must be at peace with the world. I’ve gotten comments like that before, saying that my artwork is joyful. Someone went as far as to call it refreshing. I suppose it’s always confused me that anyone would see such a thing in my art seeing as how I don’t experience a lot of true joy or true peace in the world. I got to thinking about it though and replied to the gentleman that since I don’t find a lot of peace in this what is left to do but create peace through art?
I often paint fantasy worlds with high colour and lots of movement. Paintings like Dreamscape (shown in this entry) Teach Us How To Grow and Looking Forward are good examples of fantasy worlds I’ve painted but they are nothing like my personal world inside. I suppose they are an expression of a world I’d rather see and experience.
Most of my artwork has some touch of my past in it, some issue relating to individuality, rebellion, bucking the system and going outside the norm. I express a fragile state of mind, a humbled existence, fear in the form of colour and silence in the form of dark swirling lines. Unless I specifically said, this means this and this means this no one would ever imagine how much healing work is done in my artwork. It just comes off mostly as joyful and sweet. I don’t begrudge that though.
Even still, everything from Willow Child to Rainbow Child to Longing Flower and even Raindrops has some emotional significance, some healing angle to it. Then there are images where I refuse to pay attention to 
the normal way of composing an art piece. Images like Face It and Eye Sore are perfect examples of chaos, a clear reflection of life inside my head. Looking at the painting She’s Green depicts just how out of place I feel in the world, how alien-like, how homesick I feel amongst strangers. I’m pleased that people like her and enjoy the colour. I’m pleased that some have said she’s adorable and that I’ve sold a few copies of her. But never have I said until now that she’s green because she’s different, she’s a foreigner and a misfit.
On paper and in Photoshop I can go places in my imagination that I dare not go other times. I’m not too good at fantasizing. I was always told that it’s wrong, that it leads to sexual thoughts which are wrong. So when I hear the word fantasy I feel a slight sting and want to retreat to a reality that I hate.
As a child I was told I was too smart to play as the other children did. I was told I was too smart for TV, too smart for toys, too smart for anything a child does. Children use their imagination but mine was held back or directed and molded according to someone else’s idea of what I should dream. I find it difficult now to day dream or fantasize. But I’m taking chances and choosing when I want reality and when I’d rather slip off into a world of fantasy.
I’m learning to colour outside the lines.
Me
Color Outside The Lines-Sunday, April 06, 2008
How Are You Today?
I haven’t seen my therapist in about two weeks but I’ll see him in just a few hours. I planned to do nothing much in the way of therapy and I think I’ve accomplished that. I certainly didn’t expect to get sick (who does). I planned to bum, paint, hang out, chat and mess around. Of course stuff comes up cause who really gets a chance to take a break from their healing process? When “stuff” popped up I kicked into the art therapy side of the healing process. This is pretty much all the therapy I’ve done in the last 2 weeks.
Walking into his office should be interesting. I have to wonder if I’ll recognize him. Sometimes I do, sometimes he has to approach me to let me know he’s the one I’m seeing that day. I know why I’m there but I’ve gotta try and place who I’m there to see. The first five minutes of therapy are the most uncomfortable. He asks how we’re doing. We say fine then everyone plays reverse musical chairs. It seems everyone in side scatters and the one left sitting has to face the music. We scatter so fast. There’s no telling who will be there. There’s very little sense in planning for therapy discussions because of our tendency for flight. If there’s something he needs to know it sure as heck better get written down because by the time we walk through his door we’ve done the revolving door thing. We’ve switched so much it could make us dizzy. By the time we take the short walk to the sofa we’ve more than likely switched again. Sitting down doesn’t stop the panic and running away. But about 5 min in the loser of musical alters “gets” to talk. That is unless Robert shows up. That’s when the whole “how are you” “I’m fine” BS gets skipped. He has to be out before we get there for that to happen. He’ll go right in and say, ‘Hey, lets skip the pleasantries all right? They’re just a formality. I’d rather not do it.” He’ll then go right into what he has to say.
The question, “how are you” really is a stupid one. I mean come on, how am I? Really? After all your schooling you still ask that question? Asking that at the beginning of the session is in fact a formality, it’s polite, it gets things rolling. Therapists know we’re going to give the same hollow untruthful answer. “I’m fine” or “I’m alive.” I suppose if my therapist can put up with never being sure which patient he’ll treat in a given session I can put up with that stupid question. I think I’ve just reached an agreement with my therapist. I suppose I’ll clue him in on this agreement sometime. I just have to figure out who will lose at musical alters. That person can tell him about our agreement.
“The Darker Me” by Milwaukee age 12
“Earthly” by Joan of Arc age 28
“Low Bloom” by Maureen age 19
“Thinker” by Joan of Arc age 28
“Walled Man” by Milwaukee age 12 (This piece is old but still meaningful for us. The whole point of Walled Man is that some of us will fight tooth and nail to make this life worth living but others feel defeated and have stopped trying.)
I Feel
Angry Alone
Invisible Insignificant
Abandoned Foolish
Fake Afraid
Agitated Worried
Regret Shame
Rejected Mournful
Addicted Plagued
Evil Wicked
Sick Worthless
Crazy Broken
Disgusted Lost
Anxiety and Art Work
I can not stand this fucking anxiety. My goodness. All night last night I had anxiety attacks. I wasn’t sure what was happening. I thought my blood sugar was low or something because I hadn’t eaten much but with the way I was breathing, the way my heart felt and all I realized I was having an anxiety attack. It’s been awhile since this level of anxiety has hit me and it’s been awhile since it stayed this long. I at least get a break but this seems constant.
I went to the store today for food and had to leave in the middle just to get some air. I stepped outside for a sec then came back in. Argh!!! It seems I can do a bunch around the house and not require a nap but you let me leave the house for an hour or two and I sleep like I’ve been up for days or something.
Sleep……yup, every so enjoyable. There has been no respite from the sister dreams. That of course is the main source of the continued anxiety. Cutting has been on my mind but I’ve picked up a pen and at times a paintbrush instead. At least my hands are letting me do that. It’s been a very long time since I had a paintbrush in my hand. The picture wasn’t pretty (disturbing actually) but it felt good to paint with something other than my computer mouse. Since I left therapy last Wednesday up until today I’ve doodles and painted nearly non-stop. Thank goodness I have plenty of sketch pads.
The drawings are in the exact order they were drawn in.
Art Therapy - Changing Memories
The tag line that goes with this piece called The Brighter Side is: With a little more sun and a few more flowers she may just very well follow her path to the brighter side.
One of the things I like so much about art therapy is that I can take a memory that’s not pleasant and make it into something else. When I re-write my dreams to come out as the victor instead of the victim it gives me a bit of power over them. When I paint the scribbles I do in my art journal I go from a piece that makes me sad to a brand new, separate nice feeling image. It helps a lot to see this little girl go from what she was to where she is now. For me this little one in “The Brighter Side” looks more like a little girl with a cold, maybe she’s down or something and trudging her little path but I don’t look at her with sadness. I look at her and go, awwww in a cute kinda way.
I may not be able to change all of my memories or art therapy pieces into an “awww” type painting but I can some of them. This is a good thing.
Therapy Drawings
We talked about how I see myself. The image I posted a bit ago about me in a flashback he said was a powerful image that shows what it still feels like years after being away from her. The first image shows a very full and confused head, the second I explained has hands as hair. It depicts the open season it was to touch me, to get inside my head and make sure I didn’t ever think myself worthy of anything but pain. The third image is certainly a DID drawing as is the fourth. The third one called “Survivor’s Song” is more of a lamentation, a dirge than a sing along song. The fourth image is called “Three of Me”. Two of the heads have their eyes closed. One has them open but she still is denied the gift of sight. Each head attaches to one neck and then springs off into a vine which leads to a flower where the heart should be.
No One and The Therapist
I tell you this so you’ll tell me I’m not a bad person. I tell you so you’ll make it better and make it go away. I tell you out loud so that it’ll shame me and remind me to keep my head down, so I’ll remember not to ever make a fool of myself and consider myself equal. I’m looking off to the side with these words spilling out of my mouth. The words were not mine but yet they were and they rolled off my tongue naturally, naturally like a broken gas pipe spilling explosive fuels into once breathable air. I tell you these things because I’m scared of myself and of what I see in my head. I want you to take them from me but I know I have to remember to never think myself worthy of equality.
That’s absurd he said. I think you’re worthy. Bull shit I thought, don’t you understand I have to heal from this but we can’t cross the line that makes me a fool, that makes me forget that I have to bow down, serve others and keep my place in the line of things. Doesn’t he understand that?
Art As Therapy
I was surprised to find out two of my paintings were featured on Redbubble. The first was a version of Face It and the second painting is Lady Hope. She got featured yesterday. This so so cool. You can see my featured moment here.
Strange I know but above being happy about getting featured I was more pleased with the fact that a talented artist that I truly admire favorited Face It on my Flickr page. I like this artist because of how he paints people. One particular piece shows a nude lady standing in what I call a ghost town. She’s standing stark naked in the middle of town with no one in sight yet she’s holding a gun straight out still trying to protect herself. Now, this is of course my personal spin on the painting. His stuff lets you do that, spin your own meaning. But when I look at this painting I see a woman that is exposed yet isolated. To onlookers it’s like, well why is she naked and why is she holding a gun when she is the only person in the painting? There are no other people in desert town. Perhaps someone is standing just outside of the frame? I figure she is and has always been in protective mode even when there is no real cause for that level of alarm she’s still at that level of alarm. Louie’s paintings are quite vivid, quite detailed. I hope when people look at them they look with the depth they demand. So, even though I was featured on Redbubble (twice in fact) I was so honored that Louir liked a piece of artwork from a small time Indiana girl. Now that is enough to make a girl smile.
The two pieces that were featured are both art therapy pieces. The pieces with the most meaning to us were the one’s chosen but it got us to thinking. I wondered if people will start to long for the romantic and exotic type figures Joan is known for or the floral paintings Maureen is known for. Since Robert has been out there haven’t been too many of those. I doubt that there will be. I wonder if I’ll scare people off the art blog because of how different his art is from the art of other Pride members. We did paint Angel the other day which has a slightly different feel to it than our other works but it is certainly not Robert’s artwork.
The stuff he’s been through reflects in his work. The busy, full, constantly moving, high texture images he creates accurately show what’s in his head and how he feels. Dr. D asked what Robert’s life was like. I didn’t know how to explain the howling, the incessant howling. That’s how he use to do, kind of as a way to ward off but also to bring others closer. Robert’s howl was quite mournful. He needed someone to hear him but he was scared to death, scared of himself and of others. In his artwork he is able to relieve some of the pain of his past.
Robert is the main one in our system that experienced torture by the hands of our mother but the hands you see in the picture above are not of concern to the nested masked figure. They’re protecting her, guarding her so that she can grow, she has a reason to hope. She’s several different colours but not divided as to which is her true identity. The mask in this image though, it’s not like the others. She has no identity yet, she hasn’t decided who she is. There’s nothing to withhold because she hasn’t grown to that point yet. She can only hope that life will give her a chance to find out. She is being guarded, watched over closely so she can flourish, so she has a real chance at bursting forth. Notice the rays that come down and flood over her. In every single way this woman child is nurtured. In the beginning we called her Guarded but the title changed to reflect the more positive side of the painting. Now we call her Lady Hope.
Austin
An Artist’s Temper Tantrum
I know I’m feeling pretty cocky confident about my art when I start throwing little artist temper tantrums. Why am I cocky confident? Well, I did the piece called Face It, that’s it right here…yup, that’s the one and then I went to have it printed off. What happened? I sold it right there in the store. Okay so then when I was all high on myself I tried to get more prints but success wasn’t meant to be (much like dinner but lets not beat a dead horse okay?) If I were the type to cause a scene in Kinkos this is how that tantrum would have played out,
Moronic non-artistic Kinkos worker: I’m sorry Madam Austin but I’m unable to print this for you in the superior quality your artwork deserves?
Madam Austin: What? What?
Moronic non-artistic Kinkos worker: Please calm down, watch your blood pressure.
Madam Austin: I didn’t have high blood pressure until I came in here. What is wrong with you people? Don’t you know who I am?
Moronic non-artistic Kinkos worker: But I do. I’ve seen your masterpieces
Madam Austin: SILENCE! Silence your insolence and get me my prints, pronto!
Moronic non-artistic Kinkos worker: Yes, right away?
Madam Austin: I can’t work like this. I feel stifled.
Moronic non-artistic Kinkos worker: Are you constipated?
Madam Austin: I said stifled not CONSTIPATED.
Moronic non-artistic Kinkos worker: Oh, I just figured with your head up your ars there’s no way you could have meant stifled. You had to mean constipated.
Madam Austin: SILENCE!
Moronic non-artistic Kinkos worker thinks to herself, “Yup, that kind of irritability is a sure sign of head up her butt constipation. I’ve seen it in other artists.”
See, since I’m not one to cause a scene I just dealt with the worker who was surely PMSing. I even asked him if he was then said, “cause you seem to have some serious attitude issues right now.” The look on his face is unforgettable.
See, since I’m not one to cause a scene I just dealt with the worker who was surely PMSing. I even asked him if he was. The look on his face is unforgettable.
The painting isn’t a joyful one for certain but there are people that kinda like drab artwork. I gots nutin’ against the depressed though. On a slightly more serious note, I’m not sure if anyone has noticed but the theme of our artwork is different than before. This change isn’t me (Joan) going outside my comfort zone but Robert displaying his artwork on the art blog.
Themes change depending on what alter is out. Maureen is totally florals, I do mostly faces and figure type pieces and Robert does the highly textured figures as well as pen and ink non-objectives. Since Robert has been out quite a bit and feels comfortable doing so he decided to pop up some artwork on the art blog. It was quite a boost of confidence for him to sell a piece too. Can’t help but smile on that one!!! I like his stuff. I think it’s kinda cool. The one we sold is the one we did right after therapy in the cab ride home. Speaking of therapy, I have to get ready for my session tomorrow/later today. Sheshhh…it’s 1AM. I gotta hit the sack.
Joan of Arc, constipated thrower of fits and seller of artwork
Temper Tantrums
Wednesday, November 07, 2007-12:25AM EST
