This drawing I made yesterday feels disturbing. It’s kind of insect-like, yet has an ‘as above, so below’ feel to it. But the grey half is different to the colourful half. It’s like the colour has sucked itself out to exist for a while as colour and will eventually return. The colour is dancing, going, “I am here!” It is attached to the grey thing, is still part of it, but has, briefly, taken another form. It feels separate but isn’t. I think it’s about being human.
In therapy this week I allowed my inner 5 year old child to paint and she painted this abstract piece (and told a gruesome story about a butterfly and an ant). As she painted I realised I never liked making figurative images (except cartoon faces, which I drew loads of when I was a little older). I loved abstract art. I loved looking at the colours and the textures of the paint. I always have.
This drawing began as a mindfulness exercise to soothe me after stretching my comfort zone. I like the feel of the paper and the sound of the pen making dots. As I look at it I realise it’s a reflection of all the things I’ve been thinking about lately – spirituality, resonance, parts therapy, to name a few. More Than The Sum of Our Parts is for sale. If you’re interested in it or any other art I have for sale, email me.
This is my latest pigment pen drawing, Turning Over A New Leaf, which is for sale – email me if you’d like more information. My research into the phrase, “turning over a new leaf,” highlighted the assumption that often accompanies the intention to turn over a new leaf. Here’s a definition from Collins:
I feel so excited to share my new style of painting with you! Sunset Teardrop is an amalgamation of my non-verbal responses to childhood trauma and to the awe of sunsets. How strange that these two should come together in one painting. Or perhaps it’s not so strange…
I had an emotional flashback on Monday. I had a deadline for an expression of interest for an art project yesterday. I feel wiped out today. An emotional flashback results in my body going into shock. There are no visual memories, which is why I sometimes find it confusing to understand – seeing is believing, right? It is purely a bodily reaction to a past trauma. My extremities go very pale and I shiver. It’s when I start shivering that I think, ‘wait, what’s going on?’
I tapped into a teenage part of me whilst painting dots. I was feeling lonely. One of the things I love about painting is the meditative aspect. I can sit and be aware of thoughts, feelings and sensations without the need to act on them because I’ve dedicated myself to the task of painting dots. I first became aware of this choice in relation to thoughts when I painted Constellation in 2009. It was a revelation! I don’t have to act out every thought and impulse!