MY SPIRIT, MY CASTLE

The men in my life have just left for their usual Sunday game of golf and I'm thankfully allowed some space and time to focus on my paintings. I spoke to an old school friend a few days ago, a very talented artist and she told me that she went back to work after only a few months as she found the isolation of being an artist oppressive.

Yes, it can get extremely lonely as you are entirely caught up in ones self, in ones own world. You can get so absorbed by your creation, you are surrounded by your own thoughts and imaginings where the colours of your mind cannot be shared and the textures of your heart can only be felt by you. Although it's a lonely and somewhat unhealthy place to be in terms of the necessary social interaction, its a valued and protected space. Just for a little while, you have time to simply 'be', and attune yourself to the essence of who you are...a free-thinking, creative and emotive creature. For me personally, it is a sacred time, to think, to process life with all its joys and dramas and express them a little in my journals and art. I crave this time to myself.

I've yet to come across an artist that enjoys someone sharing their paintbrushes and paints. Depending on the duration and type of company, I too, can get really irritated when my studio is shared by non-artists who are simply inquisitive or want to have step-by-step explanations while I work, of my reasoning as to why I am using a certain technique or colour etc. They do not have the same rationale, spirit, thought process, history, motive, mood or temperament. Explanation is wasted as it is bound to be in conflict with their own opinions. Not a single living human being is the same....regardless of parentage, genetics, seemingly like-mindedness............we are all innately unique!

Speaking to a friend yesterday, I realised that this can apply to everything in life. (and once again I was amazed at the timing of this lesson). We were eventually discussing one of her paintings which she had just painted over and each of us were looking to see what 'picture' came through the light overlay. I saw something and she saw something else.....when we differed on where we saw heads and arms, she said "well its my painting and it doesn't matter what you see". I laughed and thought, 'How true'...about life in general. No, it doesn't matter what anyone else sees or thinks.

There is no prototype in humanity. The story of the Tower of Babel possibly shouldn't be read in the literal sense but in the broader sense. What were Gods motives for creating people who could not understand each other...so much so that they all went their own ways and formed their own nations...nations who eventually waged wars because of 'being different'. So why??

Why is it so important to have the same abilities, the same knowledge. Is it because we are forever on a quest to find a 'kinship'/like-mindedness/familiarity in those around us to simply give us a sense of self? Why is it so important that we need to label someone as something? Is it because we are attempting to validate our own lives or find excuses for our own short-comings by finding fault with our fellow man? There's so much that I do not know or do not understand ....about a lot of things and right now, I'm wondering if it even matters!! My ignorance is someone else's knowledge and vice versa. We were not graced with divine knowledge. The Lord alone knows everything, understands everything.

The bible talks of everyone being given a gift...one that is specially chosen for us. It may take a while to discover what it is and then a whole lot of grace to be able to use it .... but I think therein lies our blessings..our peace and ultimately our salvation.

PORTCHIE

Portchie is South Africa's, and in fact, I think the African continents, highest earning, living artist.

I met this quiet, humble man around two or three years ago, while he was preparing (painting) for an exhibition at the Alice Gallery, close to where I live. A large, very focused but friendly man, who was quiet happy to chat while he worked. His name comes from the time when his father ran a fruit and veg store. He was a chunky kid and he was called Porchie by (I think) the local Portuguese community.

Born in 1963, he grew up in a small Free State town called Tweeling, and eventually graduated with a B-Com degree from Stellenbosh University. He began painting as a hobby in 1991 and in 1994 had a solo exhibition where all 100 pieces were all sold. He has since had 57 solo exhibitions, locally and overseas.

Watching him was such an education for me, especially as my style, genre and medium, is so very different to his. His style is full of movement, colour, simplicity, I think, pretty much in keeping with his early childhood.

He arrives at the gallery with boxes and boxes of acrylic paint...a brand not available to any old 'Joe Blog', but which he especially chooses for its high pigment level and quality. Honestly, I have never seen such bright and vivid colours and I think this could be the one thing, other than his very nieve and unique art style, that sells his work. He squeezes copious amounts of paint on a small square 'pallet' (which is actually a small canvas board which he then uses for his final painting at the end of the day) and methodically slaps on paint, creating as he goes. He told me that he does have a clear vision of what he is going to do before he starts...and this is obvious while watching him....almost asif he also pre-envisioned each brush stroke, and slowly but surely, this picture enfolds. No sooner has he put the complete picture down, (which could be up to 1.5x1.5m) then he starts another!! Depending on the size, he could finish up to 8 pieces per day! His sculptures as equally as popular and normally are the first things to be sold at his exhibitions.

I have never really appreciated his style, simply because I have been somewhat 'closed up' in my own. But as with Vincent Van Gogh, who I honeslty didnt appreciate at all, I have slowly began to appreciate, not only his colourfull art, but his ability to market himself by simply MAKING it work.......possibly because I too am evolving as an artist....and as a person.

He BELIEVES in himself. He also believes, as is truth, that there is no such thing as 'right' or 'wrong' art but that the secret lies in its originality.

Vincent Van Gogh ....hmmmmm..... Listening to the words from the song 'Vincent' ...... beautiful and very apropriate words.......almost asif it was written for a dear friend.

It made me wonder:- If you could give your friends and loved ones a single song, which would epitomise them or their lives, .....Which one would it be?????

This is Molly

Ok, so this is Molly.

I'm not a mushy, gushy puppy-hugger, but I do love animals....so shoot me for putting a bit of worthless smarm on my blog.

My eldest daughter and her boyfriend are busy nesting and arrived home with this cute little 'miniature' (my eye) Dachshund...and Lord, yes, she is the cutest almost-human pup in the world.

We were totally un-prepared for this little whirlwind but she has succeeded in manipulating every one's heart-strings...even our male Malawi domestics walk around with her tucked under their arms! If you suddenly discover you have a seventh button on your jersey, look carefully and you will see that its actually a shiny little black nose, ....she dives under the covers and settles into a ball so fast that you don't have the time to think; "dog+bed=no................." and there she stays!

Its ridiculous actually! How on earth can ticks, fleas, worms, mud and hair suddenly become so utterly unimportant?

ALWAYS BUZZZZZZY

I've been busy with three paintings and about to start a fourth...pretty much how I read.....all over the place to accommodate 'space' and circumstances....scattered soul that I am!!!

I spend a lot of time in my studio on my own but have two artist friends who I try and commit to at least one day a week (both delightful fruitcakes) and that normally entails packing a car full of easels, paints and canvasses (or vice-versa)...normally taking the smaller ones which I'm working on for the sake of ease.

Both of them have (understandably) a very different style and technique and both of them inspire me in a very unique way, with the result, my paintings, although still projecting my own uniqueness, shows obvious variants in keeping with the persona and spirit of the person I'm painting with. On speaking to them, this is apparently also the case with them too. Interesting for me, there's a lot of laughter and play with the one and a more serious intensity with the other, which impacts on the colours, brushes and brush-strokes that I use.

I have been invited to exhibit my six remaining paintings from the last exhibition at the Brompton Oratory in London which I took part in in 2009,.... again this July...which includes my 'Last Supper" painting. When I look at them, I cringe...my art has evolved over the last two years in that the word "art" itself, means something different to me. I believe its more of a mental and emotional evolution from within however. Happily, the interest in my painting also seems to have altered somewhat ...by all accounts, and I'm realy hoping and praying that it results in a financial change....sheesh!!!! Let positivity and goodwill prevail.

As with everything else in my life, my art is forever changing and I'm delighted to go with whatever is up for the day. I'm hungry for new methods and experiences which will help me grow and develope as an artist, afterall, learning is always an on-going and exciting process and so, so nessesary.

FINDING THE LITTLE GIRL INSIDE

My elderly parents are staying with us for a few weeks. I realised, that every time they've come and stay with us, there's a different dynamic..not in terms of the usual, that of having a third generation under one roof as it were, but a deepening understanding all the way round..a strengthened tolerance, (possibly borne of the gradual maturing of family members and of the slow realization of transience of life and with it the need to appreciate it) the need to bridge gaps, a need to hear, to be with, to appreciate.


All the older women in our family were victims of sexual abuse by a close family member with the consequence that every one of us have battled with some or other 'demon'...and subsequent children have become the victims in some way too . I am now speaking about this openly for the first time, as over the past few years, I have become profoundly aware that our family is not the only family to have gone through this terrible scourge, but many, many others have too.


My parents and aunts and cousins..... were, or rather ,in some cases ARE, part of the 'silent generation'..where it was 'best' not to ever mention it but 'just get over it'. In a sense, yes, we all did get on with our lives, some of us perhaps being perceived as managing 'better' than others.

But, I believe, the subconscious mind is very much part of the conscious mind ...the latter just suppresses the former out of a sense of survival.

Flashbacks and triggers have plagued me, sometimes quietly creeping in and subtly producing a vaguely anti-social, yet (by modern social standards) a response which could be acceptable, given an academic excuse or label, rendering it almost unnoticeable in fact....or it has produced a response which not only turns my world upside down, but those of all that care about me. Still, and even more so, the subconscious will work hard to protect, to cover-up, to fight back.....producing an unending cycle of unbelievable pain, and all the while, the true source is never dealt with.


The pain is just a bi-product of something that has never been consciously acknowledged, spoken about or worked through, not as a child when it happened, nor as an adult. That adult has to function in an unforgiving adult world from that point of emotional childhood trauma, reacting to triggers as that little child would do, irrationally, immaturely, spontaneously, unintentionally hurting bewildered loved ones.

It boils down to validation I guess......a child's understanding that being sexually molested is not really that important because the silence screams 'nobody gives a damn!'....and that mindset continues in adulthood, creating an illogical need for people to care, to 'see', to understand... failing which...the terrible feeling of isolation and worst of all, a gripping sense of emotional loneliness.


My 75 year old mother walked into my studio a few days ago and dropped, what for me, was a huge bomb-shell. Her and dad were going to Madeira...sharing their year between here and my darling sister. My first reaction was confusion, then absolute blind fury. I went shopping and arriving at the shops, I sat and sobbed and sobbed...and phoned my middle sister. I thank God daily for the relationship I have with my precious sisters. Lord, how I love them!!!! They have been a silent but ever present strength in my life...no matter what or how geographically far apart....they have always just been there. She quietly and calmly sat and listened to my rantings asking me "Sharon, what is really wrong"?

So I told her, having suddenly realised, through her love, that there is a deep, unfathomable emotion coming out here:
My reaction was that of a 5 year old, feeling abandoned by my parents at the house of my abuser! Immature, illogical....I reacted as a child of five..feeling abandoned, rejected, terrified...at their going and the impending abuse......and not having the 'VOICE' to tell them what had been going on, what was about to happen.! I was SCARED...I feared losing them and felt a white anger at their intention of, once again, 'abandoning' me!

Somewhere during all this emotional mix, I remembered something. I had recently gone for a Reiki (not something I would have done a few years ago!) and I was asked "Sharon, why am I seeing you hiding in a cupboard?" I was dumbfounded! My consciousness had suppressed that memory. Yes, I had often hidden in a dark wooden cupboard to escape my abuser and the memory was one of white fear!!

Having confronted this 'thing' inside of me, this hurt child, I was able to comfort her....as an adult...just by caring enough to look for her, finding her and then openly LISTENING to 'her'! I discovered that I loved this little girl so much and with a bit more work...yes, she was going to be fine.


By the time I got back home, having processed the whole thing, I went over to my parents and spoke to them as a 46year old woman...asking them questions, discussing their move and motivation for it and voicing some of my concerns. At the end, they themselves came to the conclusion that due to their health and medical issues, it would not be a wise move.


I have just read an article asking questions:
Do you fundtion at your optimum? Trauma tends to have negative long-term effects. "Hell, you think!!"....I can honeslty answer: 'no, I dont'!


Are you self-destructive or unkind to yourself? Guilt associated with childhood sexual abuse often causes people to punish themselves. As a small child, I couldnt accept sweets from my grandmother, who I truely loved and who I know, loved me dearly. As an adult, 'I'm not worthy of true love, respect and I work my ***** off doing things to make me feel loved and appreciated.


Do you have problems with intimacy? Childhood sexual abuse can affect your capacity for intimacy, both sexual AND emotional. Yes, and at risk of an OMG, TMI response, I will admit that I was inorgasmic for a good part of my marrige. Emotionally...I think I am needy, and I think, need to discover a lot more about myself in this area. The journey continues.

ACCORDING TO THIS ARTICLE, THERE ARE 8 WAYS SEXUAL ABUSE LINGERS:
1. Poor self esteem - the child is forced to be the victim, which leads to lack of self-confidence.
2. Self-Punishment - eating disorders and substance abuse are ways of self-harming.
3. Anti-social personality disorders - kids stop feeling to minimise trauma and become manipulators.
4. Personality splits - A child needs to go "somewhere safe" while abused, which can cause a dissociative identity disorder.
5. Sexual Problems - These include inability to have an orgams, vaginismus, asexuality and promiscuity
6. Becomming the perpetrator - victims can internalise the persona of the abuser.
7. Serial Killing - Sexual abuse, especially if coupled with sadistic acts, evokes anger in the child
8. Sexual Identity - a boy may develop an attraction to men if the perpetrator was a man and vice-versa

I have identified the above , to a greater and lesser degree, in ALL the people I know, including myself, who have been sexually abused.

I have no summary for this blog, as the understanding and 'dealing-with' it is always continuous. I dont believe that a person EVER gets over something like this, but I know that acnowledging childhood sexual abuse, and learning to 'Love the child within' - unconditionally, are all little ways in which we can slowly start to heal by hopefully, recognise and changing those behavioural patterns which are hurting ourselves and others.

A PICTURE FOR LETITIA

LETITIA

This is the painting which was sent to Canada as part of the International Women Celebrate exhibition where women around the world participated in raising funds for the Haiti disaster. I called it Letitia.

This painting was a very emotive exercise for me, starting it while with a dying friend, during her last week of therapy.

Even looking at it now, I feel the tears well up in my eyes, remembering our long and deep conversations, how she lay on the couch with tubes coming out her nose, quietly watching me work and giggling softly at my frustrations. After only a year, we formed a strong and strange bond where her circumstances called for complete trust in me and my absolute devotion to her.

Occasionally I still feel her presence, especially now that I am busy on a family portrait.

There are things added to the painting however which make me smile. Wanting to include everything which my senses were experiencing at the time, I painted it in. Eg, looking carefully, you will see that the toe of the naked,curled up figure in the centre, its abnormally large. A dear friend cracked her toe against something and said that it was big and swollen....well, I happened to be painting the feet at the time, so I added the mental image!

The figure of Jesus was part of a dream. I had three small incomplete pictures of the face of Jesus which I'd started a while back. Now one of them had shot through the canvas!!

I felt compelled to paint it although it had obviously not been part of the initial genre (of women being compared to flowers, tender, bendable, beautiful, vulnerable).

The result; ( for me anyway)...., was a very disjointed picture,..... but a picture that evoked applause and tears in Canada. The owner of the gallery hung it in her bedroom till the opening and apparently it was one of the first to be sold. What better compliment is there than that?! Mission accomplished, for me and for a very special friend. She knew it was being dedicated to her so I know she's smiling.

The lesson in that was that Jesus is always behind us in whatever we do, BUT HE WANTS TO BE PART OF THE PICTURE...TRUST HIM.

Dealing with Hurts

The Lie of Love
And so this strange journey continues, a stony road of rebuff
Lined with distorting mirrors which turn smiles into scowls
I hold aloof my heart lest it, once again, be scorned and rejected
As wicked Misinterpretation has again seen another countenance

I know guilt and cruelty created the box where rationality is hidden
Here where the fuddled groping of hurt can be shut out
The key is hidden in a tight fist of pains' deafness and denial
Blessed release rebuffed for the thin blanket of comforting darkness.

Empty, injured eyes look daily, unseeing, into the face of unconditional love
Unconciously reaching out but conciously fearing the nakedness of trust
Love is naught but the bringer of despair and terror-ridden memory
A haunting, disturbed lie which substitutes faith with creedless scorn.

So on and on, drowsily treading this path with a hand holding my own
The Great Consoler leads with benevolence and cooing whispers
Shattering the images of the deciever , the shards reflecting the soul
My own and that of a kindred spririts, all, on a restorative search.

I've left this in my blog as a draught for a while as it was a very personal, emotive piece which I wrote while trying to cope with a hurt. When reading it, I discovered that it wasnt so much about the content but rather the process of confronting, understanding and taking the time to search for answers, process them and then walk away from the cause and not (never)the source.

Love is the essence of all human life, it feeds , its needed for life almost as much as its needed to be given away. We were all created in it and through it....I'm not speaking of primal human love, or the love of parents (which is sometimes sadly absent in creating another life) but the love of God.

I am often almost drowned by the intensity of my own feelings, a whole range of them, and need to separate myself from myself sometimes, in order to deal with them... go outside to see in, if that makes sence.