Thursday, February 28, 2013

Come Find Me!

Hello out there! I'm posting over HERE today, so please head on over. Leave me a comment there, won't you? The North Alabama Crafters are a wonderful group of creative folks working hard to save handmade, and promote local business. If you're an artists and/or crafter in North Alabama, please join us!

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Baggage

Doesn't it always seem like characters on television with "baggage" get to move on once they've talked about it? They make some sort of emotional breakthrough followed by tears, hugs, and things starting to mend. I'm clear on the fact that things depicted on Private Practice aren't exactly factual. It's just how I expect it to be.

Talking about unpleasant things does make things feel better, right? I feel like it does. Verbalizing the trauma releases something. It releases that feeling in my chest, that weight. Why, then, do I have residual "baggage"? Why, after all the talking, expressing, searching...why do I still feel...ashamed? I'm not even sure if that's the right word. It's guilt, or something like it. Maybe I need to talk to a therapist. Maybe just telling isn't enough to deal with everything.

I'd really hate to think that being molested as a child has to haunt me until the day I die. I mean, I'm thirty. It's been twenty-two years, and I have daily reminders of the damage done to me all that time ago. Done to me. I know I was a victim.

Fault does not lie with me, I know. I tell myself that I was too young to understand what was going on. But why do I tell myself that at all?! It's like deep down I think it was my fault. Somewhere deep down I must believe that I'm somehow guilty. I should have told someone. I should have known what was happening was evil, and screamed my lungs out. Instead, I what? Zoned out? Didn't understand? Buried it?

I blocked it out for eleven years. Whatever that means. I understand that it was something unintentional that took place in my brain, and it happened as a way to cope. I know that, and I'm thankful that I've dealt as well as I have. I'm actually a happy person. I'm married, have friends, and do what I love every day. Still, though, I feel like blocking it out hindered me from making it stop.

My abuse started when I was around three years old, and it stopped somewhere around eight. That's when my mother and I moved ten or so hours away. I have no idea how many others were hurt in all that time, besides me, because I unconsciously shoved what was happening to me into a dark corner of my head.

Maybe talking about it helps let off pressure, but it just builds back up over time. I just keep hoping and praying that this "baggage" will one day be lost in transit.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Shop Update!

Hiya, folks!

Just a quick little post to show ya a few of the new listings in my etsy shop. I've been bad about making art, but not making time to get them listed. 






See anything you like? Feel free to favorite and buy! If you ever have a custom job in mind, let me know. I'm more than happy to do commission work. And I'm cheap!

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Something Unconventional II


Here to find out what undergarments have to do with art? Well, a friend asked me to participate in The Painted Bra Art Project to help raise awareness for breast cancer, and funds for a local lady battling cancer.


I wanted to focus on the hope of overcoming, but also recognize the seriousness of breast cancer. I kept thinking of Gustav Klimt's Death And Life, but didn't want to go so dark as to focus on human mortality. Then I remembered Emily Dickinson's poem entitled "Hope." 


Hope is the thing with feathers 
That perches in the soul, 
And sings the tune--without the words, 
And never stops at all,


And sweetest in the gale is heard; 
And sore must be the storm 
That could abash the little bird 
That kept so many warm.


I've heard it in the chillest land, 
And on the strangest sea; 
Yet, never, in extremity, 
It asked a crumb of me.

Perfect, right?! I mean, I have a thing for birds - owls specifically. They've always been a symbol of hope for me - hope through dark times of confusion or helplessness. Hearing them in the night was such a comfort to me as a child, and even still today. Then there's the whole "hooters" thing, and this Dickinson poem giving Hope feathers! 

So I decided to have an owl representing life and hope, and an owl skull to signify the threat of mortality. Since I wanted the positive to be most prevalent, I covered the rest with different symbols of life - flowers, etc. I hope it makes sense to people. Heck, they may not even put that much thought into it. I'm an obsesser, though. Why else would I put so much into a cartoony bra painting!


Here's a couple shots of my submission.
I was more than happy to take some time to do it, and it was pretty fun. There's going to be a big event the end of October where all the bras people painted/donated will be on display, and there's a silent auction to sell the painted braziers. You should check it out, if you haven't already. Just click the links below!




Friday, September 28, 2012

Something Unconventional I

I've painted on some of the strangest vehicles lately. A while back I agreed to donate some time working on a collaboration piece for a fundraiser. I ended up having to paint two areas on a life preserver. It was a little weird at first, and definitely challenging to work the acrylic paint into the texture of the float, but it was nice to paint on something unconventional. I decided to go with an octopus, and some fishies with an anchor.

The most recent art donation might top that, though. Check out the next post to find out what it is! I'll be posting it Saturday at 10:30am.

 I'll give you a hint. Undergarment.