There was a time, not so very long ago, when I felt it was necessary to share, especially, any new images I painted or drew but also new stories written. Over the holidays, I began to see the truth behind this need.
Something I also began to understand was what I was sharing was not necessarily of value, not really good enough to share. The excitement seems to come from the surprise it was my accomplishment – taught as I was, my life had no value, nothing I did was right, and I was not smart. For far too long people have taken my words and made them their own, after first degrading me for saying them. Watching so many times how my thoughts were then spoken by someone else as if it was their ideas, made me feel quite helpless. So the blog and my diaries before have been my way of recording my thoughts. A strong need to ensure there was proof of their existence before someone else claimed them, essentially making me redundant once more. Kind of a paranoia, I’m afraid to say. All coming from years of being swept under the carpet I’m sure. We are all born with value, but we must acknowledge it ourselves to ensure others also see it.
My art has been a chart of my progression out of total insecurity and insignificance to a place where I no longer need to share each moment of success in my own mind with anyone. The desire is still there initially, but it fades as I realize the content comes from knowing it’s in front of me. I suppose one could say, this need to share has been a cry for help, a cry for recognition, making sure I am not as invisible as I feel most of the time. Like saying “See, I’m here, you didn’t destroy me, I did this, I’m not nothing”!
Accepting, for the most part, people are just being polite when they offer compliments, has also been very helpful. Knowing what I create does not have to be good, only give me the pleasure of completion without the influence of any other person, has been very healing. It is necessary as well to acknowledge Patrick did his own part in guiding me towards this conclusion by encouraging me to draw. Whatever his motivations became, in the beginning it was because of him, I took the larger steps towards drawing. He did after all buy me everything needed in order to begin.
Forgiveness starts with acknowledgement of the positive aspects of any relationship. If we forget why we wished to be with someone, and the, hopefully, many reasons we stayed, then we can not forgive and move on with a lighter heart. We will carry the shame, quilt, anger, or all of the above, always. I am striving to change my feelings towards those who hurt me so much because I know they have also had great hurts in their lifetime, they have their own path to wind through. Even though it seems so sometimes, it is not just about me, there are many aspects which account for behaviour on both sides. It has helped immensely to envision, like the roots of a tree, the many paths to be taken at any given time. Each choice we make can lead us to a new beginning, but in essence, I feel, the original problems will remain, but approached from a new angle. This is what is important, to face our problems, not run from them – they follow us no matter how clever we think we are.
When I left for Ecuador, I handed over everything in my possession which had the potential to be sold. There was far too much product, and in fact I was quite ashamed of how much there was. I never wanted to see it again, although this was not something which could be understood at the time. So much energy had been put into the whole process from creating to packaging. On the one hand it was frustrating to feel there were those who believed me incapable of producing anything of value, while at the same time knowing its value was mostly for my benefit.
The owner of the store which has had all this product wanted to give back what had not sold. Kind of the last straw for me and so I explained that rather than have it back, I would just be throwing it all away. Absolutely no bad feeling attached to what I told her, I just could not face having it return to me. I explained it’s energy was connected to Patrick still, part of a demeaning process actually and bringing it here would feel like defeat. It is time for me to start a new chapter with regards to what I create, more a time of exploration to see what’s really there.
My art makes me feel very happy, giving me this lightness of spirit when I watch it grow in front of me. Sort of like watching someone else doing the work, with me enjoying the accomplishment as if my hands were being guided by an invisible force. My need to share it not so important anymore. But with this thought process, it became clear to me, it was important to leave behind as much joy as I could, hopefully to be enjoyed by someone after my death. Knowing that sometimes we cannot appreciate the value of someone else’s possessions until they are gone and we are no longer able to spend time with them.
I will leave behind nothing of value when I die, but believe this is not a bad thing. We should not live to acquire, but we should live to get the meaning of life right.
After living with next to nothing for 2 years, it seems kind of ridiculous to accumulate items approved by some to be of great value, only to have family fight over them when you’re gone.
True value is in an object which reminds us of home, love, trust, faith, family or friends. Should it not be something we wish to have keeping the memory of who owned it prior, closer to us? This is what I wish I had, something of my fathers which could be held, the retainer of some experience from the short time I knew him, perhaps something we may have shared. How incredible it would be to have a visual presence confirming my memories, so they do not feel like mist, impossible to grasp with any assurance.
What could my mother have left for me which would have given me some sense of security, knowing she did love me? Knowing her choices were not done out of anger or hate for me – holding something belonging to her would I know, provide deep comfort. But then would the memories have as much importance in my daily thoughts? It often amazes me how much of my day is spent watching the memories travel across the movie screen of my mind. Truly, it must be all there is holding me in place, because they are a constant reminder of what has the most value in my life.
I have made the decision to stop putting out my shingle for the sale of my artwork. I have one last batch of product, which if can be sold will be the last. This remaining effort was for the project, something which has been more struggle than reward, telling me it is not the right avenue. Maybe the best way to help others is just to be there to listen to them. My art will be for me alone, which feels right, sort of takes the pressure off this burning need to be good at it – to be recognized as doing something worthwhile. Like, if I can be good at this, there was purpose for me to remain in this world.
I have enjoyed moderate success from the sale of my work, there is much gratitude for this, but so often it felt wrong to put so much time and energy into selling what in truth, is part of my soul. To the many who have expressed appreciation for my work, I give thanks from the bottom of my heart. Your encouragement showed me how to pull back the layers exposing the truth, in essence pulling back the shattered pieces of myself. There could be no greater gift for me to receive, than to find home, which was in actuality the act of pulling those pieces together. Home is our connection to those we love. Home is the hearth built from memories tying us to everything and everyone we hold dear whether we are able to be with them or not.
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