Going back and forth between impressionistic and figurative on this one, and enjoying the process, though it’s a bit frustrating? I keep looking back at the photograph for reference still, trying to be loyal and then I digress, only to look back at it, because it’s so incredibly inspiring. If only I could paint water, this wave, truly. I’m trying. I digress. I try. I trigress. My first thought was to use lots of clearish layers with lots of acrylic glaze with very little pigment, but then EVERY stroke shows, and that’s a lot of movement. Hmm. Although I like the stained glass effect. I’ve left very little of it by now. I’ve been using three brushes by now, two brights and a tiny round. I almost had a still, miraculous pond effect going before I remembered it is a wave and had to go over it because it was too still, too luminous, meh. Save it for later, I guess.
Journalled this morning about how isolating the abuse was, both inside my family and outside, how getting into the gifted program in second grade was a spark that gave me a clue that I was some kind of special to be saved, that I sorely needed, but that also isolated me, inside and out, yet again. I was left wondering this morning, amid all the dissociation that started in preschool, even as a toddler I’m learning, what pieces I was left to hold onto, what parts of identity or ego or what the, you know, what was I holding onto inside to keep going forward, to keep functioning? I know in second grade I fell apart, crying all the time. In third grade, the major year of the full-time gifted program, I was sick and out of school with migraines most of the time, but still, I never skipped a grade, ever. In fourth grade, thankfully, my teacher demanded that I have a note from the doctor if I was going to be sick, so I had to go to the doctor. We had to find out for real what to do to make me better, kind of, sort of, again not naming any names.
I learned early on that I was the problem child, that I was the sickness. I looped and looped on that negativity, that bad deal of an identity issue for most of my childhood and adult life and finally sorted it out with a lot of counseling, great teachers, great bosses, great friends, great books, even great movies, you know? But even now, I search inside myself. I know now what new alters, what new pieces I hold onto and grow for the past few years that are healthy, the new mother, TLC, spirituality, for example, positive triggers and behaviors like creativity. But a lot of those were squelched and turned against me growing up, perverted and turned toward pleasing and serving others. Another mystery: how I survived all that time, deep down among all the fragments. I’m thankful to me and all those who believed in me all along. Thank you to all who are still with me on this journey of healing, mystery and discovery.
amyjacksoncc 