When I look at my art I probably see a lot more than what others see. The down side is that I see all the ‘mistakes’ in a piece and find it hard to not want to point them out when someone is complimenting me. The other thing I notice is that I understand why I paint what I do. I see what the painting reflects. I’m terrible at relaying it on the spot because I really just feel like some paintings paint themselves thus leaving me with nothing to say because it’s already been painted! That is me explaining! My explanation would come across as something ridiculous, like, “I used those colours because I felt like it”. Some people find it hard to grasp that being an abstract artist, I don’t paint pictures to look like photographs, I paint what my moods tell me to paint. I have a lot of different styles and when you’re a professional artist, that can work against you. I know that it’s expected that an artist paint one specific subject matter so that you appeal to galleries (so they know what they’re getting, marketing and such). I do understand that but it’s not something I enjoy doing. If I were to paint one subject matter the rest of my life, I would go insane. To me, my use of colour is my style. The subject matter should be whatever I want it to be, after all it’s me expressing myself. I don’t want to follow the rules if they’re just going to stump me creatively.
I seem to have two sides to me. At heart I’m actually very shy. I never want to be the centre of attention and have always had a hard time with people looking at me. This side is focused on learning as much as I can from whatever resources are available and just blending into the background. It thrives on knowledge and is hard working and very sweet, generous and kind. When I was young I was quiet, I kept to myself and had a select group of close friends. I liked and got along with everyone, unless it was obvious they were obnoxious for the sake of being obnoxious, but only had a few people I’d ever call on. As an adult, that hasn’t really changed, although I’d like to think I’m getting better at accepting help from those that really do just want to help. I find it very hard to let people in. Once you’re in, you’re in and I’ll love you forever but getting to the place where I’ll let you close enough to ever have a chance to hurt me is very hard and something I need to work on.
There’s another side of me that is a total leader. That side is also a bit of a rebel. This is the side that will step up when things are falling apart and make sure things run smoothly – taking centre stage and proudly accepting the role as chieftain. It’s the part of me that will be the mediator and voice of reason when there is tension, unafraid to step in at any time to deal to both sides. The part that lets me express my opinion without fear that others out there won’t share it. This side of me is fun, sometimes rather loud, often cynical and secretly streetwise.
Nowadays, I find they blend in perfectly together… for the most part.
When I was doing Blog Idol 2 I found myself back at some memories that were really hard for me. They are of course part of what makes me, me, but I never wrote about them on my posts. Reliving the events in my mind brought them back to a place in my heart that is still really raw, some 10 years later. The memories are painful and on any given day can be triggered but until lately the reactions haven’t been as overwhelming as they are right now. Usually it’s dealt with by letting out a bit of a sigh and quickly replaced with a smile as I remember that I can be happy for others without being jealous that their memory of the same experience will be a fond one. For now though, it’s as though I’m right back there again, feeling completely let down. This time around though I have slightly more control over my mind. When the memories pop up, it’s a little harder at the moment to forget the inner feelings of anger that come with them. I’m working through them though, with my art and spending more time with my husband and kids.
It’s been both good and bad for me. Good as far as inspiration for work; bad as far as controlling emotions.
I don’t cry. I can cry at movies, tv shows, weddings etc but when it comes to my own life and an issue that actually matters, I don’t cry. For the most part I’m very happy and bubbly but for lack of a better phrase I’m also a “hard woman.” I know it’s not the best for a person to be like that. So instead of crying I’m just kind of numb to some things. I’ve never talked about events from a certain time in my life (only to my husband who knows everything and understands me) because I don’t want to hurt the people that were involved but not talking about it also hurts me. Not sharing anything makes me feel like everything was my fault and the situations created only came about because I was such an awful person. As an adult now, I look back and know that it’s so wrong that I believe these things about myself, I was just a kid, common sense says it wasn’t me that caused the problems, my actions were the direct result of other issues but it’s hard to talk sense to yourself.
Between the ages of 13-17 I was in and out of ‘home’. I’d lost that stable place every child needs and had started looking for it anywhere I could. In 2 ½ years I attended 5 different high schools and chose to leave as soon as I was legally allowed. I traveled NZ at least 10 times in those 2 1/2 years and hadn’t had a full week at school since I was standard 4. No one even talked to me at home. Those years were hard for me. I felt abandoned and completely alone. Everything I did was wrong. I ended up leaving to find acceptance somewhere else.
During that time I lived with friends that were a good influence and some that were anything but. I encountered every type of abuse. Emotional, physical, sexual, drug and alcohol. I welcomed it, yet I used to write poetry about it as an escape from it. Some nights I wandered the street trying to get away, other times I was lucky enough to have a safe haven in a friends spare room. Anywhere was better than in an environment that seemed to hate me. Eventually some family members realised I needed help and took me in; for that I’m eternally grateful. I met my husband while living with them. They brought back normalcy, discipline and mutual respect. Meeting my husband is what eventually brought all my ‘constant seeking’ to an end. For some reason I wasn’t ashamed to tell him my story. He shared his with me too and we formed a really tight bond. I believe everyone has a story. He never judged me and he gave me the type of love and acceptance I’d spent years trying to find. I only had one request when we found out we were pregnant “Please help me create a home.”
So why do I paint what I paint? I paint so I can see love all around me. Love, expressed through words, images of pregnant women, cultural symbols, intimate poses, portraits and styles from a street culture that welcomed me. It’s simple, it’s beauty. To take it right back to the beginning; when I look at my art, I also see the positives. I see life and colour. Works packed full of romance and poetry that help me get through tough emotional times by reminding me of the good things I have in life rather than painful.
Little me.
Andrew and I in the early years. (I’m pg with little lady)
My little lady and me now.
My latest painting in progress. Inspired by some good old memories.
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