Years ago, I had a period in my life where I experienced dreams that were more than just simple dreams. This painting is about one of those dreams. In it, I am a whale in the Pacific Northwest. I’m not an Orca, I’m larger than that. Perhaps a grey or humpback. I know I am being hunted by a local tribe. We are not enemies. We are NOT enemies. Rather than fight them, I roll over and allow them to pierce my abdomen at my umbilicus with a very large wooden spear, giving my flesh to them.
As the spear pierces my whale belly I look down to see that I am no longer the whale but my current physical self with a wooden spear piercing my body front and back at my belly button. Everything turns to white and I wake up.
A friend took my dream to our local Paiute shaman who said that this was a message about my true nature.
Growing up I never felt pretty or thin enough. My parents never made me feel like I measured up. Around the age of 50, I received some old family photos from my uncle. One of which was my senior year of high school photo. I was surprised to see such a pretty girl. I wonder how I would have turned out if I saw myself differently then.
It was a day or two after my dad died, I was staying in his home with my brother and sister-in-law. We were looking around for tea or coffee and true to my dad’s form there were the coffee crystals. The same coffee crystals he had been drinking since I could remember. My maternal grandfather drank the instant coffee too. As soon as I took a sip of the stuff, I was flooded with memories and a strange sort of comfort as the grieving process began.
I didn’t paint the background for this one. I cannibalized an old mono print.
Still having a great time with this left hand painting stuff. Is it art? I don’t know. I don’t know that anything I create is actually art. Perhaps that is not for me to determine.
I’m much more interested in where this journey is taking me, and what, if anything I’ll have to say as a right hand answer to all this painting.
Text on painting:
I’m Pink Buddha from cosmic goo, I spend my days juggling human poo.
Not exactly eloquent, but that’s the Zen of PB.
Still having a great time with the left hand painting. Learning a lot about my creative self, my own expectations of perfectionism, and then the process of allowing the art (or is it?) to flow without right handed rescuing. Makes me wonder what sort of person I would have become had I had the parents I’m allowing my self to be with my left handed child.
More to come.