Most of the time I need to create in order to see what it is.
As in the case of these nudes.
I just had an urge to paint them.
I had to.
Later on, sitting in my studio, looking at them…I realized what they were.
Traces of memories….memories of solitary confinement.
I could have known.
The way they came about was hurling myself, body painted in black, up against the wall of paper. Then I worked with the traces, expressively, and then felt like covering them in a layer of expressive white.
Memories of hurling myself up against walls in a clinic all those years ago came back. Something certainly had to be processed this way. It wanted out.
These ones are certainly making it to the #artofwithdrawal show that is planned for next year. ❤