On a relaxing Thursday afternoon, while walking along the coast alone, I wondered how I would compile all of my turbulent thoughts about this work. I was recording myself on my phone, sentence by sentence, talking myself through how I would write my artist statement. Being by the ocean has always given me relief and the stillness of it kept my mind at ease as I rambled off each sentence.
I thought about the first time that I heard about laws being passed in Alabama and watching a documentary about Roe v. Wade, and realized that my brain and heart were still filled with conflicting emotions. Having a society that suppresses emotions and labels them as weakness, I've grown to understand expressing these emotions through my works has strengthened me. Whether it's writing or painting... creating grants power to expression.
So there I was, walking through the soft sand, listening to the howling roar of waves... while internally listening to the turmoil of my thoughts.
How to compile all of these emotions into a few simple, straight-forward sentences – realizing I was neither of these two things... simple nor straight. HA. Anyway, in all seriousness, I couldn't write in a non-fluffy way. The words whirled and I wanted to write about the way in which the initial idea bubbled about in my head – floating to the top of my brain until I could no longer ignore its gravity. How the image of Congress slicing through a woman's most sensitive and powerful area boiled up into a single image. How the clouds rose from above signaling a loss of control and power much deeper than the canvas could express. The idea sending shockwaves into my cells.
I realized that I couldn't describe the feeling of staring at the blank canvas after my first sip of freshly-brewed coffee – watching my fingers draw the first red line on its blankness – wondering how in the world I was going to create something that spoke to the emotions that I felt. Smelling the aroma of coffee and watching my hands glide across this new painting. The beauty of it lying in the fact that nobody could see what I was creating yet – just me and my own thoughts – no forcing – just me. Maybe I'm an optimist, at times too sensible, maybe I give too much power to the medium of painting, but there is an inevitable draw that I have to the act. It's an addiction. Sitting in front of its emptiness and filling it. Replenishing my own sense of self I suppose. Consistently finding my way back.
I presume everyone feels like this with their own medium. There's a draw to the act of doing it or else you feel you're wasting your time.
Anyways, let's go back to me trudging through the sand and talking to myself like a lunatic for about an hour, (needless to say I was in an area that was secluded, so I was safe for the sake of my own sanity), I managed to come up with 8 sentences. Yes, I repeat, 8 sentences. And to be honest, I ended up being happy with that outcome. I shortened the long list of sentences and words that were too "fluffy" and left them out.
Here is what I managed to come up with, as the beach breeze blew against my face, salty air brushing through my hair. Seagulls wafting above the horizon, tall blades of grass swaying to the pace of my walk. Clouds beginning to travel across the sky, giving the sun room to dip down behind them and rest for the day. Looking out over the horizon, then down at my feet again, feeling the sand beneath my toes and glaring at the shells scattered about. Drawn to the simplicity of the scene and my isolation to everyone / everything. I need days like this.
I am grateful for them.
This is what I came up with on that day (sorry for the long-winded introduction, I just wanted to paint the picture for you...) no pun intended.
