In oil pastels, here I stand a flamingo dressed reflecting on myself. Then on the other page, I contemplate the internalisation of the mother.
The perceptions I have created about my mother and father have book-ended my personal metaphors: My mother as trapped Rapunzel in the outback, wishing to be saved by the prince. My father as lonely orphan sailing on his boat on the arid dirt sea. They clung together and soothed each other but never acknowledge their wounds that they wore as cloaks around themselves. My brother and I became animated representations of their hidden wounds. I’ve spent much of my life creatively dismantling and cutting free from the maternal tower and paternal fishing-net. A dedication to self-work through my art practice has enabled me to plod along my own path towards the self.
As I have gained distance and perspective such imagery became mirages that reappear at random times when triggered and are compassionately accepted. Yet most of the time they are nestled and shrunken down into golden empathic resources that I keep in my pocket as a testament to my own human story. This process has been the foundation on which I have created a codex for my own world of self-metaphor.