My writing journey

Life changed for me three years ago. I am a different person now. As much as I would like  to write that person out of the narrative. This is me. Facing this M.A. thesis has felt like facing the parts of myself that I have been working very hard to write out of the story. I was so stuck in the way I thought this story should be told that I forgot what it was that I was trying to say. It was a decision that I had to come to on my own terms. Knowing that in writing about my lived experience of grief that I would have to confront my new reality. Knowing that I would have to keep coming back those difficult experiences. Despite all of those potential triggers, it was the only way that I knew how to write this.

 The act of painting had shifted for me in those first few weeks of my dad’s passing. Painting no longer existed as a choice. I needed to paint in order to survive. This may sound silly or overdramatic and I can understand why it might. The thing is, that everything was so sudden. The loss was sudden. The emotions were sudden and extremely intense. It was all I could do to channel the energy out of my body and on to the canvas. It didn’t matter to me what was coming out in those moments. I just knew that it needed to get out in whatever form it could. When you are not prepared for such a monumental loss it consumes you. It eats away at your entire perception of the world and you are left seemingly disconnected from your own reality.

 I don’t think you need to go through something traumatic to become an artist but I do believe that the art you create can become more significant when you experience loss/trauma of any kind. As I painted, I was unconsciously tracing parts of myself through colour. I was able to bring memories  to the surface and start to uncover the things that I wasn’t able to face. It’s not until you step away from a work that you as the creator then become a receiver of the work. You start to see what  the other sees. You may even start to piece together what the painting is trying to say to you.

 During the first initial months after my dad’s passing, I would pour pigments directly on to the canvas. I just needed to express my feelings through the materials. Often without an end goal or thought in mind; the colours would all blend together automatically and I would be left with a large mess. From this chaos, there were moments when a form or composition would emerge. That was always a really magical and well received part of this whole automatic painting process. Creation became my way of reconciling with this immeasurable loss.

 There is lived experience behind every artists brushstroke. I realized fairly quickly that I needed to write about the connection between trauma and painting. I do believe that trauma can transform through art and that   the art itself can be resilient. This artistic shift for me to automatism after my dad had passed was not a purely conscious decision. I think that my body was aware and that somehow this automatic shift was in part a mechanism to protect me and allow me to survive in that first year.

 As an abstract painter, the experience with paint is more fluid and the process of creation is more involved. When you start to examine the work you are creating  objectively, all of that magic is lost at least in my experience. Being inside the painting in both the literal and metaphoric sense is a profound sensation. Often you aren’t  conscious until afterwards. I think that this pure harmony can be achieved when gestures are automatic and occur without thought.

 I have always equated the freedom in my work to automatism. Some even call this achieving the ‘flow state’. I am not saying that I am able to get there each time I pick up a paint brush but I am willing and open to that possibility. One of the beautiful things that has grown from the pain of losing my dad so suddenly is the gift of painting and the deeper connection to the materials and the world around me. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t trade it all for his presence right now, but I do believe that this loss has transformed in so many unexpected and beautiful ways.