One of the subjects I was most disheartened to tackle has been portraits. I always felt off doing them and something in my past hurt my confidence although I can’t remember what it was. But an insecurity crept in. For the past couple of years I’ve tackled regaining my magic, my spark, my mojo. And I’m particularly happy with these two 5″x7″ I framed and matted.
So I made it a goal in 2022 to strive for (a soft goal that I didn’t stress myself out about but was aware I wanted to do more) I’ve made a nice start to 2023 and have a few portraits to show for it already.
Human faces. Personality. Emotion. And for me, the most important, at least a little poetry.
I’m not terribly interested in exact renderings of people. It isn’t my deal and I find it tedious. If they inspire me, then I like to lean into it. If they are imaginary and have poetry, I like to lean into it. But I’m not going to sit on a corner and do people’s portraits for money.
I’ve done other portraits: Janis Joplin and others, that were reasonable sketches.
I don’t know how far I’ll go with it.
I’m a older artist, one that had motherhood delayed and then had to be put first of course. Then there was all the trauma to get over from my family, or at least work through so I could breath and not be tripped up by. My childhood was made up of toxic people that I’d have to worry would be ready to pounce on me. There was nothing loving or nurturing in them. It was all jealousy, manipulation, and revenge. I’d have to do them in a green yellow sulfurous, something that suggests sulfurous gases. They nearly killed me the first 25 years.
And because of them, it took me this long to get my life on track. The emotional scars are real.
But these portraits say something about healing. This is me getting beyond the trauma and the scars. There is a beauty and a freedom here. There is an innocence and freshness that was taken from me at too young an age. The toxic people made me old with their fighting. They made me scared and insecure. I don’t know how I am who I am. I should be meaner like them and care about nobody but myself.
But I’m me. I’m alive. I love. I see beauty. I strive for good things in a world gone bad. I’m toughened and can be mean, but I’m not a tough or mean person. I retained my softness and I withhold being mean even when people are asking for it. I try only to employ it if it is necessary. It’s like a tool I can use if needed.
I’m up, not down.
And I’ve stayed truer to myself even under pressure to become a societal clone. I feel no desire to be part of a group or adhere to a fake ideology or faith system. I’m free.
These portraits are women who are free.
I’m even able to write again after being strangled into a type of silence. I’ve found my voice and criticism doesn’t mean much to me anymore. It’s a tool as well to be picked up or cast off. People find fault with everything and no one is happy for others. And most are suffering under a delusion of this sort or that, or have some internal struggle they haven’t dealt with, making them mean.
So when you know you can’t please others, you are free to please yourself.
Dawn Scribbled to the End 