I’ve been enjoying the beautiful photography @ “Let Me Photograph You Softly”.
See for yourself @ http://letmephotographsoftly.wordpress.com ❤
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#abstract #abstractart #abstractphotography #simplicity #repeat #repetition #minimal #minimalistic #minimalism #macro #macrolove #filtered #photoblog #photograph #photography #kpm©
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The Exhibition “Too Much Truth” Women’s Global Resistance to Sexploitation, in Wellington, is coming to a close.
I would like to Thank, the organiser and curator of this most righteous Exhibition – “Renee”of “Writing By Renee”. What a brave and fierce woman, who I am truly honoured to have connected with.
I would also like to Thank “Thistle Hall Gallery” in Wellington, for supporting Renee’s venture and for supporting the contributors of this Exhibition.
From the bottom of my slightly blackened soul, I am humbled to have been part of such a beautiful and fiercely staunch conglomerate of feminists, activists and artists; all representing their Truths.
As promised, the following photos are the scoped out versions of the macros presented previously. The Descriptions below my “Response ~ Resistance” pieces, include the writing on each piece, and the context / explanation of each piece.
They are all painted from a Childs perspective and are a dual perspective / response of a Child / Adult Survivor of Infant / Child Sexual Assault.
“they said i should have got up and walked out ~ instead of holding him accountable”
I can not recount how many times throughout my lifetime, I have had ‘bad advice’ levelled at Me. When superimposed in this context, its ignorance becomes crystal clear.
“from her ~ he let me pick the colour felt pen he would use ~ to split my tiny cunt open”
Often times, therapists / counsellors / psychologists, have asked Me to ‘describe’ the ‘act’ or acts in the hopes that there will be something for Me to ‘reconcile’ or work through. What they seem to forget is the ‘devil’ is indeed, in the detail.
“he said i could put sugar on it so it would taste better ~ and to make me an accomplice to his sickness”
‘Professionals’ and family alike, forget that a child doesn’t have the vocabulary to recount the emotion of a crime enacted against them, but they can recount the ‘simple’ things. And it is in those very simple descriptions, that the filth of such a crime and sickness lies.
To find other contributors works, please follow this Link, as permission hasn’t been sought to display their works.
A Final Salute and Congratulations to the Organiser – Curator, Gallery, Contributors, Artists and Activists.
a blank canvas.
not always my idea of
a black canvas
on the other hand.
and while some like pretty
i prefer dripping
i finally did away with the
and went back to what
has always been about
i just hadn’t realised it.
in a world that the likes
there just aren’t any
to ‘describe’ what it is I
but ‘slapping paint onto canvas’;
thats like making mud-pies;
it doesn’t need an
it just ‘Is’.
and just being,
far more productive,
#artivism #art #response #responding #canvas #acrylic #paint #painting #writing #concrete #design #surfaces #reframing #reconciling #flippingit #photoblog #photograph #photography #kpm©
What is there to say?
I find it interesting that one ‘item’, when dissected,
can form, something else.
The process of deconstruction doesn’t just pertain to
When you dissect something,
the unfolding process, of other surfaces, happens.
Take this log for example.
On it’s own, and in it’s own right,
it is a beautiful, bold
piece of macrocarpa.
It’s outer edges are rough and raw,
curved and robust.
You can see that it was once a proud,
free standing tree.
When it is dissected, it still holds it’s pride
but its shows us it’s insides.
It’s ridges and ripples.
It’s lines and veins.
It’s rough beauty.
It gives us something to touch;
to run our fingers over.
To ‘taste’ with our senses.
It’s life and it’s essence,
is laid bare.
And we can see where it has been;
What it holds.
Upon closer inspection, it’s power
and it’s might, is shared with us.
All my life, well 41 years of it anyway, I’ve had to defend myself. Unfortunately, the form of defense that I have employed has usually, also been to my detriment. In that, I have hidden, run, anesthetized, gone silent…held my breath…to maintain my survival.
And this is the aftermath and ongoing cruelty of infant or child sexual assault, for its victim. It’s no longer some pervert cunt whose trying to get into your tiny panties…its the continuous hiding from the possibility of impending assault. It’s Us; still trying to defend ourselves from those prying fingers.
But those fingers don’t exist in the here and now anymore. Just in the senses…in the dreams…in the reminders…in the head…in the heart…and they are more than enough to terrify an avid horror film buff.
And as I wake this morning, to the realization that I have been my own worst number 2 enemy…as number 1 is lost somewhere in the open world…I wonder; am I going to defend myself differently? What does that differently look like?
I think it would look like what I do for; have done for my kids. It would look scary and fierce. It would be quiet, but firm…unyielding. It would defend and die for the life of…the growth of…the success of. It wouldn’t take any shit and wouldn’t take No for an excuse or an answer.
So if that is my new truth…that I; the person who hid, survived but died inside every day…if I; am truly worth fighting for…then today must be the day that happens.
I have listened and remained silent to the uneducated and unlearned and uncompassionate taunts of “get over it all ready … stop using it as an excuse … that was years ago … you’re so unaffectionate … you’re not better, your worse … you need to forgive … you need to move on”. And my defense, or best defense, has been an argument. Has been a plea, really.
To listen, to understand…let me educate you so that you will understand. Let me beg, plead and cry so that you will understand. Let me share my horrors with you so that you will understand.
Not realizing, they don’t want to understand…they just want me to be different. Not such an unwelcome truth.
So, for her, and me…I’ll keep talking the unwelcome truth…the mundane horrors…not just to educate; but to defend my position; my truth; my battle; my scars; my reality; my healing; my moving on and growing up.
I’ll also speak for all of those that didn’t make it out of that little dark room with prying fingers and filthy deeds. ALL those little people who never got the chance to get out, grow up, get a job and a family. For all those little people, just like me…who grew into big people, and have rocked in the corner, for far to fucking long.
First Published on: Mar 2, 2016 @ 07:04 ❤
I think the most joy I get out of creating shit at the moment,
Is the mess it makes.
Maybe thats because I’m an over anal clean freak,
and like neat rows of shit, where everything can be find at a glance.
And this process: the tactile process, of creating a glorious,
creative mess – is different and devine 🙂
Concrete has been my thing for a while.
A long while.
I have gorgeous memories attached to concrete.
And a little while ago now,
I discovered I could make a pliable concrete mixture,
with which to plaster on anything from hardboard
And then theres still the whole minimalism shit,
that I also adore.
Just straight, deep colour.
Yes, the devil is indeed in the detail.
It makes Me smile.
And out of all this mess,
I created a sort of –
well a sort of –
sculpture painting thing lol.
Which I shall get around to taking a photograph of one day.