mauri of me #13

I like to paint with black, red and white.

Sometimes, deep dark blue.

I prefer my reds to be bright, blood red. Glossy.

Everything else – matte.

I love working with my hands,

and raging against the canvas.

I prefer abstract,

because thats my normal view,

of this strange, distorted world.

I don’t understand pretty painted flowers and

life like birds.

I can take a photograph of that.

But i can appreciate someone elses beauty in it.

I just don’t understand it.

I love the art of:

Colin McCahon,

and Ralph Hotere.

Those I get.

I love large canvas …

as big as the walls, large.

I can make a huge old fucked up mess

on those.

I love words.

My words are blunt.

In my art, that is.

Ok, everywhere.

I don’t like to hide away meaning.

I prefer that my intention slaps you right in the

mooch.

My art – my painting

lets me release

what i cannot

sometimes

all the time

oft times

….

explain.

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last ones left ~ Six60

Last Ones Left ~ Six60, 2015

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dreams, paint & a late response to a request : responding #6

It’s not that I forget that they diagnosed pts(d). Not at all. It’s just that sometimes I get a taste of ‘normality’ – very loose definition of – and I just enjoy rolling with it.

And then something happens … usually in my dreams.

And I am viciously catapulted back to ‘reality’ – also loosely defined as such.

The latest catapult came the other night. After another one of those dreams.

Where I am Big, as in, an adult body.

I can’t move. I can’t speak. And when I try to scream, not much more than a whisper, comes out.

So again, I am lying, naked, trying to scream; sticky clammy hands running all over my body … trying to move them away, with my body, with my mind … mouth wide open, in an enraged, violated scream.

And nothing is coming out.

My partner woke me from this dream. He says it was going on for a long time and I wouldn’t wake up.

He’d placed his hand on my head and was speaking quietly and calmly to me; a. so I didn’t hit him; b. so I wouldn’t get a fright.

It seemed to work.

I woke feeling angry, scared, frustrated, violated …

I’m hoping the return of this dream means I am ‘working it out’ somehow; and will come to another ‘ah-huh’ – moment whereby something registers in my being – something is put to rest … I hope.

…..

And then I remembered these:

I told Johanna that I’d post pictures of them for her, when the exhibition came down. I was abit late.

But what has become of this piece; is I have given my permission for it to travel to Australia in May, with a woman who is speaking at a conference on working with women who have experienced violence / sexual violence. Some of the other art that was in the exhibition will be making the trip with her too.

I figure assisting those that assist others is a good a reason as any to have my insides on display.

I also figure with every step, or every dream, that feels like a step backwards … there is a multitude of forward strides that are taken, as Me and people like Me, Respond.

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366 reasons to smile ~ +35.

+35. Our exhibition came down the other day so I can finally put photos up.

The top one was taken by another  talented artist/photographer – of my hands. She also took the photos of the exhibition too, I believe.

The others are mine. The painting/writing is a kaupapa book, documenting my ‘journey’ and my responses to having been sexually assaulted – from a childs perspective.

And abit of clay work – not my best lol, and not really my genre hah, but I enjoyed it 🙂

I’ve got other photos but can’t find them atm, typically 🙂

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Link

#orangetheworld #day11

#orangetheworld to end #VAW and girls! #16DaysOfActivism #day11 “WAI are a collective of women making art in response to our experiences of violence.” The exhibition remains up until Ja…

Source: #orangetheworld #day11

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expression ~ pts(d) #21

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a new home ..

One of my old abstracts is making its way to a new home on the weekend … I’ll miss it … it holds a shitload of memories and feelings … but, time to let it go I feel ❤

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a sniff of …

I had a ‘moment’ last night:

  • I wont call them anything but a ‘moment’ now .. they’ve taken up to much space

A sniff of residue … hint of a flashback … one that’s  probably been waiting for a very long time to make its way to the forefront of my mind’s eye.

Think I wrote a post, or made a comment on someone elses post, awhile ago … about your body, mind … remembering things when its good and ready … that there’s not really any need (for me anyway) to go digging around for ‘memories’ to deal with … I mean, for fucks sakes, who needs more stress???

And I guess I have had a rather long ‘rest’ in terms of pts(d) flashback occurrences. Not that they don’t happen … I just know what to do (for some of them) when they do happen now …

But this …

It’s been floating around on the outskirts of my dreams … my mind … my memories for a while. I haven’t actively ignored it … but I haven’t actively sought it out either!

I’d say I got ‘screen one’. I’m hoping that’s all. But I know it’s not.

But …

I won’t fear it …

It made me cry. But I don’t want to shed anymore tears over it. But I haven’t quite yet harnessed all that anger that is lurking in the back of minds eye as well!

All these years … it’s been silent. My memories. I see pictures. Remember smells. I hear an occasional ‘bump’, but not voices.

Last night … I heard him speak. I had forgotten that he spoke. Questioned. Conversated.

The pedo cunt, ‘engaged’ with his prey.

He lured. Gained trust. Through language. Through conversation.

He tried to gain compliance. He did gain compliance.

And last night, I heard his filthy voice.

Not here. But back then.

What ripped my world though; was it came when I was having a moment with my partner. How fucking cruel is that.

I logically know enough now, to know that it isn’t my partner. That he could have done nothing differently. That because I was having a ‘safe’ moment, that little flashback fucker was able to make its way to the forefront.

That in itself is a good thing. Because its here now … in the here and now … I can deal with it. I have more at my disposal to deal with it than I ever have had before.

Does that make it better? Fuck no.

The whole thing is stewing / coagulating in my insides. I feel like my head is going to explode! But I know it’s already been and gone … this is just the residue. The ‘sniff of’ what was.

I despise that pedo cunt more than I ever have before.

How dare he mess with my world! With Me!

I have no interest in trying to understand the sick fuck anymore. I do hope he dies a slow miserable death though.

*In other news*

Some of my art goes on display today. Part of a larger exhibition

for strong women that are finding their voices –

post DV

post rape

post violence

post all that shit that keeps us weighed down.

I think the anticipation of this

may have nudged the ‘flasher’

out of its hiding place.

But I am here.

I am doing life.

I am kick ass fucking mad.

But

so looking forward to more

peace

contentment

wholeness.

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expression ~ pts(d) #10

#10

#10

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expression ~ pts(d) #9

#9

#9