Dark Creepoid

Tonight after I got done working I came home and cut letters out of magazines, just like a dark, threatening, creepoid would. It was for part of my newest series....I'm not actually threatening anyone with these magazine letters.

But sometimes I wonder about the amount of 'understanding' I have with all things wrong in the universe, in order to make some of the pieces I make. As in, I think I've seen/heard/know too much sometimes.

I love being able to say something real, and to take a stand, but again...the lengths that I have to go sometimes to set a certain tone or mood is really scary. It's scary to have to be that person, to jump into that role, even for a day, an hour, a minute. But sometimes it's just the way things have to be conveyed. I don't want to say that I'm channelling someone, or something, because I'm definitely NOT. However, it occurs to me that I do in fact, have to go there sometimes.

I suppose a better example with which to illustrate this concept, would be the piece I did about female genital mutilation. In the end, it had to be that she was stitched there with real thread. It was what the piece really needed. But the fact that I had to sit there and do that to a vagina (real or drawn) almost broke me. Well, it did break me, I apologized to her profusely beforehand, I had dread. I had a fit before I even started, I felt like I was going to vomit, and I was sobbing when I actually did the stitching. Sobbing, all over the idea of what I was doing.

But I still didn't want to hurt her, even if she wasn't real and I had drawn her myself. I just didn't want to hurt her like that. And of course, 'she' was just a symbol in my mind for every other woman who has experienced mutilation and humiliation, but 'she' was still real enough that I felt the need to talk to her. And I cried for her pain, even while I was the one creating it.

I'm not able to communicate it correctly right now. Weird, but I think that's what I'm driving at with the magazine letters. Sometimes, I don't want to have the thoughts I have which lead me to make the paintings I paint. Sometimes, I want so desperately to be able to be content with painting flowers and teddy bears, and fluffy, meaningless, crap.

Most times though, I love being able to put me on the paper, no matter what broken-down state I show up in. And I'll still try to love myself, even if I spent the night being a dark creepoid.