Slouching Into a New Year...

I thought I would drop some work I finished in the past month. A few diptychs belonging to the Doom Days series...

And here, I have an "evolution of" series of shots, culminating in the final diptych...

detail

9 Total

I finished this series, Already Not Here, sometime last week.

I envision this as being presented in a grid formation, but I will have to explore it once the first three pieces are back to me from the exhibition, in late February.

This piece uses salt in the background, "to blind the devil"...and it refers to the layers of trauma experienced. 3 layers, for the 3 lines found in a haiku.

Haiku of Trauma

This title of this piece comes from a line in an Indigo Girls song, "Keeper of My Heart". I wanted this to feel scabbed, and dug-into, and layered with ink. All of the works in this series have a top layer of ink embedded into the surface, much like one would find in preparing an intaglio plate for printing.

For You, I Would Tattoo Me

The piece below utilizes a human figure and only half of a heart shape. This is also about the frames within frames, seen both visually, and then psychologically. It deals with issues of identity, which --as someone with PTSD-- has always been a bit murky and/or a bit dicey. Salt is used again, around the edges for a type of protection/purification.

Exi(s)ted

This piece is about a certain person, from a certain spacetime.

 Formally, there is a sense of repetition within quite a few of these later pieces...

Hollow Words & Hashtag Platitudes

Much of the same here, but the title directly refers to the King of Hearts card, sometimes known as the "Suicide King".

The Suicidal King

"Doom Days" Interview

A recording of the Guided Pathways event at HCC, where I speak about my art in the Doom Days series, and the words....always the words, is below (about 50 minutes).

https://youtu.be/JnNJcm83EGI

You can still view this online exhibition here: https://horowitzartonline.cargo.site/Shana-R-Goetsch-Doom-Days

New Pathways

Last week I was so pleased to speak about my series, Doom Days, with students and faculty at Howard Community College! I was asked to speak to both the paintings, and the artist statement/poem.

Also last week, I received word that three of my pieces from my new series, Already Not Here, have been accepted into the exhibition, How We Are Healing, an exhibition produced by curator, Sarah B. McCann, and in partnership with The Keswick Wise & Well Center's The Art of Healing Symposium. 

I'm looking forward to being a part of real, in-person exhibitions once again! But I'm not looking forward to figuring out how these printmaking plates will hang and be presented. I'm always setting myself up for a challenge, in that respect.

Onward.

BOO!

This was my first ever published art piece. It's an advertisement from my dad's political campaign, way back in the day...

While still timely advice, I bring this up because my dad will be honored tomorrow at the Wisconsin State Capitol! His sister and a few of my cousins will be there in my stead to witness this honor in person. I am very pleased that he will officially be remembered for his many years of community service. It's now on record.

"Rep. Born, State Representative of the 39^th Assembly District, has authored an Assembly resolution to recognize and honor your father, commemorate his life and commitment to public service." 

side note: I was trying out artist names so it's signed as "Shanalyn"

#thisghostlife

I'm apparently not me...

...so on this particular day, I was my own goddamn sketch artist.

You Leave Me

The loss of my handsome orangey boy, Tommy Scrapples, has been immense. I can feel the lack, the open space where there shouldn't be, the absence of his large presence...it's much too quiet in here. It's much too loud in some ways too; the quiet being almost deafening. This death was sudden, and fairly traumatizing to witness, let alone (I'm sure) endure. It's maybe, finally, really broken me. I might be dissociating. The circumstances truly did him wrong; it was total and complete bullshit. It was not right. He was robbed, and so was I. 

Twice, I made this piece, because the first time... it was not right. 

It's enough, for now, but it feels like not enough. 

Shock of the New

All Hail The Traveler.

Already Not Here

In the meantime...my cat died suddenly...and I may have decided that the title (above) is the new series title, since I just keep racking up more losses....or at least more than the three. I finished this piece yesterday. It's a collograph plate (technically), inked and wiped.

Hold Me While I'm Smiling

No. 3

...the concept of the “third death” in which, sometime in the future after our passing, our names are spoken for the last time...

Arrested Development

mixed media / collograph plate, inked and wiped

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/336070-there-are-three-deaths-the-first-is-when-the-body

"Doom Days" Online Exhibition at HCC

Please feel free to scroll through:

https://horowitzartonline.cargo.site/Shana-R-Goetsch-Doom-Days

I Grieve, For You

I Feel Everything

collograph plate, inked and wiped

SWAK

collograph plate, inked and wiped

The Third Death

This summer has been full of loss for me. That's as encapsulated as I can get.

I had been so unreasonably busy and stressed out for several months, so I hadn't been able to feel the full force of the loss, of the deaths I've experienced so close to me. It was leaking out slowly, but I knew I still had more, or that I had just begun.

It took seeing someone else I care for, cry over their loss, to feel the weight of it all come crashing down on me. I was attending a virtual/zoom memorial for a mentor, colleague, and stand-up human, Fletcher Mackey, a few days ago. It was a touching tribute all around, but near the end, what really got to me was that Miss Paula cried. 

I described it later as, "I just lost my SHIT". 

I didn't actually know what I was feeling, but it was blinding, and probably allthethings; just jumbled up like a horrible, angry ball of burning-sharp-punchy. I got up and sat down like, three times. But where was I going? Nowhere. There was nowhere to go. I wanted to go to her, but realized she hadn't sent for me. But I was significantly alarmed, and I felt fierce protectiveness in seeing and hearing her struggle. The sense that I knew I could do nothing about her pain (and that it was her own, and personal) was palpable. 

So I sat back down, again and again and again.

But holy shit, was I affronted! How DARE you make Miss Paula cry!?! Outrageous! Who was I gonna have to fight?! No one. There was literally no one to direct this anger towards. I wanted someone to blame, but again, there was nothing. No one to blame, and fuckall to do about it. 

Total impotence.

I was angry with the Universe. I wanted to punch it right in its stupid, unfair face. And I was mad about the deep loss that I could see and feel from everyone and everything in that moment. I felt it collectively, intermingled with some disbelief. As someone fairly sensitive and empathetic, it was entirely too much, but I could have dealt with it....until Miss Paula.

I am still angry with the Universe, for taking such a bright star ("bangles in the sky"), way too early.

I was already SO angry with the Universe; my dad died about a month prior to Fletcher's passing, in late June. Something with his heart, it was all so sudden. It left me raw, and lost, and alone, and vacant, and scrambling. I spent all summer pushing through and surviving, so I hadn't had the time to fully grieve....for anyone.

And then I had another, more metaphorical death about a week ago ("I'm lost." -- "Yes. You are, baby"). 

I've had more deaths, of course, before... but the metaphorical ones make it that much harder for me to grieve. There's nothing tangible. What do I do with...ALLTHIS.

I received a scholarship for a Grief Work course last spring. Synchronicity determined it would start live, during my dad's funeral, so I obviously missed it (Touché, Universe). I know I have to start the course now. 

And I knew I had to MAKE stuff with my hands. And I knew I had to write.

So here I am with the start of a new series, "The Third Death". This is the first piece in the series. Better photo coming, and another piece to join it soon.

I Feel Everything
collograph plate, inked and wiped

"Doom Days", Exhibition

Coming soon to you virtually, at Howard Community College: my latest body of work, "Doom Days". 

Link to follow soon... 

Dear Debra Buck...

Hi Debbie (and other true crime rubberneckers),

Please reference the above image to learn more about the actual victim of the murder you so shallowly "reported on" recently. Please also try to be more empathetic next time, especially if there are living victims/survivors, whom also might need and look for some measure of humanity and grace in others. Maybe you could even contact said survivors BEFORE inserting their website links into your little stories. It might even be the ethical/moral thing to do!

You had a real opportunity here, to get beyond the surface of this crime and speak to issues such as family and domestic violence, trauma/C-PTSD and other mental/physical/emotional health challenges in survivors of abuse and violence, how Art can act as a change agent and source of healing...and other rich topics. But no, you couldn't even scratch the surface. I'm thoroughly disappointed in you, Debbie. Your multiple legal disclaimers don't actually cover for your lack of depth and lack of drive, unfortunately. But I do hope you enjoy the art I made for just these instances.

And I'll tell you now, what I told another hapless "reporter" a few years ago; one whom also tried to minimize my mother's personhood, and favored that of her sensational murder(er) instead: "But I assure you, she was sensational if she was anything... The relevance only lies in the loss, or absence of her. All of my work, all of me leads back to her, not him."

It's best to take the link to my website down now, Debra Buck, because who and what I am, has no relevance to what you've done either. I control the narrative here.

Hey, while you're at it, could you maybe take down the description of where my elderly father still lives too? Might be decent of you, considering.

Regards--shana