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How Others Saw Me
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"How Others Saw Me", oil on paper, 13.5 x 21.5 inches. This item is unmounted and unframed. (click on the image to purchase)
“I want to be held and told my name. I want to be valued, in ways that I am not; I want to be more than valuable. I repeat my former name; remind myself of what I once could do, how others saw me. I want to steal something.”
― MARGARET ATWOOD, THE HANDMAID'S TALE
Well, dear reader, you see what's going on in the world. The trend away from equality and uplift; the abrupt shift toward erasure. This isn't a political post, but it cannot help but be singed and smoking around the edges by it all.
I try not to think about what other people think about me.
What other people think about you is not your business - who said that once upon a time? I can't recall, but the words stuck with me. And as an artist, thinking about what other people are thinking is a downward spiral of stifled creativity and the muse bound and gagged in the corner.
But as a human, it is hard to avoid thinking about what other people think about me when they are making decisions about my life, my freedom, my rights. When their thoughts about me (and my kind) are defining many key aspects of how I can live in the world, well then I think that is my business. And yours, too.
What other people think about you is not your business - who said that once upon a time? I can't recall, but the words stuck with me. And as an artist, thinking about what other people are thinking is a downward spiral of stifled creativity and the muse bound and gagged in the corner.
But as a human, it is hard to avoid thinking about what other people think about me when they are making decisions about my life, my freedom, my rights. When their thoughts about me (and my kind) are defining many key aspects of how I can live in the world, well then I think that is my business. And yours, too.
So this ballgown bot appeared at an interesting time, demanding I ponder the thoughts of others, demanding I remind myself daily of who I am, not who others say I am or what others say I am allowed to do and to be. Feisty, this one.
About the art - beginning with a large acrylic painting on arches 300 lb watercolor paper, taping it off into two vertical sections and drawing directly on top of it with a thick black paint pen. Working from the outside in (many layers to get that dark, dark, dark) and then the inside out (many layers to get the shades of pink and flesh and shadows) always in thinned layers of paint (using linseed oil now instead of walnut oil). Initially working wet into wet to get softness, then a long drying time. Wet on dry for crisp edges, and then wet on the new wet for blurred edges of fabric fading into the dark. Push and pull, harden and soften, with a final layer of dark paint to be sure the face disappears entirely into the background. I cannot see her eyes, and yet I do feel her stare.
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The deep deep deep unfathomed dark, the way the light touches and illuminates, the crisp edges, the softnesses, the faint whisperhints of quiet quiet definition, the infinitesimally subtle suggestion of light on the face.
Whoa.
"But as a human, it is hard to avoid thinking about what other people think about me when they are making decisions about my life, my freedom, my rights. When their thoughts about me (and my kind) are defining many key aspects of how I can live in the world, well then I think that is​ my business. And yours, too."
I respected and admired you so much before this post, but after reading this post my respect and admiration for you is squared, cubed, geometrically and arithmetically increased.
Carl