The Inner Child at Play
Some days I actually feel fortunate that I recovered memories of incest, because the intense work I did with them opened up so much creative energy in my life. When I was deep in the process, I began doing artwork that was dark and full of turmoil—plenty of black and red slashes of pain and anger, gray and brown messes of confusion. Then I drew hundreds of little girls in their new world of trees, rivers, and blue skies, which helped me see the changes in my life.
Granted I’m still aware of pockets of unresolved issues, like the fear that I wrote about in the last post. But awareness is half the battle and slowly I make progress.
Now my artwork is more abstract, deep play with color and form. This week I’ve been playing with acrylic paints in bright colors of red, orange, and tan. I also dance and write poetry. My freedom in all these media is possible because I went right into and through the scary, dark, messy material of my abuse, danced it, wrote it, drew it. It’s the hardest thing to convey—the joy and freedom, confidence and love that came from this difficult journey.