I started this piece in September of 2006 - yes; a full ten years ago. Since then it's been wedged between the pages of a large sketch pad under my bed in perpetual limbo. Protected from ... Dust? Fade? Fear? The Horrors of Perfectionism? Completion? Rejection? Possibilities? F*ck if I know.
What I can tell you is I started this piece during a very pivotal time of my life. I had been doing heavy hypnotherapy work around my father and was finding it difficult being alone with the hamster wheel in my head. I also recently turned 40, and had been sober little over a year. Truly born again - as if a black hood was ripped off my head and light was flowing into my crown chakra like something you'd see in a B horror movie. Seriously. I was getting healthy and hopeful again and everything was so intense. In many ways I was like a five-year-old, experiencing life with swings between angst, wonder and revelation.
I had been divorced for five years and coming off a string of ridiculous relationships. The last one (my favorite mistake) left me feeling like I was defective and would be alone forever. Just listen to Alanis Morsette’s' Jagged Little Pill, and that pretty much summed me up.
My son was with his father over Labor Day weekend. I was crawling out of my skin and had to get off the island. I hopped in my Jeep and took the five-hour drive through the North Cascades to Winthrop. I was absolutely broke, with only a full tank of gas and $20 to my name until payday – but it was enough for a pack of smokes, a spot at Pearrygin State Park for the night, and coffee in the morning.
I got to the campground late. It was dark, full moon, and the grounds were quiet - mainly just a few people chillin by campfires, and the rest probably sleeping. I crawled in the back of the Jeep, slipped into my sleeping bag and crashed. All this angst was wearing me out.
Something woke me up at exactly 3 AM. I got out of the Jeep and what I saw was nothing short of mystical. The campgrounds were completely dark and still, and a tethered mist floated throughout - curving around tents, trees and vehicles. Because of the topography, the full moon looked mid-level in the sky, and much larger than it should have that early in the morning.
I walked barefoot up the hill to the main dirt road that meandered toward town. When I reached the top, I stopped and considered that brilliant moon. I thought of my father. "I deserve the best, don't I?" At that precise moment, three thick, sideways streaks of light erupted in front of me, crossing over the sky and the moon. Blazon trails suspended for a good five minutes, maybe more.
Hence the birth of "SELF." I drove home the next day and created her on my kitchen table, blasting the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Stadium Arcadium for hours. No plan, just totally organic. Oil pastel, marker and pencil. It appears to be a womb and impending birth, which totally makes sense for where I was at.
I pulled SELF from under the bed about a month ago and finished her. Darkened the fade; touched up lines and details; made her lighter in spots. Then a 3-D mount with an industrial flair was the natural finishing touch - 'cause there ain’t nothing calm and pretty about birth. Transformation is brutal.
