This woman was a friend who originally came to me to talk about balancing her hormones. I ended up asking her about sexual abuse and she confessed having spent a good six months in the rape crisis center ('I'm alive because of them' she told me). At this point I brought her into my studio and told her about my art and the process I do. Offering it as (free) service if she felt it would help...
We ended up working together late into the night about a week later. There was whisky, there were tears, there was laughter, and there was story telling. Her story was rough. Really rough. She wrote all over the canvas first in gold ink- starting with a family tree (the abuse went generations back), and evolving to things she had felt, things she wanted to say, etc. With that foundation laid, I then worked on her painting for three days straight. It was intense, dark, beautiful stuff. Almost puked three times just from whatever it was coming from her through me. She brought in sacred items to help anchor the space while I painted and we both felt a huge relief when it was done. At one point I felt it could either be covered in white or swamped in black. Held my breath a day and waited for the shift in her to be clear. In the end the white won, but as with her, there were layers and layers to the story. Dark, brilliant, bloody, triumphant. *exhale*