Portrait of MC

I Witnessed her at my house, no heat in the studio this winter. We set up a cozy scene in my makeshift studio-living room, and I put her in charge of arranging the candles. She was thoughtful with her task, arranging four in a row and a single white one on its own. We blessed the space and settled in...

It wasn't long before there were tears in both our eyes.

The story of her Choices; of a baby aborted, a series of miscarriages, a son born and raised... So heartbreakingly tender. So real. So weightily carried for 67 years. And here we were, in my little home, with my own son's toys around us, hot tea in home-made mugs, the couch left over from my marriage, as she opened her legs and spread her story.

She had been dragging this weight a long time. Her own life's story of coming out strong and happy from a life of extraordinary adversity would put brave men to shame. I knelt at her feet, nudging into the tender places with soft questions and dropping soft droplets of pink on the canvas.

We invited in the beings.

We invited in forgiveness.

We cried.

Eventually the time came toward a close and we sealed the space and I sent her off with a hug. Over the following weeks I continued to work on the painting here and there and little extraordinary things started to happen. The presence of children kept showing up in the painting. My own son, woke up early the morning I was going to put the first layer of gold on and helped me lay it in with his own finger tips (he has never participated in a painting this much). The blue of the painting came from a bizarre kid's ink pen from one of his craft kits (a pen which consequently stained half my house! But I digress...). I would hear children's laughter while I painted and often left painting sessions feeling very much like the spunky tutu-wearing girl I was at 5.

In the end, I nick-named this painting the "RainbowCrystalDiamondHeart Painting" after what I wanted my mom to legally change my name to when I was 5 (not a whole lot has changed). I found myself saying, "this would be a perfect painting for a little girl's room"... Admittedly not something I say often about my work. Came to find out not long after that all four miscarriages were baby girls.

So essentially I made a painting for a little girl's room that never was.

Oh my.

She confessed to me when she came to see the finished painting the other day, that she had almost not come for the Witnessing because she was so worried that what would come out would be so dark. Seeing the finished product, a painting of undeniable innocence and sweetness, moved her to tears. The forgiveness landed at last and she was freed from a lifetime of guilt.

We are so brutal to ourselves in our thinking. We judge and condemn and trap ourselves inside prisons of our own making. Torturing ourselves behind the thick walls of our skulls. All in the name of culture, bound up by the things we have been told are right or wrong or good or bad. Wrapped and knotted and squeezed till our light is dim and our health is compromised... And yet, there is, in the very essence of it all, such sweetness, such unlimited potential and freedom. So much gold and bright colors...

What knot could you loosen if you gave yourself permission to do so? What colors would it set free? These are questions worth sitting with, I find. In the end, we imprison ourselves far worse than any jailer...

xo,

AMIEL

The google image search that kicked me out of the closet... A few words on FGM

A couple months ago I was doing a google image search trying to find an medical illustration that dated pre-'discovery' of the clitoris for a painting I wanted to do. As these things tend to do one image led to another and before I knew it I was eyeballs deep in a subject that I have tried to keep out of my reality for long time...

The subject of female genital mutilation.

Like the details of people who murder babies, and so many of the other truly awful senseless tragedies that occur in our world, female genital mutilation (FGM), is one of those things I have always known about but really would rather have just not talked about. However, this time, face to face with image after image of horrible horrible things- mothers taking razor blades to toddler girls, blood everywhere, babies screaming- I didn't have a choice but to look this reality in the eye. According to the World Health Organization, more than 125 million girls and women alive today have been cut in the 29 countries in Africa and The Middle East where FGM is concentrated (source). An estimated 3 million are at risk of having their pussies cut each year.

yikes.

At this point, there was no turning back and so I dove deeper. I then learned that there are three different 'styles' of FGM- from type I in which some or all of the girl's clitoris is removed to type IV in which all or most of the external genitalia are removed and the girl is sewn shut with the exception of a small hole for urine (source).

Holy fucking shit.

In Somalia, 63% of the girls who underwent FGM (a whopping 98% of the female population) had their genitals almost completely sewn shut. Almost scarier still, in Guinea, where FGM has been done to 96% of the female population, only 19% of the women think FGM should stop as opposed to 42% of the boys and men (source).

What the WHAT?!

So I am sitting there, staring at the computer screen, looking at these images, with tears streaming down my face, and I realize that I no longer have the right to be 'shy' about this project. The goal of Vulveré is to change the fabric of our global culture as it relates to women and to the vulnerable wild parts in all of us. Looking at a picture of a baby girl laying in a pool of blood, my embarrassment over the fact that I paint vulvas vanished and was replaced with fierce determination. It was time to get over myself and take this project into the world. It is no longer about me (and honestly, it never really was). It is about who we are as a race and how we are going to choose to go forward in this world.

Being embarrassed or ashamed of our feminine selves has not gotten us very far. I would advocate it has actually gotten us into some pretty bad situations. A country in our world in which 98% of the girls have had their genitals cut off is a bad situation.

The trick here is that we are talking about deep cultural and traditional beliefs; things no one likes to have challenged. Cultural myths and practices and beliefs are the corner stone of how we, as a species, deal with the fact that we have no real provable idea as to why we are here and what happens later. Attack someone's beliefs from the outside and they often will only cling to them more tightly. It's human nature.

So rather than fight against FGM directly, I would advocate a celebration of the opposite. It is my fervent prayer that I can somehow create an experience of reverence with my art that celebrates women. I pray that this reverent celebration weave it's way into our global culture like a thin string of hope that cannot be killed. If you are reading this, I challenge you, to look at the dark and wild and feminine parts of yourself (regardless of your sex) and celebrate them. Love them. For only you can change your world, and it starts in us. It's up to us.

xo,

Ranier AMIEL