Please be advised that RISE contains work depicting sensitive themes of sexual violence which may be distressing or triggering to some attendees.
Since its inception in 2022, RISE has become more than an event; it is a cornerstone of our community's commitment to fostering awareness and support. Through vibrant artworks and powerful expressions, RISE creates a sacred platform for survivors to reclaim their narratives and shatter the pervasive silence surrounding sexual violence.
For those interested in purchasing artwork, please contact Carolyn Ferrick, cferrick@thebluebench.org
Location: RemainReal Fine Art Gallery, 901 Santa Fe Dr, Denver, CO 80204
Opening night: April 5th - extended hours due to First Friday Art Walk: 5:30 - 9:30 PM
Regular hours: Thursday through Sunday, 11:00 AM - 7:00 PM
This is an exploration of destruction through humor. It is not an attempt to alleviate the uncomfortable nature of sexual assault. It is using humor to reveal the acuteness of pain. How can humor be used as a guide, a way of reliving and relating the worst experiences. How can humor be used to dare those who have tried to crane their necks away from the horror they caused to look instead at the wreckage left behind?
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Dead Upon Arrival
Tell me, what’s it like to fuck a living corpse?
That’s something you would know, I guess
To enter something warm, limp, and lifeless
Did you prop the body up and make it do silly poses?
Was this necrophilia meets Weekend At Bernie's?
I bet you thought manipulating bodies would be a lot easier without the head
Much less funny though
I wonder, how did you strip the body?
Did it feel like a parent undressing their slumbering child for bed?
Was the whole body stripped or was this more of a Winnie-the-Pooh situation?
Bottoms off was all that was required
You see, I wasn’t there
So I can only imagine what transpired
A wake of greasy faced college men
Number unknown
Baseball caps, basketball shorts, hockey pucks for brains
Did you form a ritual circle around the body?
Or was it more of a conga line straight to the vagina?
No, it was a kettle of vultures
Swarming in on a helpless gazelle that had been drugged unconscious
Was the body still warm when you tore into it?
Fresh and ripe for the pillaging
Were there wet slurping sounds?
Or was that drowned out by your mates heckling
I bet it was nice to not have to feign competence
For once you didn’t have to demonstrate that you didn’t know where to find the clit
That you had no idea how to pleasure anyone other than yourself
Did blood stain your latex when the body tore?
You probably didn’t realize how fragile a flesh cavern is
Was it hard to wiggle inside something so dry and clamped shut?
Like a hermit crab trying to squeeze into too small of a shell
Or trying to crawl inside the carcass of a freshly slaughtered fawn
Did you stop to wonder that this is why nature invented the warm up?
That maybe what was transpiring was a crime against nature
Or did you treat the dryness like a waiting dinner party invitation?
Bring your own gravy
Chew it up, mash it a bit
It will loosen soon enough
Maybe it wasn’t about the corpse at all
It was a performance piece
A bromance mating ritual
A contest to see who can most creatively commit a war crime
It’s nice that you kept up with old traditions
Wrapping the body in a flimsy sheet
Like it was already on the coroner's table
Like it was already prepped to be buried in the ground
Who's idea was it to move the body?
So that it wouldn’t be discovered at the scene of the crime
Who’s idea was it to complete the metaphor and toss the body in an alley?
Next to the trash and recycling bins?
And by the body,
I mean my body
Here is what I remember,
Searing, blinding, almost mind numbing pain
A type of cold that goes beyond your bones and enters your brain
Human teeth marks on my thigh
A trophy mark carved into my flesh
A warning, a reminder
Whore
It was not a simple act of cruelty
Not mundane or impersonal
This was sabotage
This was mortal combat dressed as self-gratification
Still I have hope for you
I don’t dole out death sentences easily
Not like you, apparently
How easy was it to forget there was a human inside?
That this person cooked you meals and laughed at your aimless jokes?
Did you never stop to reflect that you once held this body when it was a baby?
That you had upon a time played Barbies and G.I. Joes with them in the backyard?
We once played dress-up-tea-party
You once told me I was annoying for trying to copy your every move
All my childhood I wanted to be invited into your boy’s club
Let me tell you, this was not how I wanted to be included
Your mother had me tutor you in reading comprehension
Comprehend this; you were five whole grades ahead of me
Was that the last time you valued me for more than my vagina?
When did my main characteristic stop being smart and start being pretty?
Maybe I should have tutored you in empathy
You see, where you negated the human
I installed one
I make men out of monsters
My mind can see beyond the cruelty into the shriveled heart that still beats
What you don’t understand is it’s a privilege to call me pretty
No one gets to do that unless I stamp your wrist
Invite you into the club
What you didn’t understand is that this body
My body
Pulsates, vibrates, rockets life like a force
Do you know what it is like to make love?
To and with someone?
A love filled with yearning and creativity?
To hold someone and have them hold you back?
I do
I know that sex is more than genital battle bots
But sex wasn’t really your goal, was it?
Do you know why you had such easy access?
Did you realize that when I didn’t cry out it is because I already knew
No one is coming
No one will protect me
I am alone
You had to have known I was dead long before you sank your claws into the body
My body
You see, there is no world in which I was not dead upon arrival
That my own body didn’t serve as my coffin
I had died so many times before that existence felt like an afterlife
You can’t fuck a corpse that is living if it is already dead
You knew, you had to have known
When you hunted me relentlessly
That I was easy prey
I hadn’t known that I could run
I hadn’t known other monsters hunted at night
I had already been conditioned to normalize the abnormal
In order to survive I learned to sacrifice myself
My upbringing doubled as my burial ground
Before my foot even crossed the threshold you were pushing boundaries
I mistook manipulation for kindness
Intent did not align with content
Your moves were deliberate and calculated in your attempt to divest me of all I was worth
No wonder your lot are called predators
Maybe I got it backwards, it was a dead . . . wait what is the opposite of corpse?
I wish you could be like the others
The ones that can barely look at me
That you would realize that your shame is a shred of dignity
That what was done can never be undone
Part of me is grateful for my mind severing itself from my body
My body has kept a record of every barbaric interaction
It is a nuclear wasteland of unbearable sensation
A home that I never got to inhabit
Descartes didn’t have to make me a dualist
Life did it for me
I envy the hermit crab
When he transforms he gets a new shell
My transformation is the agonizing pain of coming back to life
Coming back into a home that was demolished and having to rebuild inch by torturous inch
So, tell me
What is it like to fuck a living corpse?
And I will tell you what it is like to survive being raped by monstrous men
The impacts of sexual abuse don't show up purely in the mind. It's impacts are left upon the body in a seemingly endless sea of discovery. It may be more accurate to ask, what hasn't been impacted? What part of my body has been left unscathed?
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The Mind is a Body Problem
Fuck Dualism and Fuck Descartes
My body is not a playground for you to prove there is a God
Mind and body are not separate entities
Any “nut job” with a brain injury could tell you that
There is not a portion of my body that has not been impacted by my “mind”
My brain’s weather forecast is a constant state of fog
My nails and skin have been excavated and re-excavated by an untrained archeologist
My eye shape has shifted from constant grimacing
My digestive system rages and retreats
My back is bent like a sapling after a snowstorm
My pelvic floor has chain mail and has relocated a little too far forward for comfort
My hips threaten to unravel me any time I go for a stretch
Rene, darling dear, you have mistaken experience for reality
Our senses are notorious for misrepresenting the information they have compiled
Is it possible that the organ that sits just beneath your skull didn’t map your stimuli correctly?
Just because you experience thought immaterially, does not mean your neurons didn’t fire
Thought is not a criteria for existence
Trust me, I’ve been dead for most of my life
Dissociation; my favorite game
My body’s perfectly imperfect defense system
While I was existing for existence’s sake, a routine system of collapse was forming
A mind-body alliance, if you will
A type of self-destruction roulette
What would you like to sacrifice in order to remain standing?
What doen’t kill you will break you
I dissociate because time passes more quickly the further you are from the Earth’s surface
It’s a sort of ritual sacrifice, to never exist within the present moment
I will kill myself first so that I might survive
There is an elegance in that
What happens when your mind is sending signals of survival in a time of peace?
War is waged on your body, that’s what
A constant vigil is held to keep the lookout
Shoulders tensed, back aching, eyes dry from staring at a blank hill in expectation of a siege that never appears
The wary soldier gets no rest, his nerves have been trained for constant attack
A primary care physician will have a pill for that, but not a solution
So Fuck you, Descartes
I am the “nut job” with a brain injury
My crippled body and disabled mind cannot thank you enough
For tearing us apart so that no one can draw a proper map to wholeness
When war is waged on the mind it cannot help but be waged on the body too
This poem touches on the anger us victims feel after.
- From the 21 And Barely Begun poetry collection available on Amazon.
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Fuck You
And your stupid fucking face
And that cold March night
March isn't supposed to be that cold
But, you aren't supposed to be doing what you're doing to me either
Nature rebels
I wasn't yours for the taking just because I trusted you
No is a word that you just can't fit into your low-life vocabulary
It was only minutes
But, those minutes took years of me
Years of denial
Years of avoiding mirrors
Years of speaking to my body in disgust
Until finally,
I reclaimed my power
And made every monster like your kind
Pay for the crime
This poem discusses the shame & sometimes injustices survivors may face & overcoming them.
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Guilty
Guilty, eternally
Shame-filled, internally
Innocence, plucked
Self-Esteem, fucked
Why do I feel more like the villain than the victim?
Bet this isn't eating away at him.
Why am I treated more like a criminal and not like an individual?
Justice didn't come for me in cuffs and locked doors.
It'll come when his body is rotting from his foul insides seeping
into his outward form.
This poem discussion slut-shaming culture, how society reacts to sexual abuses/assaults/harassments.
- From the 21 And Barely Begun poetry collection available on Amazon.
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This Ones For the Sluts
Who were branded before they cashed in their card
Who blossomed too fast and gained unwanted pests into their gardens
Who mixed lust for love
Who were fooled by prince faces but succubus souls
This ones for the sluts
That were told to cover-up
That were told to shut-up
That were told to chin-up
This ones for the sluts
Who were cast out
Who got filled with self-doubt
Who became burned out
This ones for the sluts
Your body did not betray you
Society did
Expectations did
Disney fairytales did
This piece compares a home invasion to an invasion of the self. Your home is sacred, much like your mind. When someone invades your most intimate spaces, you will never feel safe there again. It's easy to get used to the unwelcomed changes if they happen over time. But you will not recognize your home, yourself, once the invader has left.
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“Home”
I let you into my home
Every piece placed with care
You destroyed everything
You made sure I could hear
You invaded my home
You left it busted
Bruised
But never alone
You stole my memories and my youth
You stole my favorite shirt and my shoes
You stole things I made myself
You stole gifts off of my shelves
You claimed everything as your own
You claimed this was your home
You claimed I was the one that didn’t belong
You made me feel like it was all my fault
Comparing people to parasites is usually used to depict a person who took root without your knowledge. But tapeworms can be a special case, because many people swallow them seemingly willingly. But the person could be uninformed about the consequences, they could have been pressured to do so, they could have changed their mind. Unfortunately, tapeworms are not so easy to remove, and everyone around them will blame them because they "did it to themselves".
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Tapeworm
Like a parasite
You buried yourself in my skin
How tragically poetic
I was the one that let you in
Often times people will describe themselves as "broken" or shattered. Broken glass can be repaired, but it will never look the same as it did before.
--------------------------------------
Who
You shattered me like porcelain
I looked where all the pieces had been
But they built a completely different person
"The Power Held Over Me" is a poignant and powerful poem that delves into the complex emotions surrounding victimhood, survival, and the societal expectations that often accompany these experiences. The poet skillfully challenges the perception of victim mentality, exposing the privilege that may underlie judgments made by those who haven't lived through such harrowing moments.
The poem unfolds as a journey of self-discovery and empowerment, exploring the struggle against societal labels and the internal battles that survivors face. Through vivid metaphors, the poet conveys the weight of external expectations, the inner turmoil of second-guessing oneself, and the difficulty of navigating the healing process.
The use of imagery, such as the metaphor of an ornament, adds layers of depth to the narrative. The poem captures the essence of vulnerability, strength, and the intricate process of rebuilding one's identity after trauma. It skillfully addresses the impact of gaslighting, victim-blaming, and the longing for understanding from those who may lack empathy or firsthand experience.
"The Power Held Over Me" concludes on a triumphant note, with the poet asserting their newfound strength and resilience. The imagery of shining and dancing like clouds before a storm symbolizes the poet's determination to rise above the challenges posed by those who misunderstand the intricacies of surviving trauma.
This submission provides a raw and unfiltered perspective on the nuances of the #MeToo movement and the complexities of reclaiming one's voice in the face of adversity. The poet's words resonate with authenticity, inviting readers to reflect on the transformative power of resilience and self-empowerment.
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The Power Held Over Me
You talk about victim mentality
Like you have been a victim
Your privilege leaks from the faucet
Of your life story
With this perception of woman
Dripping into a sink
Of cool depravity
An undermining consent
To this movement of me too
And your words
I begin washing off of my hands until it
Reminded me of the ornament
That showed up in my life
like a fall day
When the leaves flutter to the ground
And break away from a tree
That gave them life
Because they had to
And I second guess myself
I don’t want to be a victim
Needing someone to save them
Perfectly helpless Imposters
lying about an experience within an experience
Like a nesting doll or
A box within a box
There are layers
shame and guilt
That should be easy to get rid of
But self worth cannot be destroyed and rebuilt in an instant
It's a short story set in a fairy tale world about leaving an abusive relationship and how people just want you to be happy. That was how it was for me. Smile don't talk about it. It's about how I learned to start to heal and start to trust men which was very hard. We need to know it's okay to say it's hard for me to trust
This piece was written 7 months after the first memory returned to me of childhood sexual abuse perpetrated by my father, as young as 3 years old. I had no idea and the memories have nearly broken me. I have been in full time therapy to try to heal since. For my beautiful son (the same age I was when this living nightmare began), my love, and my younger parts, I will survive. I will be free. We used to lovingly call him Daddy Do, because it rhymed with my big sisters nickname. Now, the term has far less endearment and leaves me with far more questions, like "Daddy, Do you love me?"
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Daddy, Do you love me?
Daddy Do you love me?
And if the answer is yes,
how do you smile or rest
having treated your daughter
as an object to possess?
Not to protect,
but undress,
silence, and oppress-
to meet your requests
under coercive duress.
Holding my breath,
confused and distressed-
pushed to dissociate
and repress
this brain splitting incest
that makes me switch and regress
when I'm triggered or stressed.
You'll never confess,
but do you have regrets?
Daddy Do you ever feel guilty?
For your grossly unjust
pedophilic lust
manifesting inside me
with every digital thrust
as self-loathing, disgust,
shame, and distrust.
Memories buried,
still I couldn't adjust
to the secret abuse
of my body and trust-
thought I was just bad
marring my skin with hundreds of cuts
that you set me up for
then never discussed.
Daddy Do you know
when you touched me
That you fractured my mind?
Leaving parts of me
frozen in time,
forced to forget and deny,
pretend I was fine
so I could survive.
I believed you loved me
I believed you were kind.
Even after the memories,
Daddy, I tried.
Thought the problem was mine.
Tried to blame it on
any possible reason why
It couldn't be you
who crossed that line.
But when the images play
behind my eyes,
it's your fingers I feel
between my thighs.
So fucking disturbing, I'd rather die
then press rewind
and relive those times.
They're all on your side
but I'm not crazy-
it's you that lies.
Guess I finally know why
I've been so fucked up inside.
Daddy Do you see
what you've done to me?
Did your heart break
when you heard them read
the letter I wrote
of memories retrieved?
Or were you just relieved
that it wasn't believed?
As if I'd suffer all this
just to deceive.
Do you feel free
or does it eat you alive?
Knowing I'm bereaved
of who you get to keep
due to how they choose to perceive.
Can you even conceive
the endless trauma you've weaved?
Breaking me into multiplicity.
Destroying your family.
I rage and I weep
with no reprieve.
Too much to grieve.
Alone I bleed-
back in long sleeves,
struggling to breathe,
seeing you in my dreams.
When will it cease?
I just want...to be free.
I just want my body
To belong to me.
An original poem written by a survivor of sexual assaults, previously published in Lombardi Voices, Vol. 20
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Surviving Sexual Violence
Surviving sexual violence
I live in the battlefield.
I live in the wilderness.
I live in the landscape of beauty.
The ground of my body, with its springs and its valleys,
its curves, its color, its changeable weather,
has been pummeled, bruised and scarred
How many times?
This battlefield, where others wage war against me,
employ their weapons
wreaking destruction, over and over
So many battles
many,
many battles
Territory lost and regained,
only to be lost again.
So many times the battle teetered on my annihilation.
But even then, the wilderness of my heart, of my mind
stood nearby
my consciousness nearly subsumed in battle, but for the wilderness calling back.
The margin of wilderness inside, saying “You cannot take this. You can never take this.”
The wilderness, the escape to a moment of peace,
even as battle raged near.
The moment’s reprieve.
The sanctuary that remained, when the marauder left.
The small spaces where peace lived
untouched, unbent.
The small seeds that slumbered, even as the gore of the war seeped beneath the surface.
Slowly, slowly, bruises fade. Torn earth begins to mend.
The sharp ache dulls.
I breathe warmth into the closed and contracted parts,
Awareness returns, so fleetingly at first.
Life and color tentatively, hesitantly touch here,
and there.
The scars blend, show less bright, the devastation hazy under new growth.
There is a flower, by a tree, that is blooming
There is a place of beauty that can grow.
The devastated battlefield remains,
yet one day, blooms may take over the wasted field.
Leanna Stoufer, 22 July 2023
As published in Lombardi Voices
Based off a poem written by the artist with the same name. A multimedia painting that depicts a heart in pieces and shows the attempts to be put back together and failing to do so. Created to process
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Heart in Pieces – By Mar Kummerman
You broke my heart
At first I thought it was just in half
So I tried quick fixes but even the strongest
Quick fix couldn’t make it whole again.
But at least it stuck together enough to look somewhat whole
Till I stepped on a piece I missed
Then I realized I had many pieces missing
I tried to put it back together with glue
But it dissolved with the next piece I found
I tired to sew my heart back together
But the next piece cut the stitches
I used tape but it fell to the side
I even tried Band-Aids
But the pieces still fell
I’ve decided to hold the pieces I have close to each other
Collect all the pieces I find
Till I’m nearly whole again
But who knows when that might be
Maybe I’ll try to make little hearts out of the pieces
Maybe that will help.
In history class, we were given an assignment with ginger-bread people outlined on paper and I immediately was brought back to sitting in my forensic interview. I have PTSD and a lot of my memories come back at random times, so I felt like poetry was the best way to be able to express a little bit of what that's like in my brain, as the past and present collide. As a survivor, there are so many feelings, emotions, and experiences that I find hard to express out loud but are important to be able to get out of my head and write down.
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“Tell me where he touched you”, she said, holding out a green marker and sliding a sheet of paper across the table.
I wanted to grab the green marker and circle everywhere,
digging the tip of the marker into the paper
until the whole gingerbread man outline was covered in the childish crayola-green.
I wanted to be able to show her
how my mind would throw itself back into the moments
where I was nothing more than a
body beneath his hands.
I wanted to show her
how if my clothes hugged my body a certain way
how if someone stood too close to me
my whole body would collapse in on itself
being able to feel nothing other than him.
I want him to know that
all the cells in our body are replaced every ten years.
It’s going to take a decade of my life for his hands to have not touched my body.
But the memory of his hands are forever seared into my brain.
I want to tell him how long I’ve stood in scalding showers
until the water runs cold and my tears mix with the sudsy shampoo at my feet.
I’ve been trying to wash his touch off my body for the last four years.
No matter what I achieve
I still find my body
covered in his hands.
I want to tell him how many moments there are
where all I want is a hug, to cry into the embrace of someone who loves me
to have someone cradle me and whisper in my ear,
“you’re safe now, everything is going to be okay now”
but then his hands are on me and I can’t breathe.
How dare he take hugs from me.
I want to tell them that today I looked in the mirror and I saw myself again, scars healing over the places he touched.
A glimpse of my body getting out from under him.
That even if it was just for a second,
I looked in the mirror and saw myself again.
My hand shakes and the tip of the crayola-green marker bleeds into the white paper.
I'm a high school senior this year and have spent some time reflecting on what my high school experience has been. As a freshman, I was thrown into the reporting process and the after-effects of my assaults have impacted me every single year of high school. I wrote this to both my past and future self to remind myself what is most important to remember as a survivor moving into the next four years of my life, which right now feels very intimidating.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Dear me,
In a matter of a few short months I’m going to be walking across the stage in my red gown, not just as an East
Angel but as a survivor. It feels impossible to have made it to this moment. There were countless times when I didn’t think
I would make it to graduation. I know how hard it’s been to make it through the past four years, living a double life as I’ve
figured out what it means to survive.
As you hear your name called, don’t minimize the work you’ve put into surviving and reclaiming your life. The
resilience you showed each day just by waking up and giving your best each day is worthy of this celebration. I’m proud of
you for trying to focus in algebra class when hours before you were reporting your assault. I’m proud of you for passing
your psychology test when moments earlier you were in the stairwell calling the detective about your case. I’m so proud of
how much work you’ve put into school while so much of your energy was spent fighting for yourself in a frustrating and
unjust legal system. No one can minimize the effort you put into receiving your diploma, and with it, the effort you put into
just showing up and giving life your best try each day while learning to survive.
Wear your graduation cap with your head held high. I know how much strength it took to fight the voices in your
head that made you feel like the world would be better without you. Even when you didn’t think you would make it to
graduation, forcing yourself to dream for your future self has resulted in you being able to move across the country on
scholarships and start creating a new life. You no longer have to live in a place where you are haunted by memories; you
now have a place where you are able to breathe and dream again. You’re going to be able to carve a spot out in this world
just for you, and I can’t wait to see it. As you build a place just for you, remember that there are people in this world that
care about you and see the pain you carry. Share it with them, you don’t have to carry the weight of surviving all on your
own. As you’ve learned in the last four years, there are teachers, coaches, counselors, assistant principals, teammates,
and advocates that truly care about your wellbeing and want to see you thrive as a survivor.
As you move your tassel from the right to the left, embrace the opportunities that come with this change.
Remember that the pain that comes with being a survivor doesn’t get smaller or lighter, but instead the world around you
just expands. As I’ve learned how to survive these last four years, I’ve found the world is huge, full of the space that I’ve
needed to grow. As you grow, the pain you carry will slowly take up less of your day and fill up less of your heart. There
are still going to be days where the pain that comes with surviving is overwhelming and makes it hard to breathe,
however, you survived the trauma so I know you will survive the healing too. Your life is going to be full of love, support,
and opportunities that you’ve worked so hard to cultivate, so I know that you will have the resources to make it through
each wave of healing.
I’m so proud of you. With love always,
Your Survivor
"Love is a 4 Letter Word" was created while contemplating my "love" story. After experiencing love in different forms and reading "All About Love" by bell hooks I was searching for the impact my childhood sexual abuse had on my perception of love, specifically romantic love involving sex. How did I learn about love? What did I learn about love? I created pictures to represent what I learned from my abusers about what it looked like and felt like and the things it taught me about love. As a childhood sexual abuse survivor this became my love imprint. Love for me became a "4 letter word" that distorted my perception of what true love is.
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Love is a 4 Letter Word
Love is
For pretty little girls who are
Helpful and kind
Polite and well-behaved
To those who smile and are pleasant
And do as they’re told
Love is
A stolen glance, a lustful stare, a strategic brush of the leg
It is unsolicited gifts
Compliments and attention
And the hidden touches and engorgement of bodies
Love is
Flattering and playful banter
The whispers of secret longings
Combined with commands and instructions that
Culminate in grunts of pleasure
Labored breathing
Gasping and silent cries of fear and pain
It is secrets, promises and threats
Love is
Home cooking, cotton candy lip smackers, and alfalfa
Mixed with Old Spice, hair grease, and tobacco
It is the stale smell of working men who cum to soon
And the fresh pure scent of innocence
Smeared together to stain love’s beauty
Love is
Lemon drops, bubble gum, Fruit Loops, and fudgesicles
Jammed with tongues with lingering bits of bacon, coffee, and pickles
Skin seeping of fluids infused with cigarettes and alcohol
Mixed with the swell and outpouring of illicit passion
Love is
The caress of an arm and leg
Tingling excitement pulsating through bulging organs
The pushing and pulling of bodies in hiding
Pleasure and Pain
Beauty and Betrayal
Excitement and Emptiness
Exposed too soon to men who hid their “love-making”
…fuck
"The Picture" was written after searching through a box of photos to find pictures for her graduation slideshow. I happened upon an old picture of myself. It was me with my cousins. Suntanned, arms crossed across my bare stomach. My mind went blank and my stomach dropped. I looked closely at her face and then had to put the photo away because this feeling of sadness and pain came over me and I wrote this poem. It's interesting how a lifeless flat piece of paper can be a catalyst for memories good, bad, or indifferent.
-------------------------------
The Picture
As I sort through old pictures, I pick up and examine my 5th grade school photo.
I see her golden brown skin
Long blonde streaked hair
A crease across her nose (her mom feared the inheritance of her father’s “hook” nose)
Yellowed, grooved, crooked teeth
Ready for braces
Squinty uneven eyes
Touched with a tinge of sadness
Believing she’s not pretty enough to be loved
If I look closely, I remember,
She smiles and anxiously holds her breath
In fear, that’s been bottled up for years.
Fear of success that will bring attention.
Fear of failure that will bring disappointment and anger.
Fear of speaking her truth.
Paralyzing fear that culminates in pleasing behavior
To keep everyone at arm’s length to ensure anonymity.
Mute to the outside world,
while continuous critique and conversations run through her head.
I close my eyes.
Breathe deeply.
Exhale.
And see footprints
leaving a bloody trail,
of a childhood shattered,
and Grieve.
"The Tea Party" is my first piece of writing after remembering my abuse. All my life I've had memories and dreams about a tea party. It never made sense until I was older. I had a conversation with my brother one night and everything flooded back for me and I wrote this short story. It demonstrates the insidious nature of abuse and some of our societal norms and mores provide opportunities for the abuser thereby perpetuating abuse.
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The Tea Party
When we moved to New Castle, Wyoming, 68 year old Carol was the first person to welcome our family to the neighborhood. She greeted us with a smile, a casserole, and 3 kinds of cookies for dessert. Carol quickly adopted us as family and invited me to her afternoon tea parties. Carol, or Aunt Carol as she was affectionately called by the neighborhood, hosted the most extravagant and enchanting tea parties. She had intricate flower patterned tea sets, lace tablecloth, embroidered napkins, miniature silverware, and fancy cookies. The invitation said to bring a friend, real or imaginary, and dress the part.
Carol made me feel special. She had a room just beyond the wall with the mirror that housed what seemed like an endless number of dresses and costumes and wall to wall mirrors. She allowed me to dress up in her beautiful dresses and high heeled shoes and boots, and accessorize with hats, gloves, jewelry, and purses from the dressing room. Upon entrance to Carol’s house, I changed into tea party clothes with the help of Robbie. When I came out I was formally greeted by the hostess. Our guest list included the esteemed Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Bear because I preferred animals to dolls. We spent the afternoon in elaborate small talk and giggled at our stories. I was 4 with a wild and rich imagination and the kind and caring Carol loved to indulge in my play world.
I visited the mailbox every morning to see if there was an invitation in my mailbox for Carol’s tea party that afternoon. My mom would do my hair; I’d grab a friend and eagerly skip to Carol’s house with my mom following behind. She would briefly speak with Carol and then return to our house with my sister on her hip and some baked goods. Aunt Carol’s house became my regular afternoon play place. For a month, I played with my new found friends Carol, Mr. Rabbit, and Mr. Bear. After tea, Robbie and I would play games while I changed out of my tea party clothes. He’d choose different costumes for me to try on and I’d pretend to be different characters upon his request. He was fun and nice and we’d play while Carol knit in the front room. After my sister awoke, my mom would come over and pick me up. If she didn’t call beforehand, she often had to wait while I dressed and cleaned up the room with Mr. Robbie.
It was September the first time I told my mom I didn’t want to go to Aunt Carol’s. She replied, “Oh Tanya, you love playing at Aunt Carol’s. And she looks so forward to you coming over.”
With a pouting face and crossed arms I said, “I don’t wanna go.”
“She will be so disappointed. She loves having you over and you always have so much fun.”
I emphatically said, “Mom, I don’t want to go!”
“Sweetie, she doesn’t have anyone to talk to,” as she gathered her purse and my little sister. “You have to go for a little bit while I run some errands. You’ll be fine. It’ll be just an hour.”
“No...let me go with youuuu!” I pleaded, “I promise I’ll be good.”
My request went unheeded and she took my hand and walked me over to Carol’s house. Carol opened the door, “There she is! I’m so happy to see you today. We have a lot planned!” I could hear other kids clinking their teacups and chattering away. I squeezed my mom’s hand tight and hid behind her leg. My mom was embarrassed and pulled me around and pushed me through the door and whispered to Carol, “She’s a bit grumpy today. I’ll call you when I get back and see how she’s doing. I think she’ll be fine once she starts playing with the other kids.”
Carol grinned, rubbed my cheek and said, “Don’t worry Kathy, I’ll take good care of her.” I stood in the doorway with my hands clasped on my chest. I was scared, sad, and dejected. Carol waved at my mom and shut the door. Then she pushed me past the two other kids having a tea party to the dress up room. Robbie greeted me, helped me undress and put on a new outfit, and walked me to the back room. Two hours later Carol walked me home.
My mom said, “Thank you for bringing her home. How’d she do?”
Carol answered, “She has a little tummy ache. She just got it toward the end. I had her go to the bathroom and gave her some 7Up. I’m not sure if it’s something she ate or if she’s coming down with a bug.”
Mom bent down, felt my forehead and asked, “How are you feeling?”
My eyes filled with tears and I said, “He hurt me.”
Aunt Carol smiled and bent down to me and said, “Oh sweetie, don’t let Mr. Robbie the Rabbit hurt your feelings.” She stood up and explained away my pain, “Kathy, Ben used Mr. Rabbit to get into a little spat with Tanya and Mr. Bear. I think he hurt her feelings. But I took care of it. I think she is so used to being the only one there—you know—so sometimes it’s hard for her to share,” then she leaned toward my mom and whispered, “I think that’s why her stomach is upset.”
I said, “No, Mr. Robbie is the man in the back.”
Carol laughed and said, “Oh kids and their imaginations.”
I ran to the couch and started crying. My mom apologized to Carol, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s going on with her.”
“Don’t worry Kathy, it comes with the territory. She’s just a little sensitive right now. She is welcome at my house anytime. I’ll make sure she is safe and sound. ” Then she turned to me and said, “Sweetie, I’ll see you later this week.”
My mom picked me up from the couch and walked over to Carol and gave her a hug and said, “Oh, thank you Carol. You’re such a lifesaver!” I buried my head in Mom’s shoulder and wrapped my arms around her neck.
I visited Aunt Carol’s only when I had to after that. The magic and joy was gone. A month later she became our caretaker 3-4 times a week. For 10 months, I receded into silent submission and complied with whatever happened in order to protect my sister and the other neighborhood kids. Any pain or bruises I acquired were explained away by Carol. “Kathy, she was riding her bike and fell and hit her privates on the bar”…or…“Oh, she bumped her head on the table while she was playing.” I withdrew from life; my mom said I was an easy quiet child, introverted and imaginative; that was easy to say since my sister was a handful and required a lot of attention. I learned that my voice didn’t matter, my body had no boundaries, and I was created to please others.
Poetically translated to "golden joinery," kintsugi, is the centuries-old Japanese art of fixing broken pottery. Rather than rejoin ceramic pieces with a camouflaged adhesive, the kintsugi technique employs a special tree sap lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. Once completed, beautiful seams of gold glint in the conspicuous cracks of ceramic wares, giving a one-of-a-kind appearance to each "paired" piece. The journey of breaking apart, laying on the ground in fragments of something that once was, then figuring out how the parts come back together, is the Greek tragedy of lifetimes.
The process of finding a whole piece as one again is done with families, community, friends, lovers, and the many parts of our own "self." The journey of coming back together in a more whole and complete way; kintsugi.
This piece is about the the hopeless permanence of assault. There is no therapy, healing, prayer, apology, cleanse or blessing that can ever "un-rape" you. This is the feeling of acceptance and surrender that comes after scrubbing every square inch of your body raw and still feeling filthy. This is the quiet grieving of the "un-raped" and the "un-touched" self. You can heal, but you can never go back to who you were before.
I created this piece as a picture of healing: the ability to be completely at ease in such a vulnerable position.
Pulling from memory to create a background and distorting reference photos of myself, I have created a scene that represents my traumatizing painting as healing is instrumental to my creative process. Visually recreating this bathroom brought back my memories and emotions from that period of my life, but in the safe space of my studio. By showing my work, I hope to inspire other survivors to use artwork as a means of healing.
Using a photo reference, painting this self portrait made me feel powerful in my own skin. The colorful lighting made me feel like a work of art, a big development from the negative self talk that had once controlled me. As my first self portrait, I was hesitant to paint myself looking so powerful, but after completing this painting, I became more comfortable with viewing myself as a beautiful and powerful person. I believe that more survivors should use artwork to allow themselves to heal in this way.
Using a mirror, this self portrait was made from life. Prior to this painting, staring at my reflection was one of my maladaptive coping mechanisms. I would study and attempt to remove any perceived flaws by picking at my skin. But while painting my reflection, I had to adapt to looking at myself as a subject, and study my features, not as flaws, but as details in my work. This meditative process allowed me to change the way that I saw myself in the mirror, and I hope to inspire other survivors to heal similarly through their artwork.
The Fae & the Serpent is a two-part series created. This piece was a very emotional piece for me to create. It showcases many aspects of my trauma and things I went through. The bloodied heart on her hand depicts the sensibility and the vulnerability. The heart is removed from the chest and carefully placed on the hand to hold it away from the emitting pain pouring out from the soul. The blood pouring from the chest describes the pain women suffer after physical abuse and sexual abuse it depicts the loss my loss. The faes eyes and ears and the crescent moon describe evolving and finding one's path and peace after the suffering finding healing and peace after the rough journey the 3 beloved moons and eye on the chest depict our path whether religion or spirituality will guide us along our way. The silver sword in her other hand depicts strength the strength and valor it takes for a person to leave one's abuser to speak up to stand up for themselves.
Through pain and suffering and trauma there is still hope the heart and blood describe one's wounds. The sword one's strength and resilience the snake a reminder of the betrayals throughout life and the lessons. The moons one's spirituality and the sunset the beautiful journey that lies ahead with the healing. Her features and horns and breasts depict her sensuality and her ability to evolve and grow even after so much pain. Healing is possible.
In 'Don't Hold Me Too Tight,' I delve into the delicate balance of vulnerability and resilience through stained glass. This piece depicts lungs embraced within a fractured ribcage, evoking the visceral sensation of suffocation within an overly tight embrace. The intricacies and fractures within the bones of the ribcage heighten the sense of confinement and constraint, urging viewers to confront the tangible manifestations of anxiety.
I created this piece specifically for the RISE art show. I wanted to create a piece that celebrates how far I've come with my healing journey. I wanted to be able to embrace who I am today, a survivor that is conscious of how people are treating me, a queer person learning how to fully love themselves, and a woman that wants to be vocal about abuse so that other people can know that they aren't alone and we are stronger together.
I created this piece last year while I was processing being sexually abused and taken advantage of by my manager at my former workplace, and then subsequently entering into a healthy relationship. I had to learn how to cry and be vulnerable with what happened to me so that I could fully embrace the healthy relationship that I was entering, and heal from the past.
I created this piece shortly after leaving an abusive relationship in college. I felt like I was drowning and needed to create a piece to be able to process being raped. I was also listening to the song "Pompeii" by Bastille, over and over again while creating the composition.
This piece depicts a battle fought to regain my autonomy. It shows the strength I gathered to turn my back on the chaos of a bad relationship.
For sale: $250
Personal Paradise shows the coping mechanisms I used to mentally separate myself from what was happening in my life. I used to escape to the mountains and drive until I felt like I had the strength to come home and face whatever waited me there. To this day it inspires peace in my heart and mind.
The posture of the woman in this piece shows how I finally learned how to let go of the perceptions of others and live for myself. The colors are meant to show the peace I felt while letting out the darkness that held me back.
For sale: $75
My paintings are a reflection of my feelings of the moment and the colors are selected accordingly. There are many oranges, reds, and pinks. What do these colors mean to you?
For sale: $900
Each person sees something different in an abstract painting. It is important to honor this. A title can lead the viewer to see a certain image in a certain way, and once seen it cannot be forgotten. Being untitled, it becomes possible for viewers to see the painting uniquely , thus making a personal connection.
For sale: $1,350
Disabled individuals are sexually assaulted at nearly three times the rate of individuals without disabilities. InsideOut is a visual love letter to those with chronic illnesses and disabilities who have experienced trauma and abuse. The vibrancy of our lives and the diverse experiences amongst us are sacred, vivid, and non-linear. Each squiggle, curve, and spiral was created with intentional breath as a meditative practice & represents the beauty in those who are different, inside and out.
For sale: $111
Collage, vintage magazine, lipstick
Collage, vintage magazine, modern art
I made this over the course of the past three months I was in a pretty dark place mentally. It was all mainly because I felt/feel like going into the role of healthcare navigation was/is something that was out of my league. I'm in school now, I have been for the past few months but I can't help but think that I'm a phony by doing the advocacy work that I do. This piece captures my feelings around it all and it is heavily linked to my intersectional trauma.
This piece is part of a trilogy I started back in high school. When I was assaulted by my dad I did't know what to do or who to talk to about our abusive relationship/ That.s when I started designing this enormous detailed piece to which I think describes my feelings towards it all in its entirety. As time went on I made another piece when I started my journey of healing from that trauma. And that's where this piece comes from: Open wounds still healing.
For sale: $1,200
An older woman stands next to her younger self. The younger version of the woman cowers in the corner afraid for what may come while her healed older self stands strong, wielding a sword. This piece is for the survivor who became the protector.
For sale: $40
a vibrant background droops over the shoulders of a haunting species of monsters painted in mirror chrome. This piece was the first thing I made after a suicide attempt in 2022, from illness stemming from sexual trauma.
Portrait of a survivor. Assaulted and left grievously wounded she survived and defied the violence of her attackers.
For sale $120
Portrait of a survivor. As a young woman she fought off an attack by serial killer Ted Bundy. She stood strong under cross examination and helped put Bundy in prison.
For sale $120
Portrait of a lone survivor of a mass killing. She was able to testify against her attacker.
For sale $120
Womxn often suffer consequences of mens laws, even though those same womxn are victims/survivors of mens behaviors.
For Sale: $333
For sale: $50
stories of trauma. Their connection is palpable, symbolizing not only a physical exchange of air but also an emotional exchange of comfort and support. The tears suggest a mixture of sadness, empathy, and perhaps even relief, creating a poignant and evocative image of human connection and vulnerability.
For sale: $100
The art piece features a faceless figure emanating an intense and unsettling energy from their head, depicted as blue static. The absence of facial features adds to the eerie quality, suggesting a lack of identity or humanity. The vibrant, pulsating energy exudes a sense of perversion and insatiability, hinting at dark desires or impulses. The juxtaposition of the faceless form and the chaotic energy creates a disturbing yet captivating image, inviting viewers to explore themes of power, obsession, and the unknown.
For sale: $250
The art piece depicts a woman with anguish evident in her eye as hands around her throat. As her breath escapes, subtle symbolism surrounds her, capturing the struggle between life and oppression. The piece aims to evoke a visceral response, challenging viewers to confront themes of power, vulnerability, and violence against women.
For sale: $100
Finding light in the midst of darkness that is so unspeakable.
SOLD
I wrote this poem in 2023, the day before the five-year anniversary of the assault. It was the first anniversary that wasn't as bad. I could even look at the clock as the time approached. I used to hide the time between noon and one because I didn't want to know. This poem shows the progress of my healing, and also: Writing it helped me reshape my anniversary experience.
I created this self-portrait of myself wearing a baseball cap during that same time period. The art both inspired the poem as well as has its own significance. My attacker wore a baseball cap, and for years afterward, baseball caps triggered me. As my five-year anniversary approached, I made a conscious decision to take more of my power back; I decided baseball caps were "mine" again: that I wasn't going to let him revise my wardrobe. I now wear a baseball cap on my social media to show that ownership and power.
For the performed spoken-word version of this poem, as well as other writing and art, go to @amiddleagedsurvivor
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The color of my future
is a past broke open and
Laid to rest within the expanse
of what’s Possible.
I smile amidst bright tears
of my own making and
The Molasses riptide changes
to gentle Champagne.
My body rests and floats,
held up by imagination, bubbles.
My own strength. Yours.
Dread spins into nothingness.
I am the Curiosity that remains.
I am Magic
I am Whole
I am Safe
I am
Here
That noon hour of pain
and fear dissolves in
a mixture of blues, pinks,
purples and golden glitter.
Exposed to light —
the static & chaos recede
Abracadabra! I Say:
With my file folder of words.
Because I am Powerful.
I am Now
I am the calm waves of Now.
×
Blossoming,' a vibrant collage bursting with original prints and drawings. Infused with the transformative power of music, this artwork celebrates the beauty of loving oneself and one's body. The rich tapestry of reds, yellows, oranges, and blacks, brought to life through acrylic, ink, and collage techniques, invites you to revel in the harmony of growth and self-acceptance.
For sale: $140
Rainbow Mandala is a captivating piece that embodies tranquility and peace through the delicate medium of ink. The rhythmic flow of intricate patterns within the mandala draws viewers into a mesmerizing journey of serenity and harmony. The vibrant colors of the rainbow hold a significant presence, symbolizing unity, positivity, and the diverse spectrum of emotions that contribute to a balanced state of being. Through this artwork, I aim to evoke a sense of calmness and reflection, inviting individuals to immerse themselves in the beauty of the present moment and embrace the profound essence of inner peace.
My walk to an abusive free life was done alone with only a therapist to keep me from killing myself. Others knew he was abusive but sided with him as he was their blood. We need to end the walks victims do alone because it's difficult to handle that a person you know is abusive or you don't want to get in the middle. Standing up for victims and standing against abusive family needs to become apart of the conversation.
For sale: $80
We are not always raised with families that teach us how to create healthy relationships. Yet we are expected to just know how to find them and generate them as an adult or blamed when constantly finding ourselves in toxic and or abusive relationships. I was shamed and asked why I didn't see the signs. The truth is I never learned how to form healthy relationships. It takes experiencing a healthy relationship sometimes to truly learn what healthy is. It takes strength to keep boundaries and still search. This tree is a reminder that you deserve to experience it and the blooms that come from it.
For sale: $120
I was silent when I needed to scream, when I screamed I was silenced. Painting is the only safe place to say my pain.
Disjuncture II is a surreal self portrait that conveys the experience of beginning to gain clarity within healing and learning to trust oneself again.
Disjuncture III is a surreal self portrait that depicts the explosion of power that occurs when a survivor reclaims their body and pleasure as wholly their own.
Somme: Bruises Heal is a surreal self portrait that expresses the emotional ramifications of sexual trauma and the difficulty of healing. The disembodied figure finds themselves adrift in the tributaries of the Somme River, amid trench tactics in the Battle of the Somme, but also buried amongst endless American Beauty roses. Disillusioned, confused and hollow, the figure wonders how they could ever feel whole again. But in looking up towards the sky in resolve, they come to realize that they are the most vibrant aspect of their world. Despite the darkness that surrounds them, their brilliance cannot be dimmed.
This piece represents myself when I was suffering in an abusive relationship. I would look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize myself.
For sale: $250
I'm sorry is a dedication piece to the shame that survivors of sexual assault usually experience. I can't tell you how many times I've said the words I'm sorry in fear to my abuser.
This is a self portrait I painted of myself after being out as trans for 3 years. At that point I was dedicating space to exploring my sexuality and body further. I wanted/needed to explore in a way that was intentional. I needed to be mindful of the difficulties in pleasure and shame I faced because of sexual assault. I wasn't gonna beat myself down like how I used to, freeze, and make myself small. I decided it was time to take up space. To find beauty in my pleasure. To find peace in my body.
It wasn't until I was 45 years old that I realized how being picked up by a child molester in fourth grade affected me. I explored, sought help, and repeated that process over about a five year period. In one session, I received a vision of how I wasn't alone in my situation and eventually went home physically unharmed. The land, communities, and races, have all been affected by those who take for their pleasure and gain leaving suffering in their wake.
For sale: $450
This is an impressionist style oil painting of the singer Halsey, sitting in a mirrored room filled with foliage and flowers. I spent much of my time working on this painting understanding the connection between feelings and the body. It helped me reconnect with my body.
This painting is based on a photograph of Marilyn Monroe. I felt as if she was simultaneously enjoying the photoshoot yet at odds with all the judgement and opinions it allowed about her and her body. While working on this painting I tried to learn how to truly love and appreciate my body, and let myself feel enjoyment even if there is the opportunity for judgement from others.
Trying (and failing) to understand genuine connection through a window.
Something I am unable to escape.
Wherever you are.
I have held shame within myself since I was a child because of my abuse. It has always felt like I have been ogled and looked at not for who I am but for what my body can offer those looking to use it. In this piece, I seek to reclaim myself and my body. To be able to acknowledge my beauty after years of abuse and self blame is a privilege and an act of resistance against the men who have sought to crush and undermine my body, spirit and soul. It's taken me years to learn to love myself again and I'll never let anyone take that from me again.
A dovecote is a small decorative home for pigeons or doves; delicate vehicles for messages (or an ugly feature of city living, depending on who you ask). This piece is part of a larger series of works, which are a meditation on the failings of communication, vulnerability, healing from trauma, and acceptance that no matter what the intention, the possibility of inflicting pain to others always exists. Just because someone did not set out with the intent to commit an act of violence does not mean that it did not happen. Traumatic experiences can be sneaky that way, hiding under the wings of proclaimed ignorance or indifference, which can make them more challenging to process.
For sale: $2,500
The process of healing from an emotional wound is turbulent. At times, it feels as though you are not entirely present; parts of you are disconnected, stuck, or shifting. Even when you feel whole again, you are still somewhat stuck in a box. The process of healing is not a linear one, and it seems to be different for everyone. Our environments are constantly shifting and shaping us and our actions. This piece is a reconciliation with the changes that come with healing and the shifts in our interpersonal interactions.
For sale: $200
Healing from trauma is a process that can, in itself, be traumatic. Physical wounds sometimes need stitches, staples, splints, surgeries, or otherwise painful treatments, which eventually heal, but leave evidence behind. These remnants serve as reminders, both good and bad, and are "forever". Scar tissue is thicker, but also more sensitive to further injury, which serves as a physical parallel for my experience with c-PTSD (complex post traumatic stress disorder). This work ties physicality to the intangible, providing a literal interpretation to trauma that is more abstract.
For sale: $600
the effects of the world are pulling me in different directions.
For sale: $400
Show me your true colors, the part of you that you keep hidden from the world
Silence speaks where words fail us.
To be raped is to be separated from one's body.
What does it feel like to be an abused housewife? Kind of like this.
To be raped is to be separated from one's body.
Powerful, Supported, Brave, Safe, Empowered, Tribe, Sexy, SEEN, Victorious, Confident, Beautiful. Facing adversity with confidence and pride; holding the healing light within.
For sale: $500
Terrified, Mutilated, Violated, Stolen, Day and Night, Brave, Invisible, Betrayed, Afraid, Empty, MONSTER, MONSTER, MONSTER. Expressing what my 8 year old self Couldn't. Title Inspired by Scowl's lyrics in "Dead to Me."
For sale: $500
Silenced, Alone, Not my Body, imprisoned, DARKNESS, Shame, Brave, Ugly, Betrayed, Ghost, Hidden, Fear, Lonely, Guilt, Lost, Emptiness, Ugly, Disconnected, Dysphoria, Defeated, Alone, Alone, Alone. Title inspired by Tori Amos's Song "Silent All These Years"
For sale: $500
Historically viewed as a stone of peace and protection, the amethyst is believed by some to have healing properties, relieving stress and anxiety, and supporting trauma recovery.
For sale: $700
Soaring beyond the lives and fears we've known, opportunities await.
For sale: $550
A dedication to the resilient and often unseen work of real beauty, and to Thich Nhat Hanh's book by the same name.
For sale: $400
This piece is about reclaiming our sacred sexuality after violation, making ourselves whole and holy.
For sale: $350
This piece is about my relationship with animals at the time I experienced sexual abuse from my father. I confided only in them and trusted only them.
For sale: $250
I am endlessly inspired by the black and brown women and queer folk around me.
Our existence politicized, policed, and unprotected.
Our stories sanitized, our words bastardized, our bodies colonized.
To be a woman is to fight to live peacefully within your being.
It is a promise made to the self to spit in the face of adversity
and to destroy the machine that swallows tenderness whole
Callous and aged is the face of beauty,
Rife with climbing lines and rivets from furrowed brows and angry tongues
As she stands boldly in the face of the oppressor, tongue out, eyes wide, fixed and fighting.
Rolling intimidation through the body of men and their kin and their kin.
To be a woman is to speak and share and dance and teach
It is to revolt.
To find comfort and sustenance in your people is to liberate yourself.
To disrupt, to live in your body, to weaponize your strength and senses
To be a woman is to be a knife.
In this captivating art piece titled "I Rescued Myself - From You," the artist draws inspiration from Alejandro DeCinti's "The Abduction of Europa," reimagining the narrative to portray a powerful and personal journey of self-redemption. In a moment of realization and strength, Europa transforms herself from a damsel in distress to a fearless savior.
The captivating visual effects in the painting convey a profound narrative of self-discovery and liberation. Each brushstroke tells the story of a personal journey to salvation, one of learning to break free from the chains of dependency and finding strength within. With a unique perspective on mythology, the artist presents a refreshing narrative that empowers women to be their own heroes, capable of rescuing themselves from challenging circumstances.
The painting serves as a mirror to the artist's own journey, symbolizing their growth and transformation towards personal salvation.
For sale: $175
A powerful and evocative oil painting that portrays a woman's struggle with domestic abuse. The canvas comes alive with a vivid array of colors, capturing the complexity of her inner turmoil and fragmented identity. Her distant and pained eyes reflect the depth of her emotional suffering, while bold strokes and delicate hues symbolize her strength amidst vulnerability.
The blurred background hints at her disoriented state as she confronts her traumatic memories. Through this moving artwork, the artist invites viewers to empathize with the woman's journey, recognizing the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity and the potential for healing and renewal.
For sale: $150
From the depths rise, reaching for the stars. With amazing grace we are found and restored into the fullness of our beauty.
My suffering does not define me, it strengthens me, shapes me into the woman I am. Like the dandelion, I am transformed, and flying with the wind.
With fast feet, I dance my way into grace, and on top of my rock. Upon this rock I cannot fall.
Not Yours. Never was. Never will be.
For sale: $100
Like a wildfire raging with destruction and pain,
leaving nothing but the truth covered in disdain,
unveiling a sacrosanct force
carrying me through and leading the way
showing me that hope was here to stay
And there I was born anew
from the soulless ashes I grew
relearning how to breathe and fight
I once again found my way to the light
becoming something so much more
but whole I always remained to my core
breaking the chains and setting me free
to who I once was but will forever be~
For sale: $200
I have always carried the guilt for things that were never my fault. And somehow thought that made me less deserving of a loving relationship.
I often wonder who I would have been if I hadn't been through what I've been through. I am pieces of who I am, who I was, and who I could have been.
My mind and body are often two very different and separate mechanisms. My body is here but my mind is lost.
Shortly after I gave my survivor's statement in court I started painting again. I found the courage inside myself to keep moving forward in pursuing the closure I needed, and simultaneously the art started flowing out of me. It felt like a great release, and it continues to pour out of me like the rapids of a river. In 2017 I pressed charges against my assailant, and I prioritized healing. Afterward, I was able to transfer that determination into painting and pursuing art. Roses in Crackle was created within this energy and shows that I rose out of the ashes of a firestorm. Roses in Crackle was awarded second place in The Best of PAG in 2024.
For sale: $2475
"Tatara Abuela" is painted through the lens of a first-generation Mexican American who seeks to reimagine the ofrenda into a western context. Laura unites her reality of being born into Colorado with that of her great grandmother, Ignacia's arduous journey to the American west from Mexico seeking the American Dream. Tragically, Ignacia lost three children to the Spanish Flu in 1920. None of these tribulations could have been foreseen when the photo in the painting was taken. Not only did Ignacia experience the devastation of losing children, but her family did not obtain the American Dream because of the Great Depression. Through such adversities, Ignacia and her family packed up their belongings and returned to Mexico.
"Tatara Abuela" displays the favorite items of a dearly departed great grandmother into Laura's western gaze.
"Tatara Abuela" was awarded third place in The Best of PAG in 2024.
For sale: $1975
This photograph shows the Caribbean sea through a small window in an abandoned building on Corn Island, Nicaragua. When I took this photo in 2009, I was struck by the contrast between the vibrant sea and the death-like grey remains of the building. Since then, I've both healed from sexual violence and gained new wounds. The window and its view, to me, represent hope but also grief. The sea, emotion and spirit.
The sky, freedom. The decaying building, trauma and its long term symptoms like fear, hypervigilance and dissociation. Often, trauma cuts us off from our humanity - our vulnerability, our authenticity, our sense of connectedness to ourselves, the world and others. Survival shapes our existence. Our world becomes increasingly rigid, small and dangerous. At times, all we see through the window is the version of us that existed before the trauma. One we can never have back. At other times, we draw strength from the window, knowing that there is life beyond all the pain.
There are moments in life when we realize that sometimes, despite our intentions and actions, we are destined to be seen as the villain in someone else's story. This painting serves as a reminder that we cannot control how others perceive us, and must instead find the strength to accept this, embrace our authenticity, prioritize our own well-being, and move forward. Growing to embrace self-acceptance, resilience, and growth.
For sale: $1120
This is one of 7 pieces in a series titled Pain in Pleasure, Pleasure in Pain. The series was created after I had been assaulted - creating these pieces was my way of working through what had happened.
I cannot control the disturbing or gut-wrenching thoughts that pop into my head through a typically average day, but I can move past those thoughts. I can remember that I am not in that place anymore.
For sale: $20
This is for the child who cried in an Atlanta parking lot ten years ago, prying CD shards off their homemade Reflektor shirt because security denied them entry to their favorite band's concert. This is a love letter to you, a continuation of your brave work, and a sincere apology that the soundtrack of your childhood has been soured.
For sale: $327
Medusa was a priestess in Athena’s temple when she was raped by Poseidon. Athena was enraged and cursed her to be a terrifying creature that turned men to stone with one look. Later, to fulfill his destiny, Perseus had to slay Medusa. He cut off her head and moved on in triumph.
Do you see the symbolism in this? In the face of a violation as deep as sexual assault, the protective response is to become one who can be untouched, who is guarded, wearing armor to never be violated again. The sad thing is, that armor can often become our downfall, but that’s where the epilogue comes in. When we allow ourselves to feel the fires of our rage, when the switch happens from protection to healing, to “I never deserved this and I reclaim my softness” the story changes.
Medusa is not going to lose her snakes, her protection, because it’s a part of her now, but when the fires of your sacred rage come in to honor you, there’s peace, the story doesn’t end with destruction.
For sale: $6000
Anger is visceral, Anger is heat and pressure and buildup. Anger is hands and heart and hurt. During my cycle of Recovery, Anger is where I am most uncomfortable. Anger is where I feel I am most like those who have abused me. Anger is where I never wish to linger. Anger is uncomfortable. Anger is hard. Anger scares me. This piece was created through cutting up of old art, pieces created in repressed anger. Art created with a desperate need to let that Anger out of myself.
Using this art, I channeled my anger through tape and ribbon and paper. The old and the new come together to release what hurts me, so I may then continue on in the Cycle of Recovery.
Thirty years ago, my life as I knew it, blew up. I was fourteen and my parents had just taken their life because I had reported the sexual abuse I had been experiencing in my home. As a result, I took on beliefs that would cover me in darkness for years. Not enough. Unlovable. Unworthy. Broken.
Little did I know it would be a volcano that would alchemize all the decades of healing into something beautiful. Last year during a visit to the Big Island, I took the Halema’uma’u trail down to the crater floor. As I sat on the floor of hardened lava, with tears streaming down my face I could see all the traumatized parts of me with those old beliefs being infused and healed with love and placed back within me. Walking on the same trail back, a bright vibrant purple stem had grown out into the middle of the trail during my time on the crater floor. It wasn’t there when I walked down earlier. For me, it was a sign and confirmation that I was unfurling into a new, healed, whole version of me!
This poem goes with the painting above and shows the aftermath of heart break of the artist as a survivor of CSA
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Heart in Pieces – By Mar Kummerman
You broke my heart
At first I thought it was just in half
So I tried quick fixes but even the strongest
Quick fix couldn’t make it whole again.
But at least it stuck together enough to look somewhat whole
Till I stepped on a piece I missed
Then I realized I had many pieces missing
I tried to put it back together with glue
But it dissolved with the next piece I found
I tired to sew my heart back together
But the next piece cut the stitches
I used tape but it fell to the side
I even tried Band-Aids
But the pieces still fell
I’ve decided to hold the pieces I have close to each other
Collect all the pieces I find
Till I’m nearly whole again
But who knows when that might be
Maybe I’ll try to make little hearts out of the pieces
Maybe that will help.
When you're a survivor, every star can feel like the second star to the right, especially when you're healing from your own Peter Pan. "There's Power In No" is a visual representation of the moment the Wendy in all of us begins to stand up to abusers - when we can see the strength our "No" holds again. The incorporated poem is from "Surviving Peter Pan" (Beyond The Veil Press), which is my reclamation collection about falling into and healing from an abusive marriage, told through the perspectives of all the victims of Neverland.
For sale: $150
These old photos, combined with
tiny feet cut out of a magazine, and my painting of a magical crane with baby riding atop it through the sky, plus the following lines by the Spanish poet, Antonio Machado, felt surprisingly liberating to assemble:
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar...
...y al volver la vista atràs
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
(translation)
Traveler, there is no road,
you make your own
path as you walk...
...and when you look
back you see the path
you will never travel again.
Digging around in some collage materials from 2017 & 2018, I wanted to honor the courage it took for Christine Blasey-Ford to testify at the hearing for Brett Kavanaugh's hearing to determine his fitness for a Judgeship's appointment on the Supreme Court. Though I disagreed with the ultimate decision,
I was heartened to find some clippings from that 2018 hearing, as well as from the Women's March here in Denver & elsewhere the January after the 2016 election that came as such an ugly shock to so many of us. Despite the long way we still have to go to put an end to sexual assault and abuse, it was a touchstone of sanity and strength to remember how many people of conscience rose up in so many places far & wide to declare our call to conscience and positive change, as well as solidarity with & steadfast support for one another.
I visualize my heart as the "functional heart" for it has been through so much sacrifice, abuse, and pain and then broken into many scattered pieces and then many times rebuilt all over again. I take all that remains of my heart, then rebuild it so it can still function through the chaos that surrounds it.
Though it takes a lifetime of hard work, vulnerability, dedication, and massive amounts of power just to love one's self again, in addition to allowing this vulnerable heart to fully open up to the world that surrounds us, it is still worth the risk of recreation so this functional heart can continue loving this time in a healthier way.
I have taken all the fractured pieces of what used to be broken limbs from the past as battered, dead, and damaged, and what was once a repetitively abused fractured heart, is now rebuilt, recharged, then restored into a renewed transformed functioning heart.
For sale: $85
One can never forget the screams that remain not just through the memories that will forever haunt you, but also the flashing imagery of what those screams looked like when no one could hear them. Whether you see the screams or hear them, you can always feel every ounce of torturous pain and the endless fear that was forced upon this vulnerable trapped soul. This will forever carry within those whose cries were never heard, those who had no choice but to survive the ultimate disgust of existence, abused and violated in such horrific ways, for this will never be forgotten.
Even though I am no longer the one that is screaming, the echoes of her screeching filled with endless torture and cries of suffering, will forever exist subconsciously. This is a permanent reminder of what I once endured as it is no longer the present but the past, for I have overcome so much.
For sale: $100
Wasn't I Sacred, too? Like La Virgin de Guadalupe who stood shimmering in the summer sun on your dust laden dashboard as the mountains rolled by outside. La Virgin, who stood under the weight of dozens of handmade rosaries in your mother's home in that small mountain town, or who stood dutifully under the mandorla among the flowers in the garden. What was it about her that made her so sacred to you?
Her virginity, her motherhood, her humanity? Why, then, were we not sacred in your eyes too? Guadalupe, always with her soft stoic gaze; I know her face is a dissociative mask, and that underneath it her rage boils violently at all the injustice of the world. Tonantzin- like molten metal exploding out of a mold that cannot contain her.
My courage is external, and I seek to befriend the Lion helper.
For sale: $200
As I find my tribe, I heal.
For sale: $250
I assume the form to go to my deepest emotional wounds.
For sale: $200
No matter the scars or distortion, "Fourteen" reminds us beauty endures. Poppies are often seen as a symbol of death, remembrance, and rebirth. Much of their historical prominence stems from wartime when soldiers would churn the soils during conflict, and poppies would again blossom on the battlefields after fighting ended. Poppies offer hope for a better tomorrow.
For sale: $485
The staccato strokes and multiple oil pastel layers in Three represent a mangled remembering. Soft hues are a blanket over the darkness, while white glimmers and fiery reds each vie for my attention. Sexual abuse is something that happened to me, but it's not who I am today, nor will it be tomorrow.
Veer portrays a sudden change of direction, harkening back to a time when life splintered and took a turn. I was left with a demarcation line, a before and an after, a departure from self.
Veer also alludes to a vessel where the new could be birthed. Grounding elements of stone, metal and wood give rise to a female form, signaling a reclamation of personal power.
For sale: $1200
I started this piece in late 2022. It was originally about reflecting on pain from a long time ago and feeling disconnected from it because of the comfort and security in your life now. I put a few layers into the background and then set it in the corner and a year and a half passed and it's not really about that anymore.
Some of the pain this piece was originally about has become sharper in the past few months, and a lot of the comfort and security has become a lot less certain. It's no longer about disconnecting from the past but is about disconnecting from the present. The bright colors of the subject matter intentionally contrast with the background and both look and feel disconnected.
The coffee cup is overfilled not because of a daydream, but because of a moment of dissociation. The title Bridges refers to the conflicting desires to burn these painful bridges to the past but also to forgive and rebuild them. It is ultimately optimistic: there is warmth, and this life is better.
This is probably one of my favorite paintings, I felt happier during this time I used yellow just like the sun, you know that feeling when the sun shines on your skin and it just feels warm this painting takes me to that warm feeling because this is when I finally stopped blaming myself and loving myself again.
For my this painting I used dark colors. I used dark colors to represent how I was feeling. Dark colors to me represents darkness. So I used a dark purple and green to have a sad feeling to it. I was very sad when I painted this, I felt weak and just in a dark place for feeling like I let someone make me feel unhappy in my own body. But with all the darkness there's still some lightness to shine through.
I use art a lot to realize my stress or when I have a lot on my mind. A lot of times I used it when I felt like I had no one to talk to about what I have been through. When I did this painting I eventually was at the point where I couldn't even finish because of all the emotions I was feeling during the time of this painting. And this painting makes me realize it's okay to feel what ever I'm feeling and it's okay to let yourself just feel after a traumatic experience. I feel like the painting just because it's infused doesn't mean it's not beautiful just like me even though I haven't fully felt with what's happened to me doesn't make me ugly.
Me and this painting have one thing in common,we are both waiting,waiting for tomorrow, we are not where we wanna be but we still waiting,life's a little better when you sedate your mind with promises of a better tomorrow l,for now we wait....
For sale: $300
The work portrays the fear of self expression that we all carry around, influenced by different factors, our voices are hushed and our lights dimmed, we become ashamed of the magic that we carry.
For sale: $300
Content Warning: Darkness Utter darkness even though there is light by candles. If there is no sex, there will be violence and screaming until the sun rises. There is no consent, no choice. That face is an inch from mine. I want to scream. My eyes have to be open. His breathing in my face. The face that doesn't look like his. GOD DON'T TOUCH ME.
SOLD
Undine is a mixed-media work that began as I poem that I wrote of the same name. It references a novella by Friedrich de la Motte Fouque, where the fey woman Undine marries a knight so that she can gain a soul. Of course, as with all fey wives, her husband eventually grows to resent Undine and betrays her; Undine drowns him. Something about needing marriage to "gain a soul" has really stuck with me the idea of shrinking yourself smaller and smaller to suit your lover better, only for your lover to turn on you is deeply relevant to my own experiences. In my poem and larger art work, I attempt to channel that repressed rage, like a released dam of water.
The work itself has several elements – the poem, the 3D components, and the graphic design. The graphic design especially holds secrets: there are wisps of other poetry and commentary floating with Undine.
For sale: $150
As a survivor of sexual assault, it often feels like I am covering my trauma with soft moments of my childhood to protect me, but I still feel the barbed wire in my core.
For sale: $100
This piece is a physical representation of the reclaimed light of all those healing from SA, it belong to no one. Not even me.
For sale: $1500
This was the first collage I made about my sexual assault. For a long time, I stopped writing and creating art. I wanted to forget, and in the process I forgot who I was. This is about recognizing who I am again, through remembering the most painful time in my life. This collage has pictures of bullets with roses growing out of them, and the Colorado Columbine. I am a teacher and a survivor, and telling my story is choosing to live.
This piece is about passing by the location of assault, ten years later, seeing beauty in a place you never thought you would. This is a real location in a small agricultural town on the side of the highway surrounded by artichoke farms. I was raped here when I was sixteen, in a dark car, only seeing shadows of where we were. Every time I passed by I would remember. Last summer I visited after moving to Colorado and I saw there was a field of peas, the farmer using regenerative agriculture to ensure his soil stays full of nutrients during his off season. My sister and I put on colorful dresses that matched the flowers, and blew around in the wind, falling into the field, fragrant and beautiful. Our pain, and our healing, is regenerative.
This piece is about overcoming sexual assault through opening yourself to possibilities and relationships with others you would have never imagined ten years ago. The future? Spoiler alert. We live.
For sale: $45
Hauser's Bathers series investigates isolated moments of introspection, where social masks dissolve and the body and mind are exposed. The figure is delicately created on fine silk through the application of consecutive layers of melted wax, painted. The fabric is dyed between each layer of wax. As the image is submerged in the dye bath, the wax cracks leaving a signature of intricate webs of color throughout. Created during the height of lockdown, Hauser's Bathers series exposes the vulnerability and mental health struggles of her figures.
For sale:$1400
Hauser's Bathers series investigates isolated moments of introspection, where social masks dissolve and the body and mind are exposed. The figure is delicately created on fine silk through the application of consecutive layers of melted wax, painted on. The fabric is dyed between each layer of wax. As the image is submerged in the dye bath, the wax cracks leaving a signature of intricate webs of color throughout. Created during the height of lockdown, Hauser's Bathers series exposes the vulnerability and mental health struggles of her figures.
For sale: $2100
Hauser's Bathers series investigates isolated moments of introspection, where social masks dissolve and the body and mind are exposed. The figure is delicately created on fine silk through the application of consecutive layers of melted wax, painted on. The fabric is dyed between each layer of wax. As the image is submerged in the dye bath, the wax cracks leaving a signature of intricate webs of color throughout. Created during the height of lockdown, Hauser's Bathers series exposes the vulnerability and mental health struggles of her figures.
For sale: $5140
Black women are burdened by experiences of adultification, oversexualization, and misogynoir, which lead to a false narrative that they are not victims. Their violent experiences are rarely brought into the legal system for countless reasons. For every one Black woman that reports her assault, fourteen others never come forward. The personal choice to not report doesn't diminish the harm, your worth, or the truth. You are a survivor.
Picture courtesy of Irandelson Salgueiro
Each survivor treads their own. Path. Yet others concern, support, and care may lift one from their struggle. carry. No one should have to heal alone. Alone, healing may be delayed, painful, or falter. Through the collective, one finds a steady stance and one's faith in humanity renews.
For sale: $75
This piece represents healing, it was meant to give voice to the real Santitos, the children, and the victims of sexual abuse and molestation by priests. He might not have a face in my piece, he doesn't deserve it. I did however use his name, and how we (the youth group) used to call him. This man molested so many of us. When our parents complained to the church, he was granted a career move, he was sent to Marin, Nuevo León where he continued officiating mass for other people. I painted it in hopes that our community protects the children, the victims, not the priests or the church.
Drowning is symbolic of what processing grief, pain and trauma feels like and the things that bubble up inside us as a result. Find me on Instagram @wildchild_finearts
For sale: $40
Eaten was created from what it feels like to be eaten alive inside, while showing a different face to the world. Find me on Instagram @wildchild_finearts
For sale: $40
Swallow is representative of the things we feel strangled by, and the traumas we feel forced to relive over and over. Find me on Instagram @wildchild_finearts
For sale: $40
In this series of paintings, the artist represents the duality within her experience as a survivor of domestic abuse. The figures, vaguely vulnerable or in quiet repose, allow the viewer to project the emotional state onto the slashed brushwork of the jewel toned, faceless figures. This alludes both to the duality that exists in the abuse itself as well as how a survivor is often required to mask the inner turmoil of abuse in the public to maintain safety and avoid stigma.
In this series of paintings, the artist represents the duality within her experience as a survivor of domestic abuse. The figures, vaguely vulnerable or in quiet repose, allow the viewer to project the emotional state onto the slashed brushwork of the jewel toned, faceless figures. This alludes both to the duality that exists in the abuse itself as well as how a survivor is often required to mask the inner turmoil of abuse in the public to maintain safety and avoid stigma.
In this series of paintings, the artist represents the duality within her experience as a survivor of domestic abuse. The figures, vaguely vulnerable or in quiet repose, allow the viewer to project the emotional state onto the slashed brushwork of the jewel-toned, faceless figures. This alludes both to the duality that exists in the abuse itself as well as how a survivor is often required to mask the inner turmoil of abuse in the public to maintain safety and avoid stigma.
This work explores movement and color as a calming medium. Utilizing abstraction has allowed the artist to explore feelings and emotions related to trauma in a comforting and familiar way.
This work explores movement and color as a calming medium. Utilizing abstraction has allowed the artist to explore feelings and emotions related to trauma in a comforting and familiar way.
This work explores movement and color as a calming medium. Utilizing abstraction has allowed the artist to explore feelings and emotions related to trauma in a comforting and familiar way.
As a survivor, I often feel detached from my body so in the last year I've started doing yoga which has been a great way to slow down and connect to my thoughts. I also used old journal entries for the phases of the moon to show how healing for me is constantly changing and evolving.
Pathways of healing are created through the water of our tears. As we move through each painful experience in life, we bear witness to our evolution as the constant emotion moves through us.
For sale: $800
This piece was created in solidarity with victims of coercion, sexual harassment, and people-pleasing.
For sale: $200
This piece was created after I had gotten out of an abusive relationship. It symbolizes coming back home to myself and regaining the love for myself that I had lost in that relationship.
For sale: $200
I feel my experience which started at an early age has isolated me from the herd. Feeling very different from everyone else in a bad way, was not a good way to grow up. I am out on the periphery, on the outside looking in, a satellite orbiting around the planet where everyone else lives. I recently found hypnosis to greatly help with my ever-present shadow trauma. With its fall out of anxiety, fear, isolation, and mistrust just to name a few. I can completely put the shadow behind me before I take my last breath. The art. I have an extensive background in many photographic techniques. Lately, I'm drawn to Polaroids. The present moment focus of hypnosis and meditation have been influencing how I see & feel in the moment like a polaroid. It's also a distraction that's helping me heal.
The Now is so full of opportunities, people, events and thoughts. I sometimes wonder where to begin. Staying in the Now is a helpful way of getting through the process of recovery. I only pull up past memories when I need to. Most of the time, I practice keeping my attention on what is before me in the Now. It's a great place to live.
For sale: $300
I carefully tucked away my memories of the abuse, I experienced as a young child, until at age 40 when I discovered therapy. Ever since the memories appeared, I have felt like I am "swimming upstream" towards wholeness, recovery and joy. “Upstream" means to me moving in a direction towards the source of a river. I believe I am moving towards “Source", the origination of life on this planet, that is the grounding and creative part of being a human being. Now that I am through the therapeutic part of my life, I am joyfully swimming upstream as I discover new ways of being. It's been quite a journey, but worth it!
For sale: $400
Dissociation can result from traumatic events. This piece finds harmony out of these disjointed experiences.
For sale: $200
A celebration of the body. The healing of nature. Photos taken in Lyons, CO.
For sale: $200
This painting is a representation that as kids we hope certain pains will go away, like wanting to protect a person or escape from a bad environment, saying "if I was grown," or "when I get older." We opened our eyes as adults to those pains; Emotional, Physical and Mental, thinking it would go away- sadly they don't. Our traumas, things we suffered still affect us in the present and our bodies carry that, we become numb to being hurt and begin to neglect ourselves then question where our minds go when our body can't escape itself. This painting is a very heavy depiction of kid to adult pains; Religious beliefs, Self harm, Neglect, Death, Fear, Temptation and Suicide. We feel things deeper than just physically like the transition of a kid's innocence to a more aware adult that no one is a Saint and the constant battle of what is and isn't a good person. This canvas is the attempt to heal:
For sale: $1,000
Marigolds wrap around her as she dances, this shows a representation of death; a guide to earth, prosperity, and creativity. The woman is naked showing vulnerability- acceptance in herself, body, and mind. Her hair braided with gold ribbons signifying a representation of my childhood when my mother would braid my hair; Gold as in valuable, gold as in rich, gold as in justice, gold...wrapping around her arms is also a gold line which leads to flakes and butterflies that blend in. A sense of confusion in life and creativity yet- beauty in unpredictability. This painting was made for my mother.
For sale: $800
This is a stained glass piece that represents the interruption of childhood and the desire to break free.
This represents the internalized and silenced rage victims carry toward both themselves, the perpetrator(s) or even loved ones.
For sale: $150
The center represents the peace of mind. The blue represents a drowning feeling and the orange represents intrusive thoughts.
For sale: $250
When a victim is in public and has a flashback, they let out an internal scream to feel better. This is that scream.
For sale: $750