Memories

Forced to Participate



I did not get a choice. I could not refuse my father’s desires. I was forced to participate against my will. The last thing I wanted to do at three or five or ten was to hold a knife in my tiny hand. My father wrapped his huge hand around mine and plunged the knife into the victim’s heart. I remembered the sound of crushing cartilage, the blood spurting outward and coating the knife and my hand and his, and the coppery odor filling the air around me.

There is a show on television, a new one, and I find it so triggering. It is called The Following. The show is about teaching others to become serial killers. Something is warped and wrong about that show. I have not been able to watch it all the way through. I literally zone out and go to sleep. The truth smacks me on the face. It is not easy to live with it.

I did not want to be involved with my father’s criminal acts. Yet at age three or five or ten I knew I could not refuse or be the victim of his violence.
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Mind Altering Experience

MindAlteringExp
My father’s repulsive and frightful criminal acts were a Mind Altering Experience. My eyes depicted the terror I felt as I witnessed crimes a 10 year old child should have never seen.

While viewing myself in a distorted reflective surface, I rendered this drawing in watercolor pencils using both hands at the same time. I drew and painted this before I knew I had a different father than my stepdad, and before I knew what happened to me at age ten. Nine years later in 2010, I started to remember what my father did. The first memory of his crimes surfaced in 1989. However due to a horrible therapist those memories were buried again.

A close study of this drawing/painting revealed pencil lines above the eyes where the forehead and top of the head would be. I remembered when I decided to leave the forehead and top of the head blank. Thus I named this artwork, Mind Altering Experience.

Four and half months after I first wrote this, I figured out what I drew back in 2001. I looked into a mirror and drew my father’s face. His eyes had turned amber around the time I visited him in 1963.
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Tumultuous Uprising

TumultUpris


Tumultuous Uprising was rendered at the same time as my other drawings and to me signified what was about to emerge from the depths of my memories. I drew this freehand using both hands at the same time with watercolor pencils.

In the context of this artwork, the word tumultuous means violent, explosive, intense, turbulent, stormy, deafening, clamorous, and a roller-coaster ride.



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