+RECYCLING THE CELLS OF THE TREE OF LIFE

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Saturday, February 27, 2016.  I am back recently to making things with my hands out of paper.  If I were a wizardess with technology I could post come pictures here of my rather hodge-podge-selection-of-imagery which is growing, I suppose, into yet another branch of my craft show and farmers’ market sales inventory (when my life gets me back to these venues).

Shortly, in description, I have figured out how to cut shapes from light cardboard (cracker boxes, cereal boxes) that I soak in water until softened and shape around forms into circles, ovals, and round-edged rectangles that can be held in place while drying so that the finished “canvas” has about a one inch border that curves out from my image surface.

Brilliant variety of tissue paper collaged (modge-podge, satin or gloss poly) over these shapes (which have been hardened by my painting many layers of white glue upon followed by white primer) give me a universe to play upon with images that strike me from printed media.  I just follow my inspiration, like creating doodles, that lead to an array of “thoughts” that are not in any way logically connected together – except by the fact that I made them during these “quarantined” days in this dark, small North Dakota city apartment passing through the final stages of my 3rd – and final – winter here.

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A rather stilted, formal, rigid, hard-edged gold shadow of a small angel on gold, with peach/gray flowers – flanking.  A tribute to my “left brain” by my “right brain” who snickers while frolicking away into some phasmataniaological display of

Restored very old carousal horses with their too-bulky bodies and their too-short legs wearing lavender and light blue with gold carved images of everything Neptunian.  Orange, peach and lavender.  Too me a jolting, unsettling, and on some levels repulsive juxtapositioning of almost like, almost not.  Limbo twilight “make up your mind!”  One of the horses with an ink blue and black background, making its statement, “I am still here!”  Dashes of my own paint in and out on and around these images – continues –

The oval set to display a massive sunflower display for sky behind horizon of seeds, house befriended, surrounded by more sunflowers – a glorious one

A stunning hummingbird.  An orange and wine-purple jewelry butterfly with flowers.  A kind kind of pale pink watercolor rose surrounded by value-laden intimations of gold – a rose from a very old greeting card I found – unsent – at my favorite thrift store – Fargo’s oldest.

And the bronze-ish image of bulky statue of woman sitting, against dark purples, deep green purple dark flowers with again a blazon orange-red orb at the sky – set over with cut paper spirals – black and deep rust.

And the blue colored penciled butterfly set as a giant in the sky being heralded and chased by three children – at an angle – mis-set – with tiny blue flowers.  Childhood.  A universe of its own does not contain those boundaries and orientations – those set-in-stone requirements set into stone – by grownups.

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Paper.  There was always some kind of paper in the home of my childhood.  If nothing else could be found – lined notebook paper.  Crayons.  Scissors.  White stinky paste in a jar with a brush.  Whatever I could find – in that insane abuse madhouse – I made my own by making my own – a world out of paper.

Like this one.  If ANYONE had shown me one of these when I was a child!!  Oh my imagination would have traveled – around and around – in that disoriented universe of Mother’s madness –

Mathematics of the Mobius Band

No Magic at ALL – The Mobius Strip

I have been thinking of this often of late – how life for anyone – and certainly life for survivors of early severe abusive trauma – have a dark side of memory and a light side.  How to travel within myself when I feel the darkness present – over to the OTHER side where goodness, light and love reside?

Partly – I endure by making things.  Always.

Which reminds me – if you can get to facebook – this right brain-left brain test is very interesting – I recommend it!

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Btw, the noisy stomping family members have returned from Albuquerque to stomp and romp above me once again….

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Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase–

Story Without Words:  How Did Child Abuse Break My Mother?

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  A daring book – for daring readers – about a really tough subject.

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Tags: adult attachment disordersadult reactive attachment disorderanxiety disorders,borderline motherborderline personality disorderbrain developmentchild abuse,depression,derealizationdisorganized disoriented insecure attachment disorder,dissociation,dissociative identity disorderempathyinfant abusePosttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD),protective factorsPTSDresiliencyresiliency factorsrisk factorsshame

 

 

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