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"Do you know what it means
to be punched on the face by the person you love? I hold my tears, while my nose is bleeding. I keep my dignity. I might bend, but you won't break me." Lady A.
This piece is about not wanting to see the abuse, this is the first stage, when I knew something was wrong, but also didn't want to know. And when I finally understood that the violence wasn't normal, I felt so separated from everyone else. Detached from everyone else's happiness, how could everyone's day just go as normal when this was happening in my house?
After over twenty years of processing the trauma, sometimes with help, other times on my own; I felt ready to create my own life, my own family, free of violence, full of growth and love. I feel at peace at last, and enjoying a creative life, and new loving bonds with people who I trust. It was definetly tough to get to this moment, but I'm so grateful that I never stopped trying.
This painting is a tribute to Africa American women, who for centuries have been victims of abuses. These women are the symbol of resistance and strength, willing to stand for any other abuse that is occurring in history.
Sometimes I feel a little mad
Well, don't you know that no-one alive
Can always be an angel
When things go wrong I seem to be bad
… I'm just a soul who's intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
At age three, my father committed suicide. He was abused as a child, but that unfortunately led to him being abusive toward my mom. He hated himself for treating his wife the way he did, and so he decided to take his own life, leaving my mom as a single parent of three. Here, I depict myself with my mom, who was always there as an essential figure in my life: she has always been the support system for my two older brothers and me (hence the name, "Fulcrum"), and has coloured our lives with her love.
At first, getting my self-esteem back felt like having a butterfly on me, anything could make my world crumble and make that sense of self-worth fly away instantly.
I navegated between feeling worthy and unworthy, feeling happiness and strenght and on the next moment being reminded that maybe the abuser was right after all and I didn't deserve to believe in myself.