One day during my thirties, I was in my downtown studio looking forward to painting when I noticed I felt very depressed. Depression was not unfamiliar, but on this particular day it caught my attention. The day before I’d had a wonderful time with a date, and as I reflected on the depression I realized that, in fact, it was because I’d had a wonderful time that I was feeling depressed.
It was an aha! moment. Having fun somehow meant I was severing a bond with my mother and betraying her. I began to realize that there were options to life: I didn’t have to be a lovely daughter and I didn’t have to save Mom from her own unhappiness. (Reconciling the space between having to be lovely and saving Mom and wanting to had yet to happen.)
Now that I was out of Eden, unprotected by lovely, princess fantasies and savior illusions, I was faced with demons--depression and anxiety. I overcame these energy-devouring, self-defeating emotions by eating or napping. Overeating before entering my studio – once I ate a whole coffee cake – made me feel over stuffed. I wanted to get rid of this uncomfortable awful sensation so instead of literally purging myself, I would metaphorically purge feelings onto the canvas. Napping calmed my anxiety by separating my everyday energy from my creative energy. With demons in check, my intuitive senses were free to direct my hand in my artistic endeavors.
So with charcoal and paper or paint and canvas in hand and the willingness to risk breaking the sacred good girl bond with both myself and my mother, I found total enjoyment indulging in the earthly pleasures of skin, charcoal and paint.
The unconditional freedom of expression art allowed me, on the one hand, was no match to the conflicting feelings I had about my mother. When I expressed pain, Mom wouldn’t relate and I felt rejected and lonely. When I expressed joy I felt I was abandoning her. I loved my mother and I didn’t want to abandon her, nor did I want to feel rejected and lonely.
My women expressed this painful, conflicting experience. They acted as a window into my inner world – again.
