Found this piece of writing lying around in my notes. I remember I was answering a question here, but don’t remember what the question was. In it I describe the creation of my “Dysmenhorrea” series.
Creating art is ritual and spiritual. Craft is important and has its place for sure, but without your heart and soul on the paper you have nothing really and I see little point in it. Making art for me involves just as much spiritual alignment with the work as it does having the right words, paints, or materials.
In literal terms, I wait for the time to be right, when my uterine lining is shed, during the calm of the storm, the stillness amongst the waves, in which the pain has subsided enough to carry on. I put on a record – something rhythmic, repetitive, and raw. I pull the syrup out from between my legs and smear it on the glass slide. Then I shift the slide around, peering through the eyepiece, in search of something that draws me in.
I intend to transform this difficult/painful part of my life into pride, accomplishment, achievement. I’d also like to provoke thought and conversation around this taboo, yet overwhelmingly common/prevalent subject.