Relinquishing the Primal Wound

Last Mother’s Day was overcast and rainy in Detroit, and I was alone.

A deep storm of sadness and overwhelm (with that hint of anger burn) took over my body. I was less than 90 days sober and I had just returned from spending 15 minutes in a bar to drop a gift off for a college graduation. My adoptive mother was with my estranged sister and her children in Chicago; triggers were everywhere.

I remember the ambiance inside the house. It was perfectly dismal for my art process (which I am far more attached to than creative outcomes). So, I did what any normal artist would do and I put open acrylic paint in my mouth, swished it around with water and hurled it out onto a wood panel covered in stucco while I played Sia on full volume.

Honestly, I don’t think anyone does this, but they should try! Just don’t swallow.

Anyway, the purge that ensued can only be described as a relinquishment of relinquishment. Of course that trauma will never go away, but I can try to give that energy to my artwork… in a desperate bid to heal just a little bit.

I think that’s the point of art.

After I finished, in a state of afterglow, I laid on the ground looking up at the splattered paint resting on the interior shutters by the window and the wall surrounding the panel. I didn’t want to touch anything. It was pure trauma everywhere and it felt heavy… but in the most beautiful way. Art turned this into the most twistedly wonderful evening.

What I saw truly felt like I captured the primal wound. According to my biological mother I captured hers too. She is also an artist.

Let me know what you think!