Speaking in Tongues (love your life to death)

i speak to myself in my head and i suppose we all do
in this culture, anyway. but to exist entirely inside your
head must make some of them go mad
if you were to watch humans moving and see them
only as balls of energy bumping around in a pinball world of light
trees and buildings
the ones burning red and the ones burning green
or blue or purple
if you could see that ....
i dont know. that is how it all looks to me sometimes
i am elevated and apart -  watching it all move. from afar. witched.

I went to the west coast in the fall and then again in the new year
The first time I visited i was 16 and I think all of me did not come back
When i went back it was as though I may retrieve the part of me I left but
instead i brought back a part of the west coast inside my skull. I cant shake it out.

I visited the east coast in the summer and i loved it but not as much as the west coast
the redwoods can erase all the vile humanity from my mind and make me forget i
have a body or veins or that other people scuttle around admiring themselves incessantly
or beautifully even. touching. breathing. loving. filling the atmosphere with emotions and shit.

i have an amazing life. I did everything i wanted. I arrived and left when i meant to and nothing was ever so tragic.

But still there is. The nihil. a visitation or a vigil. for the unspeakable truth, the ever present death.
My blood sisters bound to me with time and sickness and large shady trees in the backyard. We ebbed. flowed away and returned.  When times goes by you get to see how your memories will age. will they fade? or vibrate or blend ? or become so vivid it is blinding to visit them.

My blonde baby girl Aphrodite was chosen by the devil to carry the darkness in her mind. She nearly died til they electro-shocked him out.  She was cured. It was real. I saw her change and then change back.

I texted my ex for a long time before I fell asleep. He wanted advice. I am a sage in a Misfits t shirt on a stack of pillows drenched in moisturizer and splattered paint from a failed art experiment. Okay, I will tell you who you are again -  but I ve been telling you for years. I know you better than you know yourself. But you can't know me. But you know I can help you. and that is good for now.

i dreamed by cousin called. she died in 1997. in the dream, on the dream phone, she sounded like she always sounded. It was her voice. I thought that I had forgotten what she sounded like. But no. it is still there.

I moved to a new house in the beginning of December.  Happily it is still close to the river.  I have to, have to live near the river.  The house was built around 1890 I think. I hope to god it is haunted.

Love your Life (Lie) to Death. 1.5 inches by 2 inches

The Journey's Interior

Quite a while back ago I completed a series of works on paper that illustrate, literally, the way the incessant and unnameable pain feels in my body.  My doctor, who suggested I have an auto immune disease that hasn't been identified yet (wtf), asked to see my art. He said he was interested in the creative ways patients cope with chronic pain.

Thermo Mandibular Joint Dysfunction by Shawna Atkins

He regularly compliments me for being thin. It is really bizarre. I'm not that thin: I am average, normal, adequate, and whatever.  I think maybe he sees a lot of people with complications that are related to obesity and my body presents a contrast to that which he has grown accustomed. I hope for his patients' sake that he doesn't disregard their issues due to their body shape and size. He can't know most of my issues stem, in fact, from being too thin for too long. or Probably So. Medical doctors sort of blow my mind sometimes. I have noticed that most of them add, 'this does not mean your pain is not real' after delivering test results. Like they all went to a seminar and were told to state that in order to be 'sensitive' or something....REMINDER: Do Not Invalidate Your Patient. It has happened with several different ones... men and women in lab coats, strangers you entrust with the secrets of the body..

Metamorph by Shawna Atkins

The thing was, I could not make the pain take the shape of words. As if I may look straight at this doctor of science and say,  "it feels as if the vines have wrapped tightly around clavicles, wound down around my vertebrae and now the thorns are sinking into the marrow. reaching up toward the shoulder socket. I gave up on words like 'shooting, stretching, aching, pulling, burning' bc it did not do justice to the accompanying visions and colors that lit up behind my eyes in accordance with the internal pain path. So i gave into those sights and spent some months of 2015 scrawling them out and filling them in, sitting crooked and hunched over paper amidst my old anatomy books and "Native Wildflowers of Louisiana".. "Insects of the World..."

Thoracic Spine Pain by Shawna Atkins

I wanted to spend some time with this idea, these visionary coping mechanisms, and then let them go. like beaten butterflies. To carefully caution myself against dwelling too long in psychic hot places that ensnare me and allow mental comfort with a constant portrayal of physical discomfort. To explore only not to BECOME these images.

I learned a lot doing them. Just good practice. And i messed around with different materials so also caught some lessons on how much graphite can be layered on top of watercolor and at what point it REFUSES. So yeah, there are things that bother me - things that I could go back and fix. Or hit another series later down the road. One thing that rings loudly is how important it is (pour moi) to feel more than one dimension. I need so much to hold a rib....in order to do this seriers correctly.  I have cow ribs. and I had a human skeleton (plastic) to visit but -  it wasn't the same. It was just a miniature model at the PT office. I am not eager to hang out with human remains or anything but even an accurate replica or something would help. I shall add that to the To Do Scroll, I suppose.

It is those long dark December days so gray and heavy and then the longest night. good god sweet solstice. Flare up my Mind. hiding in closets minding the darkest. I send a reverbration to anyone in chronic invisible insatieable pain for whatever reason only bc i know how it feels. communion over having flesh simply, if nothing else. disjointed mind body and words is all i have this night, and thoughts of some redeeming light. for us all.

Ulnar Neuropathy (keep painting) Shawna Atkins

The Criterion, acrylic on canvas. 2012.

NOLA nights

New Orleans, 2012, acrylic on wood panel. Shawna Atkins

Dreaming of Donna

Dreaming of Donna, acrylic on wood panel. 2012

bridge

something different. 2012, NOLA

JUne 2011