Artistic Ramblings - Self

This is an artistic rambling, a miniseries within my blog that aims to explore a bit of everything. Sometimes it’s in terms of mental health or outside influences – but all of which will typically relate to my experiences, thoughts and inspirations as an artist. Thank you for reading!

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As an artist who works from home and a natural introvert, I spend a lot of time within myself. It hasn’t been until recent times that I realised how horrible it was – and it was all because of unaddressed trauma which manifested itself into a very harsh inner critic. Simple mistakes and accidents, not unlike dropping a slice of toast in the morning, would unreasonably feel as horrible as kicking my neighbour’s dog – or something of that calibre.

Working from home has it's pros and cons - but I will forever be grateful for the freedom it gives me to pursue new projects and prioritise my health.

I think of my mind as a garden. It began empty, and with each experience, a seed was planted. Compliments turn to roses and fond memories turn to tulips. Inspiration scatters itself as sunflowers and white daisies represent my dreams.

Naturally, not all experiences are positive – it wouldn’t be the human experience if it was. Amidst the field of colourful flowers, sickening vines were planted. These vines, unchecked, grew thorns and began overwhelming the garden. The sharp edges tore holes in the petals and suffocated hopes, dreams and happy thoughts, transforming a once hopeful field into a depressing spectacle of grey matter (quite literally).

By addressing my mental health, and the significant trauma that has taken over my life for so long, I have been recognising the way that I speak to myself is imperative to my survival. I have been working hard to prune the deadly vines that once suffocated my aspirations and self-confidence. There are still some I can’t get rid of, and I’m not sure I ever will. But they are more in check.

Now that the mess of my mind has been tidied, it feels easier to manage.

Outside influences, particularly of the negative variety, have become less overwhelming. Sometimes I am able to cast away the seeds before they sprout into anything dangerous. Other times, it takes me longer to address but I can cut back the thorns that grow because I have learned to withhold my boundaries and protect my peace.

Over the past few months, I have noticed a significant improvement in the way I see myself. I feel great gratitude for my body, which is something I could once never say.

A tiny snapshot of the things we have created and been fortunate enough to sell at wonderful markets!

I look at my feet and instead of feeling ugly, I feel pride. My feet have carried me up mountains and marched me through warzones, even when the rest of me wanted to give up. I look at my hands and feel less shame for the reminiscent features of an abuser. Instead of seeing the hands of a woman who caused so much devastation and pain to four generations, I recognise they are my pivotal tools of creation.

My hands have done good things, despite being the shadow of someone who thrives off of hatred and the misery of others. My hands have created art; through pain and through joy, through fear and longing, and out of sheer will when I have nothing left to offer.

I know that the day I cannot be creative is the day my soul will slip away. Without an artistic outlet, I have lost the key to all that is myself.

There is a confession to everything I write. Many of the things that I have written, particularly in terms of the art of living and the constant battle of my mental health, I write for myself, just as much as for anyone who may need the push to make change or carry on another day.

If there is ever a night in which the world is too heavy to bear – and I know there will be – I can look back to this blog post with a temporarily lost appreciation for the vessel that has carried me this far. Through hell and back, I have faced demons in the form of designated protectors and wielders of power, and ultimately fought against my own self as I heal from their ruthless conditioning. I have loved and lost, hurt and hoped, and held onto art because that is the one true saviour to the garden of my mind. Art has forever been my breath of fresh air and the saviour of my own self. The ability to create has always been the wind beneath my wings and one of the most valuable tools I have in my journey of survival and healing. What are your thoughts? How is your mental health today? Do you need to take the time to prune away the thorns in your mind and appreciate how far you have come? Is art an essential tool for your mental health? Kimberley (they/them)

Accessories by Antoinette