Expressive Arts Carnival #3

Time is so screwy for us right now. Like I'm sure weeks have passed and I'm late paying all the bills, but then thankfully it turns out it's only been days. Or alternatively, that I was certain it had been only a couple of days since I said I'd get back to a client and then I discover I said that over a month ago. Yikes.

So it was a relief when I suddenly remembered that we wanted to participate in this month's Expressive Arts Carnival hosted at Mind Parts, and after checking the blog, discovered that I hadn't missed the deadline after all.

The assignment was: "On a white or black background, choose two (and only two) colors and make a painting (digital or analog) that represents where you have been mentally for the past week or so."

Here is our submission:

Notes on this image: there's been more focus lately on the system working as a united whole, even if we never fully integrate. We are our own light, a ball of light, though we have raw wounds, angry red welts of pain and memory. The beliefs we still struggle with, beliefs about our self-worth and the world around us, are a prison. Still, we continue to heal, to let our light shine through.

Expressive Arts Carnival

Although new to blogging, we feel fortunate to have found other multiples and those who are supportive, here on the web. One of the sites we value is Mind Parts, and this month, Paul of Mind Parts is hosting the second Expressive Arts Carnival. The assignment: to create an abstract art piece through any visual means that depicts all or part of the internal world.

Here is our submission, and an explanation below:

We have a special room inside we call the library. It's quite possibly a cliché, but it's ours. A brightly-lit fireplace, always burning as if it's the spark to our soul, flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Knowledge is power. Above the fireplace, a view of much of the rest of inside: hallways leading to our individual rooms, where we can close the door to the world. Yet we are never really alone. Always there are those inside who watch and wait. And alone, in the spotlight, the child we were, the innocence we lost. Despite the warmth of the fire, the lure of retreat and sweet oblivion, there is pain. A bloody hand print, evoking a sudden gasp, a gut-clenching aversion that leaves its stamp on our reality. To survive, we had to rally together, the inner family.