Awakening
acrylics on canvas
81 x 100 cm
2020
1500 € // sold
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“I was born into this body, given it as a gift. This body is capable of so much; it can’t do everything I want, it cannot climb all the mountains I see, but this body knows how to hug, how to soothe, how to embrace. This body is soft, but strong; it senses depths that surprise me, heights that startle me. This body carries me with faithful patience; it’s the nest of my mind, the home of my soul.
This body is good. Surely it must be good. How could it not be? It’s created to create so much goodness. This body has done so much; carried children, given birth to almost all of them, created life, nursed, loved, warmed little ones.
This body is good. It has carried me through so much. This body has lost life, let go of so much, it has bended over its sorrows, gently carried me to the other side of them. This body is loyal, it is wise; the depths it has seen have left their marks on it.
And yet they say it’s not true - that this body is not good. They can’t seem to agree why, but everyone has their own reason to say my body is a problem.
They don’t know how to look at it. They say this body shouldn’t be seen - they tell me to hide it so they wouldn’t see “too much”. Like the things that are beautiful in me would be dangerous to them. And yet they want to see more, and more, and more. They demand me to be more. They don’t know how to see the patient softness in me, the embraces accumulated on my skin, the gentleness glowing underneath it. They have opinions on my skin: on its colour, its surface, how much of it they should see. They don’t want to see too much, but covering all of it makes them nervous. They’re afraid of this body, of the things it can do - and their only weapon is to try restrict it, try to frighten me so that I’d apologize for it myself.
They say I shouldn’t change. That I should freeze myself in time, stop my body from changing, from learning. They want me to erase all my flaws - but I see now flaws. I just see how they have forgotten what beauty is; they think it’s smoothness, flawlessness. To me beauty are the things inside of me that are most true - but that’s exactly what they don’t know how to see. Like the trueness life has drawn on my skin shouldn’t be true; like my body shouldn’t remember where it has come from.
But I have awoken,
I am becoming aware
and in the light of this morning
I see myself
like I was created to be.
And I ask nothing from them anymore. I don’t let them speak into myself anymore. I make my nest in this body, I settle in it - in the fullness of it. I allow myself to overcome my boundaries. I allow myself to flow, to surge, to splash - in front of their eyes. Slowly, I become true within myself. I speak gentle words to this body; thanking it, embracing it, honouring it. This body has given so much for me - this body that I didn’t choose but was given as a safe haven.
These soft arms have carried life, sheltered life. The dry skin of these hands has created beauty, carried others, fought battles. With these hands I have cleared roads, with these hands I have blazed. This is the skin my children have kissed, the skin they wish to be close to. The scars here carry a memory of them; of the growth that forced me to overcome my boundaries.
Here, within all this, I am good.
This is me
and this is good.”
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Being a woman is such a bodily experience. I’m sure it’s that for men too, but - for anyone identifying as a woman so many things happen IN the body. Women are seen through the body, so much. And it seems the world just cannot make up its mind about it.
I’ve been pregnant four times, given birth to three babies. I’ve nursed them, wrapped them, carried them. They were born from this body, sustained by this body, sheltered by this body. For years this body wasn’t just mine; it had to expand, physically and spiritually, to keep others safe. During these years I’ve witnessed others do the same, or go through the sorrow of not conceiving, or go through the trauma of sickness. Sometimes that’d change the woman’s body; breast cancer would literally take away parts of it, childbirth would tear it to pieces, scarring it.
Being a woman is such a bodily experience. Our bodies are magnificient; their ability to do all this, and to heal from all of it, is… surely it must be holy. Surely the body must be good. Surely God must be proud of the masterpiece he made. Which is why I cannot, just cannot fathom the messed up views of the world towards a woman’s body. It seems we’ve lost ability to see it the right way. The body is accused of so many things; the woman easily viewed as problematic because of her body; the concept of beauty narrowed to some mutilated, sanitized and vacuum-packed daydream.
This painting was created out of my longing to have the body seen as it is. Celebrated as it is. Honoured as it is. The body in this painting seems whole and able, but might carry memories concealed, scars not seen. There’s so much etched into us that can’t be seen - but what makes us whole. I didn’t want to cover the body fully - I wanted to have it seen as beautiful, as something to honour and not to restrict. I wanted the painting to represent joy, freedom and proudness - the goodness of creation as it was meant to be. God’s good intention.
And I love it. And I’ll be creating more of them. So many women free in themselves.