On November 11, 2018, I had the opportunity to present a piece of my truth during the Bridgeport Pechakucha.
What in the world is a Pechakucha you ask?
“PechaKucha (Japanese for “chit chat”) is the world’s fastest-growing storytelling platform, used by millions around the globe. PechaKucha is what “Show and Tell” always dreamed of becoming.
20 slides. 20 seconds of commentary per slide. That’s it. Simple. Engaging. Spurring authentic connections.”
In 2006 I found myself in my darkest place, battling severe depression, social anxiety and suicidal thoughts. This disease had convinced me that I didn’t have my own identity or purpose. I was a wife, a mom, an employee, a student, a mess! I was lost in the process of surviving and needed desperately to find myself.
When I was a child, art was my constant. It was the only thing that brought me peace, clarity, solace. When my parents divorced, art stayed with me the entire time. While going through my own divorce twenty years later, I decided to revisit my first love.
It was as if we didn’t skip a beat, except this time, it wasn’t crayons or pencil on paper, I got my hands into some paint. There was something about holding a brush in my hand that made me feel whole.
I was sheltered and afraid so I decided to start painting what I was feeling on my own skin. It became my therapy. I was slowly cracking myself open to explore my wounds and expose my light. Brush to skin, I was in. It was like magic had found me and I didn’t want to let it go.
I loved the human connection without the pressure of verbal communication. My first live canvas was free spirited, beautiful Lalli. She volunteered not even really knowing me, it took seven hours and a lot of imagination to complete her paint.
Lalli was flawless in every way to me. Smart, beautiful inside and out, perfect skin, eyes, body. But unbeknownst to me, she was facing her insecurities through the vulnerability of baring her soul. Being painted was her way of gaining confidence in the parts of her body she didn’t love.
Then there’s my brother, Brian. He was a passenger in an automobile accident that nearly took his life at the age of 12. The physical and emotional scars that remain are very real. He was so broken and has spent the latter part of his life putting himself back together. Body paint has been part of that journey.
A lot of people don’t know this but when a caterpillar goes into its chrysalis, it breaks down completely into liquid before it’s new body and wings can form. I’ve watched my brother liquify and emerge into a beautiful butterfly.
Grace was a 19 year old, bubbly and adventurous soul when I met her. She had never been painted but decided to do it very publicly during New York City Body Painting Day, 2015. The theme was “What the World Needs Now” and all I could visualize was John Lennon’s face because of his famous song, Imagine.
What I didn’t know until much later was that Grace was stressed and anxious about school and home. This day and experience were a way for her to get away from reality for a little while. The day was long, exhausting and exhilarating. It was a life changing & healing experience for both of us. And Just imagine that image of Grace later became the face of the event for that year.
Jonnie decided to get painted in tribute to her battle with alopecia which is an autoimmune disease where the body attacks its own hair follicles and bald patches form. It takes so much strength to be transparent when all you want to do is hide. In her words this is what her body paint experience was like. “Young wild and free, everything you want to be when feeling alone. Strong. Conquering. Motivational. Everything you are when art is applied.”
Most commonly, my canvas is a woman. I can’t really say that this is a coincidence. As a woman myself, I feel like part of my purpose is to uplift, inspire and work alongside other women. We are built strong like bricks. When our foundation is cracked, we manage to find our way through it to build and grow even stronger.
We bare life inside of our bodies which is a miracle in of itself. Creating masterpiece after masterpiece of our pieces. Nurturing, protecting and holding on to everything that is dear to us. Painting mommas to be is truly one of my favorite things to do. This momma to be happened to be one of my closest friends who also was honoring and working through accepting her body completely.
On my journey I’m learning that being human is a form of art. We are stardust in a vast universe. One of my favorite quotes by Persian Poet, Hafez says “Even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, “you owe me.” Look what happens with a love like that, it lights up the whole sky’… We could learn so much from a love like that
Body painting has helped me to face being human. It has helped me to face other humans in a way that I don’t know I would have otherwise learned. Accepting myself audaciously and helping others do the same is one of my aspirations in this lifetime.
I’m learning that we are all perfectly imperfect, trying to find our way. Made up of many colors, shapes, sizes, scars, and stories. Some of us develop wings, some don’t. Who says humans can’t fly?
A few years ago while painting my brother live in Downtown Bridgeport, someone asked him why he likes getting painted so much? He said that when he is painted, people don’t see his race, sexual orientation, or scars, they only see a work of art…I thought that answer was profound.
We’re human, we learn, we adapt, we bend, we break, we heal.
Our bodies are our temples, so when others allow me to paint them, I understand that it is a sacred act. It requires trust, vulnerability and just a little bit, ok sometimes a lot of bending our realities.
Body art has lead me on a path of lifelong, generational healing. I will continue to travel this path because what we create will become our legacy. I would like to leave a legacy of beauty, healing and growth.
