Meet Lola

Lola is a butterfly painting I began in September of 2020 and completed in the summer of 2022. It’s a painting that was a last request from my very dear friend, Cecilia Zwanzig. In her last day on earth, I was blessed with the gift of Facetiming and speaking with her. Even as she was actively dying, she was joking around and reminiscing on her beautiful and challenging time on earth. We talked about life, love, pain, loss, fear, parenthood, death, music (A song called “Lola”), movies, food, and art. Here’s a snippet of what I recall about her request:

Cecilia: Hey Alicia, honey, can you do something for me? I just have this one last request.

This is my friend, Cecilia Zwanzig

The Brooch that inspired the final design

This is “Lola”

Me: Absolutely anything for you, Cecilia. What’s up?

Cecilia: Can you paint me a butterfly?

Me: Yes, of course I can.

Cecilia: Oh my God, thank you so much! I want it to be beautiful, with my favorite colors and I want you to bling it out, like the butterfly brooch I have, you know the one I’m talking about Joseph?

Joseph: Yeah Ma, I know which one.

Cecilia: Can you do that for me honey?

Me: It would be my honor, Cecilia. Would you help me through it though?

Cecilia: Yes, I want you to paint it and display it at my memorial. I promise I’ll show up and help you. It’ll be a Cecilia and Alicia original!

I met Cecilia in my early twenty’s when I was a new mom, new wife and entering the corporate work world. At the time, I had no idea how her life and presence would shape me. Cecilia was a mom herself to young Joseph. She was from the Bronx which was very evident in her accent and her take no shit attitude. She loved deeply and fiercely and is one of the most enthusiastic beings I have ever known. Though she was born with Spina Bifida, which is considered a disability, she never allowed it to disable her from living a full life. I could write a book of our conversations and the many lessons I learned from her but the most important one that covers it all is, love. Cecilia was and still is the epitome of love to me. She didn’t know it and neither did I until her passing, but she was very much a second mom to me. Guiding me through motherhood in ways that only she could.

Cecilia holding her son Joseph as a newborn

An angle with different lighting

The process of painting “Lola” was tough. I think a part of me knew that if I finished the painting, it would finalize her death. That there would be no more four-hour phone calls as she would say “shootin’ the shit.” It was a messy and imperfect process that she showed up for as promised.

The canvas has texture because I poured chunky glitter on the golden background, but I hated it and painted over it. I was about to get a completely new canvas when I heard her voice say, “No, leave it that way.” I went on to paint the background again in a purple and white hombre. This was difficult because I had already drawn the outline for the butterfly wings and blending around an outline with acrylic paint is tough. I really wanted to scrap it and start over, but I once again heard her say “No, leave it that way.” I went on to paint the butterfly inspired by her brooch. It was Tiffany blue with intricate details and tiny colorful gems. The colors and details unfolded as I painted. I just went with what I felt lead to do. I added shiny acrylic stones and then more glitter once the painting portion felt complete. When I finally finished, I noticed that the body of the butterfly was crooked and the wings uneven. I noticed other little intricacies and nuances that I would have ordinarily gone back and corrected. All I heard was, “No, leave it that way.” I looked at it for weeks thinking, surely there must be more that I’m supposed to do. All I heard was Cecilia’s voice, “Nope, it’s done, and I love it!”

Hombre wings and golden background start

I realized her message through the painting. That we are perfectly imperfect. Our flaws are what make us unique and beautiful and that they’re not flaws at all. We are all collection of our experiences which gives us texture also knows as character and sometimes grit. In the end, life is truly what you paint it to be. I decided to add both of our names to the piece since she obviously showed up for her part.

Her caption under her profile photo on Facebook reads: “I love to laugh and cry, usually at inappropriate times. I think that normal is boring.”

Cecilia’s sense of humor was unmatched

The Art of Rest

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been busy. Busy working, learning, exploring, building, mothering, partnering, marketing, problem solving, making money, paying bills…you get the point. I grew up around hard workers who did what was necessary to provide. As a hard worker, I appreciate results and often go above and beyond to achieve them. This has been a core belief for me for a very long time. My value and worth has always been tied to performance, how much I can do and how well I can do it.

I know there are some people reading this who can totally relate to what I’m saying. Here’s the thing about self worth and value as humans, we allow society to determine the definition rather than creating our own. As children, we learn by example and often mirror what we see or what we are told. This is why it is so important to be mindful of the examples we are to the young people around us. I no longer believe that my worth is tied to how much or how well I do anything. I am worthy simply because I exist. It has been a process to unlearn and reprogram but it is absolutely possible.

Rest is an essential part of health, growth and life in general. I take breaks, I say no, I schedule time off for road trips, beach time, a vacation when I want and I no longer feel bad about it. This is so important to me because I could get easily caught up in being busy and forget to pause. I’ve learned the importance of taking breaks to enjoy the fruits of my labor and not just my labor but the labor of those who worked so hard for me to be here and have the freedom to do so. I’ve also learned the value of resting when I feel like resting because this is actually a part of my process. I have an amazing life, I still work hard, and I rest hard. I simply revel in that time off and come back better for it every time because rest is actually an essential part of the work.

Quality Quarantine

Surviving a pandemic has been the thing that we all have been navigating through since March of 2020. My last journal entry was in November of 2019 right before I went in for a major surgery and only five months before the pandemic hit. After my surgery, I hit a wall emotionally. I probably should have been journaling through all of it, but I honestly didn’t have the bandwidth to write what I was feeling at the time. The surgery landed me in a three-month period of rest for which I was not prepared. I had been working non-stop for as long as I could remember. I come from a hard-working family, and I grew up in the 'hustle culture” where your value is based on how hard you work. How does one who is rooted in work, prepare to rest? I was unknowingly being prepared for what was to come.

By January of 2020, I slowly started to pick up gigs and contracts and recoup my funds. By early March, I was back in full swing, and I was physically feeling the effects. My body was still healing, and I catapulted myself back into work mode as if nothing had happened. March 11, 2020, was my last day of physical work before the world shut down. I taught a paint class to a group of seniors in the east end of Bridgeport, CT. I began receiving email after email with cancelled gigs and contracts, indefinitely. I was devastated by the loss of work, but I did not panic. I have always managed to survive difficult times; this would be no different. I decided I would create through the chaos which has always been a healing modality for me. I very quickly realized that it might help others to create through it as well. I started teaching free virtual art lessons on my facebook page which led to a grant, then a sponsorship and eventually a new stream of income.

Teaching art virtually became my niche during the pandemic. I was hired by multiple organizations to facilitate virtual lessons and workshops. I was not traveling for work since I could do everything from the comfort of my home. I rested when I was not teaching, connected with my family, practiced self-care, allowed my body to heal, learned to meditate, spent time with myself, spent time with nature, and made my health a priority. I started to create with others and for myself again. I dropped weight literally and physically during this pandemic. I have also gained some of it back…LOL. The most valuable lesson I have learned during this time is what is most important to me and how I contribute to the world around me.

“Element of Freedom”

Journal entry: November 1, 2019

TRIGGER WARNING

In November 2018 I awoke from a dream where I was holding a gun to my head. When I pulled the trigger, thirteen black butterflies emerged. It was disturbing to say the least, but I immediately knew I had to paint it. I fought it for a while because of the nature of the piece and admittedly because I didn’t completely understand it. I fell into a depression after about two weeks of holding it in. Four full blown days of darkness and my spirit told me to go to the studio and start the piece. I decided to move forward with the sketch on canvas. It’s meaning has unfolded in the process of its creation. It is a very layered piece, both personal and political, all me.

Personal: I battled depression for nearly half my life. Suicidal thoughts and ideations were a part of this battle. I’ve learned over the years and through treatment that much of my battle was a spiritual one. Personally, this piece represents my struggle with duality. It’s about the death of my ego and the birth of my constant transformation as a spiritual being having a human experience. The ego, the mind has often been a source of pain and confusion for me. The gunshot to my head is the killing of my ego. The gun is a .45, our current president is the 45th. The black butterflies represent the release of negativity and darkness. The 40 stars represent my age at the time this dream came to me. The 12 stripes represent completion for me because life as I know has ended. You must be willing to die to be born again. My rebirth has begun.

Politically: I am bi-racial which is why my flesh is painted black and white. My arm is painted as a part of the fabric of the American flag which represents conformity. The white, bright white, black and grey stars represent the people of this country, some burn brighter than others according to our political system. These stars are actively falling from their places in the box. There is destruction in the background and large pools of blue blood because we all bleed the same. There are twelve stripes instead of thirteen which is representative of the incomplete and tarnished history of our country. The black butterflies exploding from my exit wound represent the 13th amendment, the abolishment of slavery which has only become mass incarceration. The shards of glass which are part of the explosion represent parts of wings being broken, dreams shattered, people lost. The pieces of glass came from my car window which was shot in a drive by shooting in early 2019. I was not in the car and nobody was hurt.

Pechakucha 2018

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.”

Click here to see the full presentation

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.