In October 2013, I had the honor of working with a remarkable group from First Unitarian in Brooklyn Heights on a production of Mother Wove the Morning -- a theatre show of monologues and vignettes of women's stories throughout history.
The producers had seen Blood on the Veil and asked me to do an entr'acte to Act 2 excerpting a brief monologue from my show, and ending with a dance where I would bring the cast onstage as part of the routine.
I was initially nervous working with this new group, but was so impressed by the integrity of their work, their commitment not simply to honoring the feminine, but to expressing how the denigration of the feminine hurts both men and women (the final monologue was by a man) ... the experience proved magical beyond my hopes.
Since then, I've joined them for various events and outings, including a trip to see Judy Chicago's watershed feminist art installation The Dinner Party at The Brooklyn Museum, and a winter solstice celebration where we shared songs and poems. I choreographed a simple candle dance that the group could do in a circle, in the tradition of sacred circle dances.
Then in early January the group exchanged a few emails about putting together "Goddess Vision Boards" ... now, what were these? A scrapbook-type collage of images and words pulled from magazines, calendars, and other printed media, maybe with some other sparkly-starry-glittery stuff thrown in.
In other words: Barf.
You see, I hate scrapbooking. I mean I REALLY HATE scrapbooking.
Over the years I've done various new agey workshops, retreats, seminars--you name it--where inevitably the instructor/leader/facilitator shows up one day with a bunch of magazines and scissors. And if I know this day is coming, I unfailingly find a way to have a "scheduling conflict."
The last time scrapbooking came into my life was at one of Dunya's Dancemeditation retreats a few years ago, where we were to paste images into our journals. (Journals. Ugh. Another practice that I have detested passionately since grade school, but which has plagued me like Jason from Friday the 13th.)
But it was part of The Work, and I was committed to The Work. (Plus I was staying at the retreat center and I had already managed to get sick enough to stay in bed during Scrapbook Day the year before.)
And so I brought my ugly little book and wrote in it during the detested journal exercises. My pen would drag and halt on the page; I'd feel like my body was covered in goo. I felt like everything I wrote was idiotic and embarrassing.
And, yes, I asked myself why it bothered me so much ... and came up with the usual answers: It felt childish, self-indulgent, foolish. And I did not want to be any of those things.
And when Scrapbook Day came around, and I looked at the flapping mound of periodicals in the center of the room ... I felt scared. It was just too much stuff, too many images. How could I choose?
And I realized that the sense of childishness, foolishness came from feeling overwhelmed -- as I felt so often from around age 6. There was always too much information, too many choices; how could I choose?
And how could I know I made the right choice? The choice that deserved to be put on paper and surrounded by words from my pen? And how did I know that even those words deserved to be committed to paper? (And why the hell was I getting so upset about this??!?!)
And that's where the dreaded self-indulgent part came in.
For reasons that I'll explore more fully in another entry, I have since early childhood had a persistent unrelenting shaming voice that told me that anything I liked or wanted was bad or wrong, or I was bad or wrong for wanting or liking it. Expressing a like or desire was to open myself up to shame and ridicule, so I found myself constantly asking, "Is it OK to like such-and-such" or worse, "what should I like."
It's that second question that is the killer. Because once you begin to program yourself to second-guess and/or crush every impulse, you will close off your native creativity--which is guided by those very feelings, wants, impulses.
So I started with the journal.
I found some images I sort of liked and pasted them in. It felt fake and stupid, but I did it anyway. When, as assigned, I wrote in the journal -- eventually coming to those images (the idea was that they would inspire your writing as you came to them), I felt pretty dull, numb, and irritated by them.
So I wrote about the dullness, numbness, and irritation.
And I found that just acknowledging those feelings began to open a door.
I never did take up handwritten journaling as a consistent practice, but my writing began to free up -- which ultimately led me to trust myself enough to blog a bit more (speaking of self-indulgent acts! ☺), and then to write Blood on the Veil.
Last year I had become friendly with a painter, who inspired me towards putting images on paper.
And then came Goddess Vision Board Day....
To be continued....
2 comments:
As I read about your hate of scrap booking and writing in journals, I could not help thinking that I wish you could have met Louise Nevelson when you were a teen. I met her once at a Columbia University lecture and function. I I quickly became fascinated by her quick wit, and devotion to her artist's vision and independence and most of all, her incredible art and sculpture. I learned that she used scraps of paper, misc wood and metal scraps to construct her "vision" of a sculpture or other works. Her shadow boxes are essentially 3D vision boards, although they were not about self-help or personal growth per se... They were Nevelson's contribution to feminist art. She challenged the typical male sculptor style of the day. I think you would have gained much insight from her, and the confidence in yourself that you were missing. Thanks for bringing bak this lost memory,,, Love it!
I also hate writing in journals, but I always knew... why? Simple, I hate my handwriting! People tell me it's very nice, but I find it to be a complete affront to Calligraphic skill!
Please continue to scrapbook and write a digital journal... Although this blog is more or less that! It's pretty interesting! In short, really great! Deu
LOL Xela! Yes, I have terrible handwriting too, which is one of the reasons I hate journaling. I sometimes wonder if shame has played a role in my dysgraphia -- it's hard for others to criticize my writing if they can't read it!! But then I can't read it myself should I want to later on.... Funny thing is I was always good at drawing and painting. One classmate remarked on a painting I'd done: "How come you draw like that and write like THAT??"
Not sure if Nevelson would have helped me much, though. By the time I was a teen, the confidence issues I was dealing with were already very entrenched. If she had inexhaustible patience and saw particular potential in me (and if I had a lot of regard for her work -- which I might not have since even my tastes were divorced from my native sensibilities) she might have made a difference... otherwise she just would have gotten frustrated with me... Alas... :-P
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