My Secrets Are Locked
Published on January 11, 2012
Yesterday I saw this sculpture and was brought to tears.
What it was, I do not know. And don’t even care.
|Woman With Spiral Helmet by Mark Chatterley. Glazed Earthenware. At ASU Ceramics Research Center.|
And it’s funny because it makes me think of this landscape painting that used to hang in the hallway at my Grandparents house when I was just a wee itty bitty.
I used to ask my Grandfather to pick me up and show me the painting closer and he would point out a little rectangular white shape in the background and say that’s the house he grew up in when he was just a little boy.
One day, when nobody was looking, I dragged a kitchen chair to that painting and took my black crayon out and circled it. Just so I would never forget.
|Woman With Spiral Helmet by Mark Chatterley. Glazed Earthenware.
At ASU Ceramics Research Center.
Nobody ever said anything.
Maybe nobody never noticed.
But somehow, I kept all the memories of my Grandfather hidden in that white shape with a black halo.
The roughness of his beard. The smell of his breath. The way his skin was wrinkled, weathered, and brown.
I was probably six years old then, when I vandalized that painting.
Now 30 years later, as a grown woman with a little itty bitty on the way–I lock my secrets and memories into the paintings I create.
And I release my old ones into the Art that I come across along the way.
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