Wednesday, 2 May 2012

The Red Façade - Features - 2/5/2012

Jaeda DeWalt has provided us with the inspiration for this week’s features. Her dramatic image tells the story of the facade we desperately try to maintain when we are keeping secrets, allowing ourselves to be silenced and forgotten. When we can shed this burden, freedom can follow. Truth is liberating, for society as a whole and for us as individuals. Bravo Jaeda.
In Jaeda’s own words…

“As a child I was taught to keep my mouth shut, my feelings were not validated. I kept my abuse a secret. The keeping of this sick secret seeped into my soul like poison. So I learned very young, how to create a pretty little facade, to hide behind it and pretend everything was okay.
As a society, I believe we are only as sick as our secrets. As an adult I seek to do the opposite, to tear down the facade and expose the truth and THAT is what this image is about."

The Red Façade – Self Portrait © by Jaeda DeWalt

The red façade is a hard one to let go.

It’s a secret… © by shelleybabe2
It’s private…
That’s why I had to hide it.
I found it hard to communicate
with you.
Due to all of the abuse.
I could not express myself.
Cause I was too ashamed of it.
It was personal.
It was private.
I also found it difficult.
An uphill struggle.
Having to climb,
up that hill.
From all of the filth.
Discusting dirt.
I tried to wipe off my skirt.
But somehow still lingers,
upon my shirt.
Still attached to me.
It just won’t go away, you see.
Cause it’s a secret.
I hide, invisibly.

Sometimes, the façade of silence can seem overwhelmingly loud and saps the strength.

The Clamor of Silence © by RC deWinter

“the silence of the mind
the ink dried in the pot –
so long has it been since i dipped my quill.
my brain suffused with rot –
so long has it been since i bent my will
to the work of the living.
the words as dry as husks
left lying out, naked, on sunburnt plains.
my thoughts frail blunted tusks
grown useless, long drowning in sorrow’s rains;
there is nothing to ponder."
© 2011 RC deWinter
We try so hard to please, forgetting that silence shuts us down.

The good wife © by su2anne
There was a
Good wife whose hands could
Turn spun yarn into
Gold and silk. That
Became rainbows and
Spoke to the
Sun and the moon. But
She had a
Secret torment… Her
Keeper had cast a
Spell on her loom. A
Lock that would only
Open from noon till four.
Thou these wondrous
Fabrics spoke of
Light and love and
Adorned the likes of
Fair maidens bright and
Rich widows. And her
Fame become
Legendary the
Rules remained…her
Heart and soul like her
Hands were bound and an
Over whelming
Sadness prevailed. Her
Creations sang of
Beauty. Her
Eyes windows to her
Soul bespoke
Time passed and her
Heart contracted to
Such a point that she could
No longer
Look upon her loom. So she
Turned away and
Shut the
Door on her
Heart. For years it
Lay frozen in a
Place so deep she
Didn’t dare look for
Fear she might shatter…
Instead she
Gathered herself and
Gave and did as
Only a woman could. Her
Loving husband
Happy to have such a
Good wife. But at
Certain moments when the
Night is still an
Eerie keen can be heard. It is the
Loom locked in a cupboard calling to
Her mistress. And the
Good woman greyed with
Time remembers the
Song and her
Hands respond. In her
Dreams she
Weaves a magic where she
Walks free. There are
No locks. Her
Loom awaits and her
Spun gold and silver
Adorn princesses and the
Softest yarns
Caress newborns. Her
Eyes star bright with
Gladness… upon
Awakening this
Wise old one begins her
Working day with a
Spring in her step for
She knows her
Dreams are hers

The silence can be isolating, keeping us apart from friendships and relationships.

No-one there to hear me scream © by strawberries

Sometimes it is easier to hold on to old hurts than it is to let them go.

singing by the water © by Sybille Sterk
heart skin like old leather
fragrant with memories
battle scarred and crinkled
locked up and shut for business
over and done with
it’s so much easier
to just keep the cold out
and hold it in
than to drag it out
and grow more
fear skin like glass
over real skin
easily shattered
and it cuts so deep
like a bullet knife noose
with a padlock
around my chest
breathing lightly
feelers out
to test the waters
you can never be sure
better safe than sorry
better frozen than fried
better but not happier
maybe content
can be achieved
on a good day
if not for the song
that is going
round and round my head
of old times
of good times
of neverminds
huddled in the
comforting darkness
waiting for

a new song

“Another world must surely exist somewhere, one where she would be known in some deep way that was far beyond words.”

“Originally I took this with a friend’s original story in mind. The quote above is from one of my new favorite novels, Alice Hoffman’s, ‘The Story Sisters’, which describes the effects of sexual abuse on one girl and her family, and how her reaction to her struggle changes everything – creating loss, tragedy, and a final redemption.” lilynoelle

Another World Must Exist Somewhere © by lilynoelle

Remember that we are more than the sum of our pasts.

Other. © by Cynthia Lund Torroll
I am not
these circumstances.
I am not
this wash of insanity.
I am something
other -
than the want
of food,
the need of sleep,
or the fickleness of
I am other.

Although we feel trapped, we can find the strength to break free.
Joelle explains…

“Circé focuses on the hidden elements of escape from conformity and oppression. Escape, even without " the clothes on your back ".
Circé very much believes that the Patriarchy is the " box of conformity " that all individuals need to be free of.
This piece portrays the effort and determination that are both requisite and result of endeavoring for change and escape. The nudity in this piece is simple.
There is no need for distraction from the message, this is self birth and renewal." joellecirce

Breaking free © by joellecirce

When we break free, we can feel the sweet breeze brushing past, blowing away the sadness and pain.

The Sea Breeze Upon my Skin © by Zi-O
Surrounded by sandy soil
Waves of sea green devil blue
A comparison of wills
As the sun breaks through
A mother’s embrace
This water womb
The tide sings a lullaby
To star shapes, pearls
& golden scales—- those with gills
Ancient memories
Swimming from the depths
Into lungs that breathe
Gazing at the evening glory
I smell the breeze upon my skin

Once freed from the oppression of silence, we can dance to our destination.

Dance To Your Destination…. © by Carol Knudsen

And let our garden grow.

In my garden © by Vesna VD
Around my soul,
like around a Medieval Garden,
rises a Fortress.
In the middle is the Fountain:
the Heart.
When you look at me,
the gates open.
Come in freely.
As I am getting older
I spend more time by the Fountain
then in the Towers.
If you see something beautiful in this Garden,
pull it out,
replant it.
It is yours as much as it is mine.

Congratulations to you all. What a talented group we have.

1 comment:

  1. What a fabulous and inspiring Blog this is. Such great artists and writers.

    Thanks for sharing it with us all.


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