Lulu
Hello,
I want you to meet Lulu (2023).
She is made of charcoal and acrylic paint on a stretched canvas sized 80 x 100 centimeters.
Lulu means remarkable, outstanding, wonderful. And peaceful, protected, calm.
When I paint, and when I name my paintings, I don’t look into the the meanings of them or any of the symbols in advance. But whenever they show up, I like to do a quick search. Some of the symbols I know now, and I return to them, building a language of sorts.
Like the peony flowers. They are among my favourites. And the first time I painted them I discovered that they represent love, joy, happiness, romance, prosperity, good fortune, new beginnings.
The fox, represents cunning, playfulness, resilience. They are clever, mischievous, fearless and sure of themselves.
The moon for me always represents the feminine. The vermillion red my favourite red.
The woman, shapeless yet confined, represented only by her face and rib cage. I’m not sure why I am so hung up on ribs. Maybe because when I feel something very intensely, I feel it in my ribs. Maybe because in the bible Eve was made from Adam’s rib. Apart from the obvious patriarchical nonsense in that, there is a presence of life in my ribs that is very strong, and maybe the ones who came up with that story felt that too. It moves around depending on my mood and what I feel. It can be big or small or heavy and sometimes it’s like a hole where it should be.
Just the other day I had this big realization that living the way that I have been living, constantly trying to protect myself and become so independent that I would never have to rely on anyone ever again, wasn’t living, but dying. Because everything in life is connected, and it is these connections that is life.
I realized that I had gotten it all mixed up somewhere on the way. And that if I continued to chase my idea of total self-reliance, then I was in reality chasing death. Because that’s the only state I can think of existentially that isn’t connected. When pieces I’m made of no longer connects to other pieces I’m made of, when my lungs no longer breathes in oxygen for my cells and breathes out carbon dioxide, being magically and symbiotically transformed into clean air by all the plants I surround myself with because I love them so, when all the atoms I’m made up of stops recognizing each other as one being, me, then there is no more me.
And I’m not saying that I want to cheat death. I know that I will die one day, and when I do, I hope to do so bravely. But I think that requires me to live bravely as well. And to be honest with myself, about what I am and what I need.
Because I do need other people. I need them and I want them. I want to belong, and I want to commit and I want to put down some roots. Finally. I don’t want to be on the run for the rest of my life. I don’t want to always have an escape plan, because I do. I don’t always want to know where the closest exits are, and I don’t always want to be prepared to burn every bridge if I have to. I am tired. I am so tired of always fighting and wanting to appear strong and confident and self-reliant in every way, because I am not. I am really not.
I have people in my life that gives me places to grow. I’m very bad at telling them how grateful that makes me, because it’s difficult for me to admit that they matter. But I want to change that. I have to change that.
I have people in my life that gives me places to grow in spite of me.
There might be hope for me yet.
I understood these things because I have spent the last few weeks looking at Lulu for hours every day, wondering what this painting is trying to tell me, and what I meant when I chose to call the exhibition The Self Help Files. Because I didn’t really know why that title came to me, but I do now.
I will explain later.
Be safe, friends.