There's a saying that goes, "Art is pain made beautiful." For me, it's pain made purposeful.
Trauma leaves scars – some visible, some hidden deep within. My own journey through the fire of domestic violence and the harrowing experience of incarceration at Rikers Island has been one of survival, resilience, and ultimately, an unexpected creative awakening.
The path of healing from domestic violence and the trauma of incarceration is a winding one, fraught with setbacks and emotional triggers. While therapy and support groups have been invaluable, it's been the process of channeling my experiences into art that has truly given me a voice.
I'm a survivor of DV and a former inmate of Rikers Island. To say that sharing my story is difficult is an understatement. Even now, with years of distance, my emotions are raw and the memories vivid. My legal case was sealed to protect me, which makes speaking openly about my experiences even more complex. But in recent years, I've begun to break the silence through my creative work.
My visual art has become another outlet for my pain and healing.
Painting the Pain
My early paintings were portraits. One, a seemingly normal depiction of my husband, masks the darkness that lurked beneath his charming exterior. Another, titled "Two Face," is a self-portrait. At first glance, it looks ordinary, but a closer look reveals a chilling detail – one side of my face and neck are subtly covered in bruises. The duality of the image speaks volumes about the hidden nature of abuse.
As a child, I loved those hidden picture search printouts in magazines. I'd spend hours combing for the lurking images, my eyes scanning for subtle details.
"Doppelganger," my portrait of my husband, mirrors the duality of "Two Face." It's a visual puzzle, a seemingly ordinary depiction that conceals a chilling secret. The truth lurks beneath the surface, waiting for the viewer's discerning eye.
Someday I may reveal it, but for now, it remains only speculation. I worked on this painting trapped a few inches from him, his presence a constant reminder of the darkness I was trying to capture. He was none the wiser as to what I was documenting.
My portrait of my husband, much like my life at the time, is a paradox – a visible facade masking a hidden truth. It speaks to the reality that many survivors face: the inability to openly express their pain or reach out for help.
It breaks my heart that New York's Domestic Violence Survivors Justice Act requires women to prove their abuse, when so many are unable to do so. I was fortunate to have a mountain of evidence, but countless women suffer in silence, their cries for help unheard.
These paintings, with their veiled messages, serve as a testament to their silent struggle. It is a visual representation of the insidious nature of abuse, a reminder that the most harrowing wounds are often the ones we can't see.
Creating these portraits was a way for me to reclaim my narrative, to expose the truth that was often overlooked. It was a cathartic process that allowed me to confront the trauma head-on and begin to heal.
These portraits are a testament to the mask I once wore, a survival mechanism that hid the brutal reality beneath.
Filming a Walk to Heal
One of the most difficult pieces I've created is a short film called "A Walk to the Park", It was a labor of love, and is a raw and unflinching portrayal of my life during those dark times. It's been a terrifying, yet cathartic, project to tackle. The camera lens became my confidante, allowing me to share the unspeakable in a way that words alone could never capture.
Creating "A Walk to the Park" was an intense experience. It forced me to relive some of the most traumatic moments of my life. But it was also an empowering act of reclaiming my story and using it to shed light on the often-hidden realities of domestic violence.
Sculpting for Survival
My latest endeavor is a sculpture, "Whispers Unfinished", for the Rikers Memory Project. This project aims to preserve the stories of those who have been incarcerated at Rikers and their loved ones. It will create a space for reflection and remembrance.
The sculpture, in progress, represents the strength and resilience of survivors. It's a testament to the fact that even in the darkest of places, the human spirit can find a way to not just survive, but thrive.
This project feels like a culmination of my artistic and healing journey, allowing me to transform my pain into something that can benefit others.
Finding Hope in Expression
The act of creating art, whether it's a film, a painting, or a sculpture, allows me to take back control. It transforms my trauma into something tangible, something I can confront and ultimately overcome. Each brushstroke, each sculpted curve, is a step toward healing and reclaiming my life.
Sharing my story and my art is a vulnerable act. It forces me to relive painful memories and expose parts of myself that I'd rather keep hidden. But I believe that by sharing our stories, we can create connections with others who have experienced similar trauma. We can break the silence and stigma that surround domestic violence and incarceration.
My art is more than just a way to express myself. It's a tool for healing, a means of survival, and a testament to the power of the human spirit to overcome adversity.
I encourage all survivors to find your own creative outlet. Your voice matters, and your art can be a powerful tool for healing. If my story can inspire even one person to break the silence, then I know my journey has been worth it.
If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, please seek help. The National Domestic Violence Hotline is available 24/7 at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233).
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