Good morning. I like being alone. I’m not lonely either. All the signs in society are saying I should be with someone. A man as that would make me complete but that just isn’t the case. It’s a trap. It’s patriarchy and it slowly kills us. Black women faster than white women. And I see it now. It’s an institution of control and power . And it’s passed off as the natural state of affairs. But really in nature it’s multiples, it’s community, it’s ecosystems.
That is what I’m taking away from BWCR ( Black women’s creative retreat) establishing my community, my ecosystem.
Black woman is always the original, the origins. And it’s about time we get/ no take our due as when we take we give. We share, we multiple, we make a path.
sometimes i’m writing. my body is writing and she doesn’t know . she doesn’t know what / how/ where. the body just doesn’t know yet what to say. how to say it.
my body writes what is doesn’t know yet.
what is put down on the page, the words and language doesn’t know either. what is it trying to say?what does it know? what doesn’t it know?
i was going to say that things become clearer in the process. but that’s not true. in the process more questions are raised. not answers. but more curiosity, wonder and play.
here, i’ve cultivated a safe space. a safe container where i can be intimate and vulnerable. i can experiment and play to locate my voice, my knowledge and wisdom.
i embark on another journey with my body writing what she doesn’t know after completing an amazing commission/ gig/ assignment. i’ll share soon. i feel depleted after fullness. i’m tired but also lost.
i know i need to rest before anything else. so i rest for now. i rest in the not knowing.
It’s a week since I’ve been here nearly. I’m not going to try and backtrack and fill in the gaps. Let them lie, because I’ve been healing. And today I’m beginning to feel more like myself again. This is my first image in a week. I ventured out not far from my front door into the sunshine, into my local park. It was glorious to get out as well as to feel a load or two dropping from my shoulders. I didn’t realise what stress and worries I’ve been carrying for the part month or so until they were let go.
More recent was an emergency extraction of a cracked wisdom tooth. Tooth hardly there at the back of my gum, but cracked on some food, cracked all the way down. I was advised to get it extracted. A simple procedure. Done in half an hour or so. Let’s just numb up the area. Little did the dentist know that my teeth are strong or that this little fucker was fused to the bone. An hour later or more and I stumble out of the chair into the growing dusk and I’ve got a gaping hole in my gum, held together by 4 stitches.
Fast forward to today, and me out walking in the sunshine and not allowing my self-pity to get the better of me. I look like a chipmunk and talk as if I’m drunk. But it could have been worse right. I daren’t think what would have happened if I’d left the cracked tooth and gotten an infection, not just teeth, gums but down to the bone. The dentist said I’m lucky. I said no I’m not. I’m intentional I said. Health is wealth, and I’m not going to mess around with mine, I said. The dentist said, he respects that. He said he liked my energy and made his evening, going in with my emergency. Made the time fly by.
Glad to be of service. Aren’t I always glad to be of service? Doesn’t a lot of people feed off my energy. Don’t I just bring my ‘A’ game for a lot of people. This Summer, I’m turning up for me. I’m giving myself the time and space to heal and breathe. My energy is low for other people, as I want it to be high for me.
I’m a shining light that creates space for other people’s lights to shine. I make people feel at ease and comfortable at the same time as inspired and tuned into themselves. I create space for people to air their cares and worries. For them to find a way back to themselves. And I don’t even get paid for this. This is just who I be. And I’m not complaining. I’m not having a ‘woe is me’ moment either. I’m just stating facts.
Fact is, this wisdom tooth brings wisdom. This wisdom tooth gone but left a wound, a wound I need to heal. A wound that needs time and care and space to heal. And I’m here to give it to myself as no one else will. Don’t worry I’ll still be turning up here as this is my space. I’ve not been bought by any corporation. I’m sharing my art not a commercial. I’m not selling you anything or getting paid. I’m free. I’m just sharing this little light of mine and my heart.
So I said I would be back to share with you my current visual journal. Coming into the mix at the end of May after a weeks of zero colour, my soul and creativity were craving colour and space. A large space.
So I went back to Flying Tiger and purchased the A3 sketchbook I failed to purchase a couple of weeks before. The paper inside is creamy and reminds me of sugar paper from primary school. It’s a rough and ready kind of texture, rustic and low maintenance. Not too high quality to raise the fear levels of making mistakes or not being quite so perfect.
I’m been enjoying preparing the pages with colour. Throughout my day, I have the journal laid out on the table in the corner of my bedroom and when I walk past, I choose 2, 3 or 4 colours from my collection of little bottles of acrylic paint and make generous dollops on the page.
Then I bring out my trusted old faithful, the disused bank card and smear that paint around. This calms my nerves, stills the worries and brings me joy. I love how the different combinations of paint play out together on the page. It’s a true collaboration.
I know this journal is far too big to be carrying around with me as I go about my business outside: sea swims, coffee meets, trip to London at the moment. But still I carry it with me, enjoying tucking it under my arm or carrying it pressed against my chest.
Sometimes, as happened today, stray streams of paint, still wet and sticky, collect within the seams and edges of the pages, transferring to my fingers, smearing on my coat and t-shirt. Today, it was bright turquoise and sandy brown that ended up on my hands and clothes by the time I reached the metro station to get to Newcastle Central Station. I really couldn’t be annoyed as it goes with the territory. You play with paint and you’re bound to make a mess.
But I don’t care because I feel and know in my heart and gut that I’m making a whole heap of mess within my visual journal because that’s how I make sense, make joy, make a way for me to navigate through this world on my own terms.
March is nearly over. I spent a lot of it getting ready for a trip that didn’t happen. I’m still sore around the wound but will share here at some point.
The journal above which I share is the journal I created for my travels. It’s an Elle Decorating Magazine which I’ve repurposed. I pulled out the images and text I wanted to use in my visual journaling and then painted over the remaining pages.
It’s rough and ready. Messy and grungy and in the process I didn’t realise how much it has reflected my mood.
It’s not perfect.
I’ve been all over the place in terms of my moods these past few weeks. Serene and blissed out to stressed and anxious and angry.
And this messy, at times ugly, journal has captured it all. And I am grateful for its space and non-judgmental welcome.
I’ll be back here over the coming days to share the spreads that have been created in this journal. Just so you can see a bit more of my process and practice.
One more thing. The back of this journal was converted into a mini guide book to take on my travels with me. Since I didn’t make that trip, I haven’t been back into the back of the journal. I was also contemplated chucking the whole thing and start a new journal as I felt it would be painful and annoying to continue to use the journal as its purpose was for my time away.
But instead of avoiding the pain and frustrations and disappointments, continuing to use the journal has meant I haven’t run away from the feels but have allowed myself to sit with the feels.
I’m not sure if that means I’m a glutton for punishment or if I’m just all in with this life, my life of attempting to thrive rather than just survive.
Still showing up in this journal, just created from a magazine man, has given me the time and space to work through my feelings and come through feeling grateful for my life and the people I have around me who care about me and love me.
Visual journaling, it kills me in how it’s such a powerful tool for staying present and connecting with the self. Amazeballs!
Growing up, and I still feel as if I’m growing up or at least progressing in this process of becoming, but yes growing up, I constantly rejected core parts of myself in order to fit in, in order to be accepted and loved. There was also an element of protection too. Growing up I knew or sensssd that being too wild and too unresostrcted and out there could bring trouble my way. Be looked up, be beaten up, be killed.
But I’m not prepared to repress, reject core parts of myself anymore. I don’t do it anymore because all it does it hurt me and stops me living my life on my own terms. Living y life to it’s fullest potential because I’m focused on the fear and rejection instead.
It has taken years and practice for me to take down the internal prejudices against myself. They might have been fortification constructed for protection and rejection but they did not serve me then and certainly don’t serve me now. Yeah I still protect myself from harm. I think I got complacent recently with the sea and also within the recent counselling skills session, but I’m practicing this from a place of love, self-love rather than self-hate and disgust. And the feelings are totally different.
What do you do when you’re practicing self-love and have a whole selection of rituals to support this practice and have been following them each day for the year of 2025 so far and then one day you are just so tired that you don’t have the energy to muster the right move in the moment to demonstrate said self-love instead of self-harm?
You create a blog post about it all as a reminder as well as a source of inspiration to motivate yourself to make that self-love gesture or movement which is needed in that moment instead of continuing down that oath of self-harm and self-neglect.
Living Wild Studios 