My artwork, has been telling me my inner story for over a decade now. As I started to paint, sketch and draw my stories started to come to life; some of them intoxicated me, some of them terrified me, some opened my heart, the scary ones made me hide in secret places only to discover my own prison, and others set me free.
I went insane. Actually more accurately I was living in the insane between immense trauma and the mystical, I was lost in a world of myth. I had set up such an elaborate labyrinth of self that all the pieces of me were constantly dueling it out under the surface and showing up as characters in my everyday melodramatic comedy of chaos calling it the life show of Morgan. Turns out this was the battle of for my life, I was being brainwashed and stuck in some one else's world, and I needed to find my way out. So I painted.
I had one very distinct characteristic that allowed me to survive my own insanity, a powerful self projected fantasy. What painting did was it started to crack the surface of this fantasy and color seeped in around the edges quite literally and the result was I thought I was becoming omnipotent along with many other super human powers. In the real world, I was trying to find my way home.
I was awakening and it was fantastical until I realized that wasn't "waking", that was the sleeping part of me and it was trying to find it way to the surface. I began to live in the subtle and the archetypical. l could feel the small details under my skin and stuck choices in tips of my fingers and the edges .. edges of my soul.. well they were coming in. I was claiming my image, and it was the most important thing I would ever do.
I wish I could say I did this peacefully but it took me awhile to see the ways I was being beautiful seduced by my own inner violence. I was ripping things out of me, cutting away the not good and strip fighting the not self while trying to fill in what I thought were the good parts of me, but that doesn't make you a whole human it just gets you half. When I finally accepted the imperfections I was able to honestly walk through my choices, meet my unlived thoughts, swim around the rocks of my belief systems and feel the attitudes that shaped every situation that ever came into my life. It took awhile, and a ton of repainting, but I could finally see me. Not the me I wanted to be or was being brainwashed to be but the me sitting in the room naked, knatted and true.
As my art began to walk me through my personal maze of self, I learned that being human meant I was free whether I felt like I was or not. As this truth hit and I watched the veil completely fall down to reveal a path of destructionism that I had named beautiful and good fall to the ground. I was finally able to grapple with my lack of power and how I chose to surrender. Own my weakness and how I starved it into a rabid animal and meet myself who was patiently waiting for me to just open my eyes and make a new choice.
I committed over and over again to my spirit, to serving life and to finding my way home. And I did. When I look back, I look upon a super courageous rebellious teenage girl who didn't know what power she was rocking and had no clue about how the world really worked but a whole lot heart. She pretended she knew everything and was blasphemous in the face of grace but all in all, none of that mattered. Because she was human, and doing her best with what she had available.
This path to my wildness, love and my multidimensional self opened me up to the ordinary as extraordinary and gave me something I will never go without again, my connection.
I know now I can always find my way home to self if I am willing to be who I truly am and use my voice outloud and clear.
This is where we start. An invitation to visit the world through my eyes as an Odyssey through my humanity.