Dark Colors
Yesterday, my family and I attended a free art class at our local art center. We learned to make fabric flowers.
Pictured is a deep burgundy and lace rose I made. I made four flowers, but this was the first one - and it is my favorite of the four.
This flower is symbolic in many ways. It may sound silly, but, in a way, it is rebellion against the pain of my childhood and teenage years - against the emotional abuse I experienced.
I remember when I was child and would color in my color books or would draw and color in the pictures I created, I was told to color lightly. I was told the vivid colors produced when I pressed down on the crayon (dark blues, reds, greens, browns, and most definitely blacks) are ugly. It is much prettier to use pastel colors (pinks, yellows, pale greens and blues). Of course, this was just preference of the viewer, but to be told as a child that dark or vivid colors are ugly caused me to want to please that viewer (especially when that person was a parent). So I colored the way I was told, the way I was taught to color. I wanted my work to be pretty, after all.
But truth be told, I have always loved dark colors. I love the richness of burgundy, the brightness of the brightest reds, and the elegance of the deepest blacks. I love the uniqueness of indigo and the sparkle of emerald green. I am not a fan of pastel colors. It may sound silly, but it has taken me years to be able to say that - because I was made to feel dark colors are wrong. It has taken me years to love the rain, to enjoy the snow, to value marriage, to be a sexual person, to be or like anything my mother did not.
This is how emotional abuse in childhood affects the adult who grew up in that abuse. It is said how we talk to children becomes their inner voice when they are adults.
Today I write with confidence, I love this flower I made yesterday. It is my favorite color and fabric.
Pictured is a deep burgundy and lace rose I made. I made four flowers, but this was the first one - and it is my favorite of the four.
This flower is symbolic in many ways. It may sound silly, but, in a way, it is rebellion against the pain of my childhood and teenage years - against the emotional abuse I experienced.
I remember when I was child and would color in my color books or would draw and color in the pictures I created, I was told to color lightly. I was told the vivid colors produced when I pressed down on the crayon (dark blues, reds, greens, browns, and most definitely blacks) are ugly. It is much prettier to use pastel colors (pinks, yellows, pale greens and blues). Of course, this was just preference of the viewer, but to be told as a child that dark or vivid colors are ugly caused me to want to please that viewer (especially when that person was a parent). So I colored the way I was told, the way I was taught to color. I wanted my work to be pretty, after all.
But truth be told, I have always loved dark colors. I love the richness of burgundy, the brightness of the brightest reds, and the elegance of the deepest blacks. I love the uniqueness of indigo and the sparkle of emerald green. I am not a fan of pastel colors. It may sound silly, but it has taken me years to be able to say that - because I was made to feel dark colors are wrong. It has taken me years to love the rain, to enjoy the snow, to value marriage, to be a sexual person, to be or like anything my mother did not.
This is how emotional abuse in childhood affects the adult who grew up in that abuse. It is said how we talk to children becomes their inner voice when they are adults.
Today I write with confidence, I love this flower I made yesterday. It is my favorite color and fabric.
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