Worth Writing

Let me not tell you something…

Two things you will never hear me say here:
#1 “Where there’s a will there’s a way.”
#2 “Nothing’s impossible; the word itself says ‘I’m possible’.”

My name is Stephanie and I’m a member of Anti-Platitudes Anonymous. Platitudes are ignorant at best, cruel at worst. Essentially, they all say “If you’re suffering it’s your fault. You can change it if you use you’re smart, use your willpower, and think positive.” Translation: if you’re suffering, you’re stupid, weak, unwilling, and negative.

In this age of disability awareness platitudes need to be kicked to the curb. Not all disabilities = suffering, but many do. Not all circumstances can be changed either. Telling a depressed person to “pull themselves together by just exercising more and eating right” is no different than telling a blind person to “just look harder”. Discipline will not cure autism and repetitive lessons will not undo brain damage any more than exercise will heal neuropathy.

I have epilepsy – also not controllable with willpower and optimism – and repetitive falls over the course of twenty-something years have caused lasting physical damage with some increasingly lasting physical discomfort. In the last two years this discomfort has gone from discomfort to pain. I struggled with pain the last year until it reached a point a few months ago where it was constant and debilitating. I could no longer work on my art. In several instances I temporarily lost the use of my hands or entire arms. I could barely get through each day. Finally, x-rays and an MRI on my neck revealed a combination of issues, the biggest one being the one causing the compression of nerves.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to actually cure the condition, but I have received the help necessary to relieve the condition a great deal and reduce the pain by what feels like about 1,000% from where I was a month ago: wondering if life was worth living if that was what my daily life was going to be like forevermore.

And so…I learned. I learned what long-term constant debilitating pain does to a person’s mind and emotions. There is a large group of people in society who struggle with chronic pain. I will never forget that. Before my experience I could only sympathize. Now I can empathize.

On this blog I will save the bulk of my tolerance for people who struggle, for people who suffer, not for people who have opinions and theories about how Those People should be “fixing” themselves, coping better, or learning to “look on the bright side”.

Notice: Anyone who states that “If you want the rainbows you’ve got to put up with the rain” WILL be banned from commenting on this blog.

Further posts will have a positive tone but I know there are a lot of people out there doing the very best they can who have had enough of these platitudes and are silently screaming for mercy. Well…mercy on you.

Blessings…
Stephanie

No Safe Words

Safe words make for a Silent Steph. That’s why this online journal is mostly empty.

Question: What am I allowed to tell you?
Question: What can I say that someone else won’t make me regret?

Words are my first and forever love. They educated, entertained, sustained and soothed me for decades. In December 2006 Someone else’s words made Fear the most powerful force inside me and no words could soothe or save me. I was accused of doing something terrible, no proof, no witness, but with a few words my life was ravaged.

All these years of depression, daily exhaustion, absence of will or care, I’ve attributed to the process of grieving the death of my daughter. It has finally occurred to me that I am not making progress because I need to grieve the loss of Myself, the woman I was before my life was shattered by the false accusation that led my daughter to die needlessly alone in the dark somewhere else, that also cause me to lose my family, my home, my security, my faith, and my joy in life before being declared innocent.

I was free to go, but there was nothing to go back to. I learned then that justice is just a concept. And sometimes freedom really does mean having nothing left to lose.

I loved the world I thought I lived in. I loved the way I thought it worked. I didn’t think I had much power to influence my fate, but I loved the power I thought I had. I loved believing there were certain lines between right and wrong most people wouldn’t cross. I loved believing people wouldn’t hurt you just because they didn’t like you. I loved believing the Police were fair. I loved believing that being innocent meant you were safe.

I have already lived a life that would kill an ordinary King. I should be ashes by now. My childhood was the stuff of nightmares. My teens and twenties were a stunning feat of survival. The years spent raising the children were a heartbreaking and hilarious circus I wouldn’t trade for anything. We have all survived loss and betrayal, but I wonder now if there are some losses too great if they are internal.

How do you grieve the loss of a person you loved when that person is yourself?

I guess I start with living today and paying attention to what it feels like to be Me now. I’m going to wash the window in front of me. Stretch. Take a long hot shower. Clip my toenails. Download an eBook from the library. And remind myself, again, that although all of us are special, none of us is unique. Others are learning to grive the loss of themselves today, right now, with me.

And I’m going to post this regardless of my fear that I may have said something I should not have.

Steph

The Sweet Night…

The day was brutally hot. In the 40’s. Too much for me. It wiped me out and now I’ll be up for most of the night if I want to accomplish anything. This is the merri-go-round of ill-patterned sleep that throws me out of step with the rest of society. But oh the sweet, sweet moments of solitude of nights like this!

The crickets are getting louder. Their rhythms a healing mantra for me. Nature’s stress relievers. Every year I mean to record them and listen throughout the winter. Maybe this year I’ll remember. After the day’s heat this evening’s air is deliciously sweet and cool and soft. All is forgiven.

Now…a painting awaits upstairs.

Steph

We’re Here!

Today is the official launch of Monkey Hill Creative Arts!

We would appreciate any feedback you have to offer, any encouragement would be literally slobbered over, and even criticisms will be received with palms and minds open (no webmasters here, so we know the site isn’t perfect). The BUY NOW and DONATE buttons have yet to be added and activated…within a few days. As I said, no webmasters here. If you are interested in a particular art piece simply contact us through the links on the gallery page.

I hesitated whether to say this, wondering whether it would be perceived as a ‘downer’ to most, but to me it matters so much: today is the 6th anniversary of the passing away of ‘Monkey Hill’, our daughter, the inspiration for this initiative. It’s why we wanted to get the site up and running today no matter what. It’s time to get a good thing going! She was a great kid and nothing held her back and nothing held her down. She didn’t wait until everything was perfect before barrelling out the door to get on with her day and neither will we.

We’ve got our fingers and toes crossed hoping that we engender enough support to get this community arts initiative rolling.

We’ve already made a living; Monkey Hill Creative Arts is going to be a way of life.

Thank you everyone for all of your support this far. It has been deeply appreciated.

Stephanie Kirsten Hansen
monkeyhillarts(at)yahoo.ca

On The Way Here…

I had no inclination to grow up and become an artist. That was supposed to be my sister’s vocation alone. I wanted to be a writer. However, I was an avid collector and assembler of things. I appreciated line, form, and texture to the point where I would spend a lot of time piling and propping my found objects together in what I realize now were mini assemblages, just not glued together.

Most of my primary years in art, however, were spent painting, focussed on pattern, colour, and what I termed ‘worditure’ – as opposed to ‘portraiture’. Language arts are my first love and I adore typography.

Then I discovered the work of Louise Nevelson. In the mid-fifties Nevelson was noted for her creations of a series of work called “wood landscape sculptures” painted flat black or white.

They reminded me of my childhood assemblages. Only Nevelson’s work pad homage to what intrigued me most about the objects. By painting out the colour I could see them more clearly.

I had been confining my textural work to smaller art such as handmade bowls and decorative table top pieces but moved to working in assemblage and mixed media on canvas at that point.

My daughter, also, was – and remains – an influence. Being autistic she was highly visually oriented, but she was also tactually influenced. She was definitely a ‘toucher’. She touched all the leaves as we walked, and anything that looked interesting, very often taking my wrist and brushing my hand over the surface of a texture to share the experience telling me, “Touch it!” In that, I’m not sure whether to call her my art assistant, or my art master.

Blessings…
Stephanie Kirsten Hansen
[email protected]
http://www.worthworks.com

Finally getting with the program!

A new easel! My friends…it’s a long time coming. For all of these years I’ve made do with table top easels and propping larger works on chairs and against the wall.

My mother was born in 1930, growing up during the depression and war years. She raised us to ‘make do’, to be masters of improvisation. It’s a godsend on a very limited budget, but at some point as artists we need to make sure we have the basic tools of the trade. I should have acquired a proper easel years and years ago! But here it is…or will be delivered here…this week. Excited? You can’t imagine.

But first…that messy workspace? *headdesk* I need to do some major de-cluttering to make room for my beautiful new workmate. My old friend the big-ass table will be relocated to the basement, for one thing. Bye-bye!

*snicker* I may even get a decent stool to sit on when I work at the easel. I’ve been using the Ikea stool I painted for my step-daughter when she was ten. She’s in her second year of university and I’ve been meaning to apologize for giving her such an uncomfortable little beast of a thing as a gift. Obviously she only loved it because it was pretty.

Messy, but getting it done…

With a little encouragement from a Twitter friend, Effy Wild, the blog postings roll again with the simple stuffs of my daily life as an artist. The photograph above is one corner of one of my working spaces that explains why I’ll never be seen in those fancy magazines showing artists spaces. As a mixed media artist I’m an experimenter and finder of things that defy the limits of easy and cheaply bought pretty-little-boxes to hold them.

We are being buried alive under the plastics we are producing a lightening speed! I can’t bear to buy new bags and bottles for ‘special use’ if I can help it. I re-use and recycle everything, which is why it’s not so picture-perfect on the ‘studio’ shelves.

The formal business launch of Monkey Hill Creative Arts is days away!!! I am working on the website (not my forte). It will be bare bones at first, growing as the weeks pass. We are very excited to finally dive into this much needed community initiative. August 11th will be the 6th anniversary of “Monkey’s” passing and as much as we miss her we are equally pleased to be able to honour her memory with this legacy.

Monkey spent a lot of time with me in the studio ‘directing’ my art. Whether she showed any interest in it told me a lot. Because of her autism she was highly attuned to all things visual, particularly anything ‘unusual’, anything interesting. She liked to see things that moved or appeared to change as light sources moved, even imperceptibly, which is why I use metallic paints in my work, both boldly and as subtle highlights. She was drawn to textures, as am I. Life is not 2-D. She was right about that.

Having a child with disabilities means everything takes more time. Nothing happens quickly, except your garden variety disasters. She slowed daily life down to a crawl. Made us see every detail. Know things. Understand their complexity from her perspective. And we are forever grateful. She is in every piece of art I make. She guides me and keeps me company as I place every piece of paper, leaf, seed pod, scrap of whatever looks interesting into the artwork ‘seeing’ her smile at the bringing of Life to the canvas.

monkey

All of my work is currently hanging in the Tiger Group Studio Gallery at 335 Barton St. East, just 2 blocks east of the Hamilton General Hospital. All of the money from the sales of the art go directly to Monkey Hill to be spent on community initiatives supporting artists with invisible and developmental disabilities. We thank you for your support.

Stephanie Kirsten Hansen
Monkey Hill Creative Arts
The Tiger Group Studio Gallery
335 Barton St. E, Hamilton, Ontario
Open Wed – Sat 11am – 5pm
905-929-8380