healing together

In 2017 I put out a call for folks experiencing grief brought on or aggravated by isolation to sit for portraits and talk to me about their experiences. As I began conducting interviews, the project quickly morphed into a series about healing emotionally, spiritually, physically, and mentally.

So many of the responses I received included stories of herbal healing and the need for time to rest or just be outside. All of the interviews discussed below were initially conducted in 2017; however, I have since felt compelled to find out how these folks’ healing processes have continued and I’ve updated a few of their portraits.

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In her introduction to Octavia’s Brood, Walidah Imarisha, an incredible writer and activist, presents the term visionary fiction. Visionary fiction is a kind of speculative fiction distinguished by powerful narratives that help us imagine futures in which we all heal and thrive. Through these narratives we create spaces for playfully and creatively exploring our relationship to the world. We get excited together. We begin to understand one another's drives, desires, and needs. We offer forever morphing definitions of our identities to unite around what we have in common: the need to create the world that actively includes us. These paintings are love letters for me... and for you, who have felt undeserving of a place in the world.

My work documents stories that make healing and creating more accessible. I want to help other people realize that they have the power to heal themselves and the organisms that surround them. I have often viewed my healing efforts as daily resistance against the normalization of patterns that impede my growth. I am encouraging myself to envision healing as a lifelong process of learning from behaviors that diminish my power, then course correcting. When we spend time dreaming together, we begin to form a broader vision of what’s possible. These kinds of conversations are important for thinking about what we want and who we want to be, rather than just what we don’t want. We go beyond survival.

Getting comfortable being vulnerable enough, open enough, to get closer as a community is difficult when we are busy surviving. So, our lives become centered around individual productivity and success for the accumulation of wealth. But the prioritization of the individual seems nonsensical if we acknowledge that we are all made up of each other. Distinguished professor emerita Donna Haraway captures this message when she discusses the relevance of using the concepts of sympoiesis and holobionts when conceiving of ourselves in relation to the world. In Haraway’s book Staying with the Trouble, we are cast as holobionts, “entire beings” or “safe and sound beings,” that make up complex patterns of relationships. Through sympoiesis we “make-with” our fellow holobionts. We are allowed to be whole in relation to one another and contingent upon one another. The term holobiont is interesting not only because it thinks beyond the stringent distinction of individual, but because of the implications it has in the context of healing. Healing is generally defined as to restore; to make whole or sound. Holobionts are already whole and sound, so it must stand to reason that healing requires us to conceive of our wellbeing in relation to the wellbeing of the world around us.

The healing I am interested in portraying includes all forms of life in its process. The landscapes we enjoy and the food systems that sustain us rely not only on humans, but on fungi, bacteria, bugs, and plants. We don’t need to work for progress at the cost of connection to ourselves and each other. Without those connections we get lost in our isolation, desensitized to any damage we may cause and the lives we’re making precarious. There are ways to make-with or become-with one another that prioritize the thriving of as many holobionts, or members of our ecosystem, as possible. In the words of Donna Haraway: “It matters which ways of living and dying we cast our lot rather than others.” It matters “... to those many critters across taxa which and whom we have subjected to exterminations, extinctions, genocides, and prospects of futurelessness.”

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cycles

oil on canvas, 30”x30”, 2017, 2020

I painted Jesse on a still, cloudy day. He met me at the studio. I brought him inside and sat him in a powder blue, corduroy armchair. Blue-tinged light filtered in from high, north facing windows and reflected off the white walls. Something about all that blue emphasized the stillness outside— like we were submerged in water, suspended. As I began my initial sketch, I asked Jesse what he was struggling with, what he was needing, and which of his body parts felt out of balance. He said:

“Emotional instability is a battle every day for me. Being stuck in my thoughts. Overthinking, under-thinking, how to interact— social anxiety at times because I think too much.

“But definitely my head overall constantly needs some healing. Considering all the bullshit we go through just navigating the [university] politics— its twisted toxic community, and even worse the city to an extent.”

Eventually, he fell asleep and I continued to paint. As he slid down in his seat, his hair fanned out, framing his face and lending to the underwater effect. He seemed to have found respite, in that afternoon’s stillness, from the swirling of his mind and the stresses of student life. It’s telling I think, that given a moment to just be, his body demanded sleep. I am grateful to have made space for him to find some much needed rest and peace.

I painted him with skin like jade and hair like obsidian reflecting blue water. When asked about nature medicines he felt drawn to, Jesse mentioned an affinity for jade and obsidian.

Today Jesse works as a nature educator devoted to the protection of our natural world. In 2020 he added this: " I carry the weight of my traumas, the world, and my broken ancestry, but at the same time, i’m also reflecting the energies of my ancestors, and what they ALL, communally, have bestowed on me. I am embodying all their prayers, and will continue to do so as I navigate the Red Road."

realign

25"x30", oil on paper, 2017

At the time of this portrait, this nonbinary femme was dealing with chronic pain that was aggravated by stress. Since delving deeper into their shadow work, strengthening their ties to their community, practicing herbalism, and finding their footing as an artist, their chronic pain has diminished significantly. The essence of queen anne’s lace resonates with them because it is known for its resilience— this plant can thrive in poor growing conditions.

“my uterus is a warrior.”

20”x15.5", oil on canvas, 2017, 2018

This is a painting of a woman who was trying for several years to get pregnant after an at-home abortion and other sexual trauma. One year after our initial conversation, she got pregnant and now has a healthy baby. During her healing journey she has sought support from raspberry and other plants for regulating menstruation, anxiety levels, and inflammation in her body. She hangs out and sings with the plants that call her, offering healing. Her uterus is the most vulnerable part of her body so she felt very liberated by the process of talking with me and modeling for a portrait.

deep rest

acrylic & modeling paste on canvas, 24”x48”, 2017

open heart

oil on hardboard, 24”x36”, 2017, 2022

This is Melí, un Costarricense, who volunteered to be painted as part of their vulnerability practice. They wanted the experience of allowing another person to observe them— to look into their eyes and listen to their story. I arrived at their home in Santa Cruz and they led me up creaky wooden stairs to their loft bedroom to be interviewed. They sat on their bed facing me and began telling me about their youth. I sat in a chair across from them and began painting.

We talked for a while but mostly sat soaking in the sun from their skylight and looking at each other. They told me that they had to leave her home as a teenager because their family would not accept that they’re gay. In the painting, Melí’s heart has grown protective roots that insulate it from the harms of the outside world, most especially the pain of being rejected by those who were meant to teach them how to love and accept themself. But these roots have not kept them from feeling; They allowed them to absorb nourishing experiences from a safe distance.

The plant medicines featured include elecampane root, hawthorn berries, and hibiscus. They are associated with cardiovascular health. They aid the body in clearing disease and imbalance from the heart and lungs.

Now that Melí’s world is safe enough, they’ve let go of some of the tough bark that was keeping their light from shining into the world around them. Today they create and share music about their life, from their heart.

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References:

Benson, Peter and Edward F. Fischer. “Broccoli and Desire.” Antipode 39, no. 5 (2007): 812.

Brown, Adrienne Maree and Walidah Imarisha, eds. Octavia’s Brood: Science Fiction Stories from Social Justice Movements. Oakland: AK Press, 2015.

Haraway, Donna. “Symbiogenesis, Sympoiesis, and Art Science Activisms for Staying with the Trouble.” In Arts of Living On a Damaged Planet, edited by Anna Tsing, Elaine Gan, Heather Swanson and Nils Bubandt, M25-M50. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2017.

Donna Haraway, “Tentacular Thinking: Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Chthulucene.” E. Flux Journal, no. 75 (September 2016): 8.

Laura E. Donaldson, “On On Medicine Women and White Shame-Ans: New Age Native Americanism and Commodity Fetishism as Pop Culture Feminism” Signs 24, no.3 (Spring 1999): 678, 680.

Sita Reddy, “Making Heritage Legible: Who Owns Traditional Medical Knowledge?” International Journal of Cultural Property 13 (2006): 161-188.

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