I don't expect anyone to read all of it, it is just something I had to get off my chest.
Someone who immigrated at least once, might understand it.. I personally immigrated 3 major times and moved a whole a lot overall.
People often try to label you to make it easier for them to understand by where you live or by where you are from. I get a lot of nice comments generated from the fact that I currently live in Canada.. As much as I love it here, I can not really relate to anything.
I have little sentiment for materiality, having to pack all my life in 2 suit cases at the most and leave all the rest behind over and over again, forced me to understand how little I need to survive. I don't know how justified this feeling is, but I have constant pain for all the art work I left behind, my childhood drawings are gone and it is something that I will never be able to see again. The skull that I made from clay when I was 13 years old, which is in my mind my greatest achievement considering the age I was when I made it, was lost in the period of the last 3 years and I have no idea how or where.
I am enriched by all the cultures of the places that I have visited, but I have no heritage or sense that I belong anywhere.
Being asked “where are you from?”, I take a moment to analyze the person that asks the question, trying to figure out what kind of an answer he/she can understand better... To a random stranger on the internet, my answer is always “earth”.
I am completely ignorant to all the holidays of the place where I live, I can't relate, and to be honest, it's too much to remember.
The term “home” is alien to me, going by the definition that home is where your loved ones are – my home is all over the place. I don't really feel safe no matter where I live, it's a time thing, tomorrow it might be a new place. I guess the only thing that I could call home is the house where I lived till I was 5, it had a big backyard where I could play freely, I loved the people who lived in it, I felt safe there, my dog was there...At the time I did not live anywhere else so it really was the only place I ever belonged to.
When we move, there is often a feeling that we no longer have roots, instead we grow wings in order to survive.
At the moment I am going through the hardest experience I have ever went though, spinning off the idea that I have wings, I feel tied to this place while I'm being completely torn apart by the desire of being somewhere else.
Putting this experience in a visual image, I see a bird, tied by its leg to something grounded and unmovable, trying to fly away. Birds, same as many caged animals, often put up such an incredible fight to get free that they can kill themselves in the process... All that is left now is no more than few feathers.
This is by far the most personal, sentimental and literal piece I have ever made. I poured all my thoughts mixed with tears onto the blank canvas, taking my own advise that writing things down might help. Indeed it helped, everything I had bottled up and was not and am not able to say out loud is now here for everyone to see, without actually being able to see it.
I wrote on my blog a while ago, about creating a composition from the written text if anyone is interested in trying it out... [link]
Acrylic on 16x20" / 40x50 cm canvas.
Technique - All of it was painted in black and white, the colors are glazed on.