I was angry about this painting for a long time. Because I wanted to do a simple landscape. You know, mountains, a river in its bed, the sun, some birds. Then I started to paint with watercolors and I couldn't control it. I can't handle water. Hmm, water and me…
I've been afraid of water since I was a little kid. I never really learned how to swim. So I wanted pure colors, but everything turned dark. As if I wasn't painting with watercolors, but with gouache. And the only way I could control all that darkness was with an even darker black outline. The color was still running out of the frame.
It made me feel so intense that my therapist and I started talking about it. I realized it was the embodiment of my grief. For my unborn children. I was grieving for my father I was never allowed to know. And I was grieving for the childhood I never had, taken from me by an abusive mother and grandmother. This sentence is the first time I can write this, here in Finland. In English.
Dávid, my husband, said that it is easier for me to write in English because I have only received supportive words in that language. He is right. Now I am proud of this painting. I am glad I painted it. It is a liberating feeling. Because giving voice, saying the things that are painful or that we are afraid to say, gives us strength. By giving voice, we can regain the dignity that a sick and toxic person, relationship, or dictatorship tries to take from us.
The painting shows red and its complementary color, green. Blue and orange too. Yellow is also there, but the complementary color, purple, is missing. It was my mother's favorite color…