A Piece in Transition

A journey through the liminal space defined by memory and identity

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This painting is unfinished — much like the journey it represents. What began as a simple experiment with plaster of Paris and acrylic has become a sensory voyage into memory, identity, and reclaiming the parts of myself that were silenced. Here is a glimpse into that process.

A Piece in Transition

This piece is an experiment — plaster of Paris forms the base, and I’ve painted over it with acrylic.

It is not complete. This is a first draft. The next step, I imagine, will be the removal of whatever plaster can be removed — and the birth of a blank canvas.

Who is this piece of art? It is the inner me. Not the soul, but the conscious parts of myself. It is the little girl who loved to sketch, who entered competitions, who read endlessly, who chased blue and yellow butterflies in my mother’s vegetable garden. That little me was confident — she was out there.

As I write this, I think of the parts of me that feel lost. Today, I’m petrified of butterflies. I avoid competitions. My nervous system reacts instantly: No. No. No.But I still love to read. Maybe because reading was always just mine — it didn’t require performance. For that, I’m grateful.

And yet, here I am painting! I don’t know how to paint — but still, I paint. This is where I begin to retrieve the little princess within.

"A Piece in Transition" reflects the voices that judged, criticized, and tried to dictate how I should live. I didn’t listen — and that seemed to frustrate people. They doubled down with more advice, more opinions, more insistence that I “don’t listen.”

I don’t remember the critical and judgmental voices from childhood. But my nervous system does. As an adult, I have poor boundaries. Every time I want to say “no,” my heart races. My little self is afraid — it remembers that saying no often meant receiving less love.

Today, as I scrape off the plaster, I scrape away those imprinted voices. I claim myself. I’m not saying I’ll be perfect after this — only that I am here. I am listening. I love you. I see you. I stand by you. We’ll find our voice together.

Judgment and criticism are rampant in our society. They’re handed out carelessly. If we don’t fit the mold, we become dinner table topics, or projects in need of saving. If we comply, we’re judged. If we set boundaries, we’re isolated.

I’ve heard my share of “advice.” It always leaves me unsettled. If I follow it, I betray myself. If I don’t, I’m ungrateful. But I can’t eat cheese just because you like it.

Through this painting, I search for my voice. I set my boundaries. I begin to carve a road.

We’ll see where it leads.