Awakenings Residency “Supplemental Healing”

About Awakenings and the Residency

“Awakenings is a non-profit organization in Chicago dedicated to making visible the artistic expression of sexual violence survivors.” In February of 2022, Awakenings held their first artist residency and cohort, where three artists (including myself) created an art piece in two weeks in the Awakenings gallery followed by a presentation about the experience. Here is my presentation.

Two years ago, in January 2020, I began my internship with Awakenings right out of college, as a literary intern. It was in this space, helping to install an exhibition, that I realized I wanted to be a full-time artist. And that’s what I’m doing today. Prior to my internship, writing was my life, and when the pandemic hit, it created an emotional block, preventing me from wanting to fill a single page in my journal. For me, this residency was more than creating a sculpture, it was also about reconnecting with writing. So every day in the gallery, I started my days reading survivor stories in poetry books and graphic novels and writing. For my presentation, I’ll be sharing some of the writing I did, as well as explaining my process.

02/22/21

In the months before the residency, I imagined walking into the building listening to King Princess, just as I did two years ago when I was an intern. I felt like I was anticipating an emotional pour-over. Brewing a renaissance of nostalgia, relief, and awakening.

But it wasn’t like that, to say the least, it was more like coming home. And not a little apartment of me, Jeri, Laura, Abby, Aly, Megan, and Emma, like it had been two years ago. It was a home for survivors. It is a home for survivors, with no expectations.

When I pitched my idea a few months ago, I wasn’t in love with my title “Supplemental Healing.” I was hoping to find a new one along the way through my readings and writing. But instead, I started to understand its meaning.

02/19/22

Yesterday when I was trying to explain my project, I was struggling to formulate my words.

It’s about the ways a survivor community helps us heal, supplementally. So, if one survivor has healed in one way but not another, together they can fill in each other’s gaps.

I don’t think there is an endpoint to healing. I think we restart throughout our lives. I think we learn to communicate needs in new ways.

There is no completion, only an ever-growing energy that wades in and out like a breath or a heartbeat.

02/23/22

I wasn’t in love with my title when I picked it and was hoping to find a new one through my readings, but instead, I started to understand it more.

I often think of Highschool and odd lessons that have burned into my brain. I know now it’s because all my assaults and abuse happened in Highschool. One of the lessons was trigonometry, learning about supplemental angles.

Not it’s been about 10 years, but I believe that when you have one angle, in order to make it a full 180° you need another angle to help get you there. Those angles are supplemental.

I think that when healing from trauma, sometimes we strive and wish for a full 180°, to turn around and move on. But we can’t get there on our own.

Survivors are all at different angles of healing, and you know, I think I need to be at 180°.

But I wouldn’t even be close if it wasn’t for the survivor community that I have found. To help me, supplementally, turn around, move forward, and heal in a new direction.

This sculpture was incredibly special for me to make, mostly because I used my closest friends and survivor community as my reference photos. Throughout the process of creation, I could look at my piece and see my friends, and I feel so grateful that I was able to include them in this.

“Supplemental Healing” features two figures, one purple, crouching down and looking up to the yellow one as it grazes the purple figure’s face. The purple figure is the one in need of help and healing and the yellow is the helper. The yellow figure is covered in healing plants like ginkgo leaves, lavender, and echinacea, growth like mushrooms, and life, like butterflies and inchworms. The purple figure is in need of help but is unaware of what they have already overcome. Their back is covered in bugs and plants and life, but they’re unable to see it, only looking up at how they wish to be.

Before I started this project, I felt like I was yellow. Through being involved with Awakenings as a reader of the literary magazine, I felt detached from the emotional involvement that comes along with reading so many stories of sexual violence. But I didn’t realize that it was detachment. Revisiting my trauma with my writing led me to understand that I want to feel it and heal in new directions. So I have started back at purple and feel so happy to have the safety and encouragement of the yellow community around me.

I am so proud of my fellow residents Leah and Raeleen and thankful for how we were there for each other throughout the residency process. Some of the best moments were simply chatting in the gallery. And a cosmic thank you to Jeri, Jackie, and Laura for creating such a wonderful residency cohort and for all the support. All the growth and life changes that this residency is responsible for are not from the art, but the people around me.

To finish, here is a simple poem about the transference of growth.

02/20/21

The butterflies bounce between bodies
speaking of growth
whispering, “I will will it so”

The mushrooms sprouted on pinky toes.
You have walked long enough
to will it to grow.

And the spores did transfer
through tussling winds,

capturing breathy sorrows
and taking them in.

And the flowers sang
to the shriek tuned ear
growing in place of the tones
only known to the wounded,
but willing to heal.

images by Taylor Dalton