I’m Not A Ghost

I got off the phone and the first words that came to my mind were, “I’m a ghost”.

I had been talking to my mother, transported by our conversation, to the family dynamic I grew up in.  The feeling that I was now only a specter on the periphery of the workings of my birth family was so strong.

I could see myself lurking around the edges of scenes that used to make up my life.  I wasn’t invisible, but transparent, without substance,  like an afterthought.

The feeling filled me up, the anxiety looking for release.   I circled my studio the pulled out my collage materials.

I took one of the collages I had started but not finished that was hanging on my wall and began working on it.  And as I glued and drew and painted,  I found I was repeating to myself, the words “I’m not a ghost.”   

Now I saw myself working in my studio, my body solid, my feet on the floor.   A whole and grounded person.

That I am not a ghost is a fact, I thought reverting to the technique that I was taught in therapy.  When I feel the anxiety I tell myself the facts. Cutting new paths in my neural system.  Distinguishing between my thinking and the thinking I was taught to believe.

Once I cut out the shapes of the girl and the sheep, the work went quickly.  I pulled most of what I had put on them off, revealing some of the first collage layers.  I placed them on the backing of an old quilt and used one of the appliques from the front of the quilt as a shining sun, placing them in a landscape.

When I figured out that I wanted to sew the images down, it was just a matter of choosing the thread and stitch.

I finished it off with a backing and sleeve at the top to hang it.

“I’m Not A Ghost” is sold.